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    Enchanted Air: Two Cultures, Two Wings: A Memoir
    Enchanted Air: Two Cultures, Two Wings: A Memoir
    Enchanted Air: Two Cultures, Two Wings: A Memoir
    Ebook202 pages1 hour

    Enchanted Air: Two Cultures, Two Wings: A Memoir

    By Margarita Engle and Edel Rodriguez

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    In this poetic memoir, which won the Pura Belpré Author Award, was a YALSA Nonfiction Finalist, and was named a Walter Dean Myers Award Honoree, acclaimed author Margarita Engle tells of growing up as a child of two cultures during the Cold War.

    Margarita is a girl from two worlds. Her heart lies in Cuba, her mother’s tropical island country, a place so lush with vibrant life that it seems like a fairy tale kingdom. But most of the time she lives in Los Angeles, lonely in the noisy city and dreaming of the summers when she can take a plane through the enchanted air to her beloved island. Words and images are her constant companions, friendly and comforting when the children at school are not.

    Then a revolution breaks out in Cuba. Margarita fears for her far-away family. When the hostility between Cuba and the United States erupts at the Bay of Pigs Invasion, Margarita’s worlds collide in the worst way possible. How can the two countries she loves hate each other so much? And will she ever get to visit her beautiful island again?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAtheneum Books for Young Readers
    Release dateAug 4, 2015
    ISBN9781481435246
    Enchanted Air: Two Cultures, Two Wings: A Memoir
    Author

    Margarita Engle

    Margarita Engle is the Cuban American author of many books including the verse novels Rima’s Rebellion; Your Heart, My Sky; With a Star in My Hand; The Surrender Tree, a Newbery Honor winner; and The Lightning Dreamer. Her verse memoirs include Soaring Earth and Enchanted Air, which received the Pura Belpré Award, a Walter Dean Myers Award Honor, and was a finalist for the YALSA Award for Excellence in Nonfiction, among others. Her picture books include Drum Dream Girl, Dancing Hands, and The Flying Girl. Visit her at MargaritaEngle.com.

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      Book preview

      Enchanted Air - Margarita Engle

      Love at First Sight

      VALENTINE’S DAY, 1947

      FOUR YEARS BEFORE I EXISTED

      When my parents met, it was love at first sight. They were standing on the terrace of an art school in an elegant palace now known as the Museo Romántico, the Romantic Museum. They were breathing the enchanted air of Trinidad de Cuba, my mother’s hometown. My American father was a visiting artist who had traveled to Trinidad after seeing National Geographic magazine photographs of the colonial plaza, where horsemen still galloped along cobblestone streets, beneath soaring church bell towers, against a backdrop of wild green mountains. My mother was a local art student, ready to fall in love.

      Since they could not speak the same language, my parents communicated by passing drawings back and forth, like children in the back of a classroom. Their meetings were chaperoned, their conversations mimed—sketches, signs, and gestures had to substitute for words.

      He asked her to marry him. Her hands said no. He asked again. Her eyes refused. He packed his suitcase. She rushed to explain, using fingers and facial expressions, that in her old-fashioned town, the rules of romance had been established centuries earlier, at a time when brides were not supposed to seem eager. A marriage proposal must be repeated three times. Saying yes after only two repetitions was my mother’s first act of courage.

      Magical Travels

      1951–1959

      FLIGHT

      The first time my parents

      take me soaring through magical sky

      to meet my mother’s family in Cuba,

      I am so little that I can hardly speak

      to my island relatives—

      my abuelita, my old grandma,

      who still loves to dance,

      and her ancient mamá, my great-grandma,

      who still loves to garden, working

      just as hard as any strong

      young man.

      Already, this island is beginning to seem

      like a fairy-tale kingdom,

      where ordinary people

      do impossible

      things.

      VOICE

      Everywhere we go in Cuba,

      I hear caged songbirds

      and wild parrots.

      Somehow, the feathery voices

      help me make my decision to sing

      instead of speak, and even though

      I sing in a voice more froglike

      than winged,

      I do dare to sing,

      and that is what matters

      on this island

      of bravely dancing,

      hardworking

      old folks.

      MORE LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

      I fall in love with the farm

      where my abuelita

      and her ancient mother

      were born.

      My dazzled eyes absorb

      the lush beauty of a land so wild

      and green that the rippling river

      on my great-uncle’s farm

      shimmers like a hummingbird,

      all the dangerous crocodiles

      and gentle manatees

      deeply hidden beneath

      quiet waters.

      Surely there must be mermaids here,

      and talking animals,

      the pale, humpbacked Zebu cows

      and graceful horses

      that roam

      peaceful hillsides,

      moving as mysteriously

      as floating clouds

      in the stormy

      tropical sky.

      LEARNING MANY MEANINGS

      The memories that I carry away

      from those first visits to the island

      are restful.

      Cool ceramic floor tiles on a hot day,

      and an open-air kitchen with roll-up walls

      that are only needed during hurricanes—

      when the weather is fine, moths and birds

      fly in and out of the house, drifting freely

      toward fruit trees in the patio, passing

      the old women in rocking chairs,

      who fan their faces, welcoming

      the sea breeze.

      Old women love fresh air, but they are also

      afraid of aires, a word that can be a whoosh

      of refreshing sky-breath, or it can mean

      dangerous

      spirits.

      NO PLACE ON THE MAP

      After those first soaring summers,

      each time we fly back to our everyday

      lives in California, one of my two selves

      is left behind: the girl I would be

      if we lived on Mami’s island

      instead of Dad’s continent.

      On maps, Cuba is crocodile-shaped,

      but when I look at a flat paper outline,

      I cannot see the beautiful farm

      on that crocodile’s belly.

      I can’t find the palm trees,

      or bright coral beaches

      where flying fish leap,

      gleaming

      like rainbows.

      Sometimes, I feel

      like a rolling wave of the sea,

      a wave that can only belong

      in between

      the two solid shores.

      Sometimes, I feel

      like a bridge,

      or a storm.

      THE DANCING PLANTS OF CUBA

      In California, all the trees and shrubs

      stand still, but on the island, coconut palms

      and angel’s trumpet flowers

      love to move around,

      dancing.

      Fronds and petals wave

      in wild wind.

      Climbing orchids dangle

      from high branches.

      The delicate leaflets

      of sensitive mimosa plants

      coil and curl, folding up

      like

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