CUBAN MODELS.
Tropical Birds--The Cocos--La Grulla--Vultures--Street
Criers--Water Carriers.
My companion has a weakness for bird-painting, and it pleases him to
have the living originals on the premises. Therefore does our spacious
court-yard contain a goodly collection of the feathered tribe, with one
or two animals without feathers. A large wirework aviary is filled with
fifty specimens of tropical birds with pretty plumage and names hard to
pronounce. A couple of cocos--a species of stork, with clipped
wings--run freely about the yard, in company with a wild owl and a
grulla, a tall crane-like bird five feet high. In a tank of water are a
pair of young caymanes, or crocodiles. These interesting creatures are
still in their infancy, and at present measure only four feet six inches
from the tips of their hard noses to the points of their flexible tails.
We have done our best to tame them; but they have not yet fallen into
our domestic ways. Nor does time improve their vicious natures, for at
the tender age of six months they have already shown signs of
insubordination. If they persist in their evil courses we must needs
make a premature end of them, which is no easy matter, for their scaly
hides are already tough as leather, and the only indefensible parts
about them are their small eyes and open mouths.
The Cocos, male and female, are meagre-bodied birds, with slender legs,
and beaks twelve inches long. They are an inseparable couple, and wander
about our patio and rooms in a restless nervous fashion, rattling their
chop-stick noses into everything. Now they are diving into the mould of
flower-pots for live food, which they will never swallow till it has
been previously slain. One of them has espied a cockroach in a corner,
and in darting towards the prey a scorpion crosses its path. The
venomous reptile hugs the belligerent beak in the hope of conveying to
it some of its deadly sting; but the tip of Coco's horny appendage is a
long way from his tender points, and Scorpio must travel many an inch
before he can make the desired impression. Meanwhile the stork has
teased Scorpio's life out, and jerked his remains into that bourn whence
no defunct reptile returns. Our Coco's chief delight is to play with our
painting materials, where much amusement may be derived by upsetting a
bottle of varnish, or by distributing our long brushes in various parts
of the room.
A fund of entertainment is found in the displacement of every object not
too weighty for Coco to convey. Thus, when a wineglass or a small coffee
cup is missing, it will be discovered in the most unlikely spot, such as
the balcony, on the roof, or maybe in our neighbour's dusthole. By
Coco's sleight of _beak_, slippers part company and invite us to hunt
for them, as if we were playing a certain old-fashioned game. As for the
spoons, knives, and forks--they are disseminated everywhere like seeds
in a ploughed field.
Has anyone seen my inkstand?
Yes; it has caught Coco's eye, and it has consequently been caught up by
his chop-stick beak. With the agility of a sprite, he had hopped upon my
open writing-desk, and having duly overhauled the contents and carefully
transplanted each particular sheet of paper, envelope, pen and pencil,
he devotes his attention to the ink; half of which he must surely have
imbibed, for his beak remains parti-coloured for many days, and the
inkstand, which I discover on the first fine 'retreta,' reposing within
my best beaver hat, is perfectly empty!
To their credit, be it said, the two Cocos--male and female--never for
an instant part company. Where one trips, there trips the other. If
Senor Coco starts off on any important enterprise, his Senora gives a
croak expressive of her readiness to follow, and is after him like his
own shadow. Similarly, when la Senora Coco dives into the depths of an
old boot in quest of emptiness, her lord assists at the investigation.
Once only, my Lady Coco is missing; having wandered from the house, and
lost herself in an adjacent field. Until her reappearance, Lord Coco is
inconsolable. The pastimes of the studio and the patio have no
attractions for the bereaved bird. He fasts during the day, and croaks
dismally at night. But when the prodigal at last returns, Lord Coco is
quite another bird, and in a moment of rapture he secretes our last tube
of flake white in the water-jug!
The majestic Grulla is a better behaved bird. There is a dignity about
her walk, and a formality about her ways, which are examples to her
feathered companions. At night she is as serviceable as the best
watch-dog, warning all trespassers by her piercing shriek, and by a
furious dash at them with her strong neck and sharp-pointed beak. Grulla
abominates all new-comers, and it was long before she was reconciled to
the presence of her crocodile companions. When first their objectionable
society was thrust upon the huge bird, she became nearly beside herself
with vexation, and made savage onslaughts on the invaders' impenetrable
hides. Once Grulla was in imminent danger of losing her neck whilst
taking a blind header at the enemy's beady eye; for in a moment the
reptile opened his yard of jaw for the easy accommodation of the bird's
three feet of throat. My lady's behaviour at table leaves nothing to be
desired. At the dinner hour she strides into our apartment without
bidding, and takes her allotted place. The bird's two feet six inches of
legs serve her instead of a chair, and her swan-like neck enables her to
take a bird's-eye view of the most distant dish. But she never ventures
to help herself to anything till the meal is actually placed on the
plate before her; nor does she bolt her food like a beast, but disposes
of it gracefully, like the best educated biped. Jerking the article for
consumption neatly into her beak, and raising her head high in the air,
she waits till the comestible has gravitated naturally down her throat.
The Grulla's favourite dishes are sweet bananas, boiled pumpkin, and the
crumb of new bread; but she is also partial to fresh raw beefsteak
whenever she can get it.
Everybody has his likes and his dislikes. Some people cannot abide a
pig, and Grulla's antipathy is a big Aura.
An Aura is a vulture which sails gracefully over every Cuban town in
quest of prey. The Aura is an invaluable bird in the tropics; the dead
carcases of animals being by its means cleared away in a few hours. Its
services are, in this respect, rated at so high a value that it is
considered an illicit act to slay one of these useful scavengers of the
air, and a heavy fine is imposed on the slayer.
Grulla, however, does not appreciate Aura's virtues; but whenever one of
these vultures is visible from the patio, she shrieks like a maniac,
flaps her large wings angrily, and turns wild pirouettes in the yard.
Besides our bird-models, the street criers, who pass our doors at all
hours, are occasionally induced to lend their services to the cause of
art.
Early in the morning la Lechera goes her rounds, with a large can of
milk miraculously poised upon her head. The black milkmaid is attired in
a single garment of cotton or coarse canvas; her feet and ankles are
exposed, and her head is bound with a coloured handkerchief like a
turban. We purchase daily of the Lechera a medio's worth of milk, but
she grins incredulously, when one day we invite her to enter our studio.
She is a slave belonging to the proprietor of a neighbouring farm, and
what would 'mi-amo,' her master, say, or more probably 'do,' if he heard
that his serf employed her time by sitting for her 'paisaje?'
The Almidonero next favours us with a 'call.' This gentleman traffics in
starch, an article in great demand, being employed for stiffening a
Cuban's white drill clothes. The vendor of starch is a Chinese by
birth, and, like other Celestials residing in Cuba, answers to the
nickname of Chow-chow, from a popular theory that the word (which in the
Chinese language stands for 'provisions') expresses everything in a
Chinaman's vocabulary.
Chow-chow carries upon his head a wooden tray, containing a number of
circular pats of starch, of the consistency and appearance of unbaked
loaves.
The Panadero, or baker's man, visits us twice a day. In the cool of the
early morning the little man--an Indian by birth--is extraordinarily
active and full of his business, but during the heat of mid-day, when
his visit is repeated, time to him seems of no importance. Our Indian
baker is usually discovered sleeping a siesta on our broad balcony, and
by his side lies a flat circular bread-basket as large as the wheel of a
quitrin. Despite the scorching sun, he remains in this position hatless
and bare-footed.
La Cascarillera frequently passes our door with her double cry of 'Las
Cosi-tas!'--'La Cascar-il-la!' The negress offers for sale a kind of
chalk with which the ladies of Cuba are in the habit of powdering their
faces and necks. She also sells what she calls 'cositas francesas,'
which consist of cakes and tarts prepared by the French creoles of Cuba.
Many of the less opulent Madamas of the town employ their time by making
French pastry, which their slaves afterwards dispose of in the public
streets.
The Dulcera deals in 'dulces,' and her cry of 'Dulce de guayaba! Dulce
de almiba!' proclaims that her tray contains various kinds of West
Indian preserves. The Dulcera is also a slave, and consequently derives
no pecuniary benefit from the sale of her sweets, unless, by
pre-arrangement with her owner, a share in the profits has been
allowed.
El Malojero is a dark young gentleman who perambulates the town on the
back of a mule--or more correctly on the summit of a small mountain of
long, freshly-gathered grass. This grass, or 'maloja' as it is called,
together with maize, constitute a Creole horse's fodder, and being
packed in bundles on all sides of the beast of burthen, only the head
and hoofs of the animal are visible; while el Malojero, perched several
feet above its back, completes the moving picture.
La Aguadora is perhaps the most attractive of all peripatetics of the
pavement. It is she who provides the inhabitants with the indispensable
fluid--water. The water supply of Cuba is derived from wells attached to
certain houses; but those who, like ourselves, have not this convenience
on the premises, have water brought to them from the nearest pump or
spring. More than one Aguadora is employed to replenish our empty
vessels, and, like all popular characters in Cuba, each is favoured with
a distinguishing nickname. One of our water-carriers answers to the
pseudonym Cachon, another is called Tatagueita, a third Mapi, while a
fourth is dubbed with the imposing title of Regina. In turn, these
mulatto wenches arrive from the public font with small barrels and
strangely-fashioned water-jars, and deposit their contents in our
reservoir and in our 'tina.'
A tina is a filter on a gigantic scale. The exterior resembles a sentry
box, and is furnished on all sides with ventilating apertures through
which a current of air passes. At the top of the box or cupboard is
fixed a huge basin made of a porous stone, through which the water
slowly drips, and is received thus filtered in an enormous earthen jar.
A tin pot with a very long handle serves to ladle out the filtered
liquid, and the rim of this vessel is fringed with sharp projections
like a chevaux de frise, as a caution to the thirsty not to apply their
lips to the ladle!
Our nymphs of the pump are more serviceable as models than any of their
sister itinerants. They have symmetrical forms, which are partially
revealed through the scantiness of their clothing. Their coffee-coloured
features are, besides, regular and not devoid of expression.
My companion becomes artistically captivated with Regina, who serves as
a model for an important picture, which Nicasio paints, but
unfortunately does not sell, in Cuba!
Mapi, a mulatto girl of tender years, is equally serviceable, and plays
many parts on canvas; while Cachon and Tatagueita, who are older and less
comely, impersonate characters becoming their condition.
But alas for art patronage in Cuba! these and other fanciful productions
do not meet with a purchaser in the Pearl of the Antilles.