7. The Gift With no End

1.

Rosalía received a package she had not expected. It had been carefully wrapped in heavy brown paper and tied tightly with twine only the sharpest knife could break. Was it delivered to her by mistake? She rarely received packages, especially of that size, yet this one was definitely addressed to her, every part spelled properly. There were several stamps that indicated this one had been mailed from somewhere very far away. She didn’t know how much postage had been required because it wasn’t the same monetary system she used, but that really didn’t interest her as she was deciphering the return address in very tiny writing that was in the upper left corner of the back. 

She didn’t recognize the street - how could she? - but she did make out the city of origin: Boston. Then she had a suspicion that it was from one of the women with whom she had been corresponding, even though she wasn’t expecting anything; it was her turn to write.

Her hands were trembling, but she didn’t know why. Perhaps the authors with whom she had corresponded had sent her some of their works? After all, they had been explaining their ideas for a few months now and had copied some of their works - poems, essays - in longhand to send to Galicia. Rosalía had been grateful for their attention and had been doing her best to understand what was mostly written in English. For this purpose, she’d had some assistance from the wife of an Englishman who had a small business in Santiago. 

Pamelia Westbrook (née Hill) was pleased to have something to do that was not going to a café or overseeing her household (she’d always been quite autonomous until her husband had insisted they try something new and had moved them both to Madrid first, then to Santiago). She didn’t usually write out translations for Rosalía, but she was very good at summarizing paragraphs of prose or describing the poetic techniques being used in English by the Americans. She was quite educated, after all. 

Pamelia was patient, and in fact that patience was helping her Galician friend acquire more than a passing knowledge of English. Pamelia used both Galician and Spanish to convey the meanings, knowing that Rosalía’s first choice was the former language. On some occasions, French served to convey an image.

When asked about how she’d gotten her name, the Englishwoman replied that it was the name of a character in The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia, or simply the Arcadia. Few people outside of England knew the long prose pastoral romance written by Sir Philip Sidney in the latter years of the 16th century, although Shakespeare had found some inspiration in the work, so it must have had some merit for English speakers. The literary character was actually named Pamela, but Pamelia’s mother had wanted to be more original. Her daughter had finally taken to saying she was named after a character in a play that her mother had liked.

Rosalía didn’t need to seek out Pamelia’s help with understanding the contents of the unexpected package. It turned out to be a gift that would change her life. Inside the first wrapping were two more bundles, just as carefully prepared. She was holding her breath now, uncertain why she was doing it. The larger of the packages fell open and - incredibly! - contained an anthology of her poems. Not only that, it was a bilingual edition, nicely bound in blue leather with gilt lettering: Poems in Galician and English by Rosalía de Castro, Trusted Correspondent and Collaborator of Writers in the United States. 

There were five copies, each of about a hundred pages, or possibly more, with. The Galician on the left and the English translation on the right. Rosalía was familiar with most of the English translations, because a number of them had been sent previously, but several were new to her. There was also a simple but well-written and informative, preface by the American writers. The preface described how they had come into contact with a talented writer from Galicia, how she used two languages in her work, and how they thought her future as an author was certainly going to be successful. That they intended to continue their long-distance relationship with her was stated in the title. It was long, as many were back in the day, and it tended toward the personal with that “trusted,” but the idea might well have been to show solidarity with the once-timid writer and to see that their ties through writing continued to overcome the miles across the ocean. Ironically, Rosalía would write a poem with the line “se o mar tivera baranda, fórate ver ao Brasil” [if the sea had a railing, I go to Brazil to see you]. The poem had a different context, and she had constructed her own transatlantic crossing.

Standing in her small parlor, the recipient of the gift felt overwhelmed as she leafed through a volume that wasn’t very thick yet held the weight of a thousand dreams. All her prior insecurities dissipated. There was just one thing: a letter had been slipped inside the front cover. It requested that Rosalía send not only more of her writing but also names of other women in Galicia who were writing about things they were experiencing and learning. It was very interesting to have been able to read the Galician texts, the letter said. Perhaps, too, Rosalía might be able to see that some of their pamphlets were translated into Galician from English. 

Although Rosalía was already known for a few pieces she’d published, she was by no means seen yet as the initiator of the Rexurdimento, the Galician cultural renaissance. But the women from another place sensed this would happen, because they had been paying attention to the explanation of the language, almost absent from print for four centuries, the difficult existence of many of the people who worked like slaves in Castile to survive, and the others who had to go further away, without a railing to return to their loved ones.

Rosalía sat down at her desk and opened her journal, because what she felt, from joy to fear of not being able to accomplish what was asked of her, had to be expressed in some manner. 

Rosalía’s journal:

How can I possibly repay their generosity?

Who else is there around me? Who thinks like I do, who might want to write in our language like I do, but who might not have dared to try? We only know how to write what we hear. Isn’t that enough? Does Galician need a grammar in a book to be a real language? Are we so removed from the rest of the world that I’m the only person who reads and writes? Of course not!

As she was sitting there, trying to find answers to her questions, Rosalía suddenly thought of Padre Feijóo, author of a very important discurso about women. She thought she might bring up his name with friends over coffee or tea, maybe see if any of them wanted to pick up the thread she was offering.

Journal:

Padre Feijoo. Well, if he could list them, using materials from more than a hundred or two hundred years ago, surely I can find some like-minded women. I am certain the X library holds the Teatro Universal, so I can read it again.

Where do I look for literatas like me? (She kept asking, as if still not convinced.)

I will have to give up on an acting career, because this is a very big responsibility.

Fields - that’s one place I can find cantareiras [folk singers?]. I can write down the lyrics, find new ones or ones I heard as a little girl that I haven’t used yet to inspire my writing. Padrón, Bastavales, Os Anxeles, they aren’t so far away. And there’s the mercado. Those women know a lot of things, and not just about grelos and fish.

Rosalía wanted to write, and to find other writers like her, because it was a way to show Galicia to the world, traveling the ocean instead of going to the Spanish capital that barely knew a Galicia existed.

2.

Lavinia had received the journal as a gift from a friend who didn’t find it of any value and knew about her curiosity regarding personal libraries, old manuscripts, things like that. She didn’t immediately know how learning about Rosalía would affect her life as much as the package from America had affected Rosalía’s. She was still trying to improve her own ability in the language. Her training was in gender studies and library science, not so much in literary analysis, although she was trying. Her own self-doubt grew. She would focus on the journal, which was longer than she first had thought, because the handwriting was quite small, perhaps to conserve paper. At least Rosalía had not taken to writing on used envelopes, napkins, scraps of paper, like Emily Dickinson had.

3.

I am now involved. By this I mean I’m unable to leave Lavinia’s Rosalía alone. The same thing that happened to Lavinia is happening to me. I realize I have yet to present myself adequately, which might be the result of not knowing exactly what my role is. One thing you might want to know about me is that I am a devotee of the author Anthony Horowitz. Readers who know him might deduce that this story resembles his way of narrating. Readers who do not will not get what I mean at all. Nevertheless, if you want to see what I mean, try his Magpie Murders (2016). He is my idol, or one of them, as writers go. So is Rosalía.

It wasn’t my intention to digress and before going any further, I must take responsibility for subsequent translations, even if there are others in print. Sometimes I just have that need, almost like a moral obligation, to get the word out, share the wealth, educate, all those things. For now, though, I’m simply going to add my voice to the story of Rosalía, always respecting Lavinia’s own investigations and her analytical ability. There is no competition here. I’d happily serve as editor if things get to that point.

The big question is what will happen to Lavinia, given that she apparently is a fictional character, created by someone who has yet to claim her? Is there a limit to the narrators a story can have or is it the more the merrier?