Columbus And The Missing Gravestone

Six long weeks have elapsed since Papa passed away, and once more I have returned to Tenerife, my childhood Island home to oversee the inevitable mountain of paperwork that comes when a family member leaves for The Other Side (see post  Share The Sorrow and Goodbye Mercedes Man). As well as this, I also want to see how Mama is bearing up without the presence of her beloved soul mate, Papa. Mama is most fortunate to have her English grand-daughter living with her and providing much needed company after the void left by Papa’s passing. Zara is indeed blessed with the beauty that the Spaniards so admire, but the part I value most is the inner variety, and she possesses this in plentiful abundance. Outer beauty is transient and with the passing of the years will wither and fade, the inner sort however never leaves your side and is with you to the end of time. When the reality of Mama's loss hits and the valley of tears return as if from nowhere, she need not bear it alone, she has this gentle and noble grandchild by her side to help her swim through the river of pain. And I see this inner beauty in action, as I observe them from a short distance away, harmoniously interacting with one another in the kitchen of Mama's apartment, one speaking English, the other Spanish. Both intertwined with the link to Papa. 

Today is a day with no pressing responsibilities, so Mama, Zara and I decide to visit Papa’s grave at the cemetery high in the mountains overlooking our village of San Juan. I am seated in Mama's lounge and Zara has now come in from the kitchen and joined me. I tell her that I am looking forward to seeing the gravestone that Sis and I selected for her grandfather's grave a few days after the funeral (see post Goodbye Mercedes Man) and in doing so allowed Mama to grieve undisturbed. From the kitchen, Mama overhears our conversation and interrupts to inform me that there will be no headstone to admire as it has still not yet been put in place and she is feeling rather cross about this delay: Papa passed away on the 17^th October and the gravestone was promised for All Saints Day on 1^st November, yet she tells me that she has visited the cemetery twice since All Saints Day and there is no sign of any gravestone, anywhere and Zara confirms this. No headstone. Can I please call the funeral office and follow it up, Mama asks so I do exactly that. 
  

‘Madam’, the professional sounding man at the other end of the line tells me, ‘the headstone was put in place on 31^st October in time for All Saints Day as agreed. Respectfully, ask your Mother to look again’, and he proceeds to give me the precise coordinates of Papa’s grave, level two, grave number four-hundred-and-seventy-one. ‘How can this be possible?’, Mama tells me. ‘Zara, her father and I were there just two weeks ago, laying flowers and I can vouch one hundred percent that there was no gravestone. Have they put it on the wrong grave?’  Mama asks with a look of horror. ‘Have you perhaps visited the wrong grave?’ I reply. ‘Impossible!’ Mama shoots back with a look that could wither the freshest of daisies. ‘I do not get my husband’s grave wrong!’  Prudently, I choose not to elaborate on the subject any further. 

Uncle Fernando is coming by inside the hour to drive us to the cemetery, so we had better hurry, Mama informs us. Somehow, she still finds the time to review the outfits Zara and I are wearing and pass her expert opinion accordingly; Zara is wearing micro shorts, which as far as Mama is concerned are so disgracefully short that when she bends over, Mama does not know where to look for shame. My outfit on the other hand receives the opposite review; 'Get rid of those dowdy, long shorts!', she urges me. She is referring to my stylish capri trousers. 'For goodness sake, you are divorced and newly-single, still young-looking and have fabulous legs. Show them off while you still can, and get yourself a pair of tiny shorts just like the other women on the Island!' This is too much for Zara, who exasperated by what she has heard, interrupts Mama mid-flow and throws her hands up in the air and then turns to me laying out her take on the matter: 

'This whole conversation is a complete farce! I am eighteen-years-old and Nanny wants me to wear shorts down to my knees, whereas you, my middle-aged Aunt,' by now she is pointing an accusatory finger at me, 'cannot be found shorts that are skimpy enough! It's completely unfair'. This heated outburst is soon concluded, but not before the entire topic has been duly summarised in a most astute manner; 'Nanny is basically saying that my shorts are too short, and that yours aren't short enough!' And we cannot both but see the comical side to Mama's way of thinking. Mama's opinion on the matter will not budge.

Uncle Fernando arrives and the four of us begin the drive up to the mountain cemetery. Zara is still wearing her micro shorts and I am in my beloved capri trouser. We have both chosen to ignore Mama's fashion pleas. Fernando is Mama's older brother and they are both in their seventies, but sat next to one another in the front of his own Toyota SUV 'Tank' ( see post Tanks And Treasures),  they are talking boisterously over one another and squabbling like the children they once were on the neighbouring island of La Gomera. For Mama and her family are not from my Island, I am the first generation of Sanz to be born in Tenerife and claim it as mine. Zara and I smile as we silently observe Mama and her brother from the comfort of the back seat. Fernando has been paralysed from the waist down for the past twenty-five years after colliding into an oncoming car with his motor bike, and we have nothing but admiration for the tenacity of this man who will not let his disability stop him from living life. The vehicle is specially adapted for him with all the controls on the steering wheel so that he can easily access them. On my numerous return visits to the Island, he gladly acts as driver.Tio Fernando, as we call him feels immensely useful chauffeuring us ladies around the Island and we women are grateful to him for his kindness.     

I start to feel nauseous from the numerous bends along the winding mountain roads, so ask Mama to swop places with me. She come to sit in the back with Zara, whilst I slip into the front seat with Uncle Fernando. I was not wholly truthful, when I said that on my visits to the Island, Uncle Fernando acts as our driver. He actually covers very three important roles; as well as chauffeur, he is also local historian and poet, endowed with a mind bursting at the seams with priceless stories, general knowledge, poems, historical facts, and whatever else one can imagine. And while the girls amuse themselves in the back seat, we happily spend the remainder of the drive sharing our treasure trove of historical knowledge with one another and the winding road with its nauseating curves are temporarily forgotten; 


The conquest of the Canary Islands by the Spaniards between the years 1402-1496; Our own indigenous, pre-colonial Guanche history, stretching back centuries before the arrival of the Spanish Conquistadores; The naval battle fought by the English Admiral Nelson against the Spanish fleet in July 1797 off the coast of Tenerife at Santa Cruz harbour and known as The Battle of Santa Cruz. The Spaniards won and Nelson lost famously lost his arm. Spain one, England nil; Christopher Columbus and his historical voyage of discovery to the New World. On 6th September 1492, Columbus set sail on the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria vessels from Mama and Uncle Fernando's own island, La Gomera, still known to this day as 'The Colombine Island'. In the capital city of San Sebastian, it is still possible to visit the home where Columbus stayed during his time on the Island, the location of the church at which he prayed for safe deliverance, as well as the well that he drew water from for ships' provisions and to consecrate any new lands he might stumble on. And stumble he did, on soil eventually christened, 'America'. 

One singular fact puzzles me amongst all these gems of historical facts that we have just shared; why did Columbus choose La Gomera to stop off on his voyage of discovery? Why not another Island, a bigger one such as Tenerife? Fernando will surely know, he seems to know pretty much everything else. Well, for a start, the conquest of the Canary Islands by the Spaniards had not yet been completed by the time Columbus set sail on his historic voyage of 1492. It would still take another four years before the Guanche Kingdom of Chineche or Tenerife, would bow down before the Conquistadores as the last of the Canary Islands to submit to Spanish rule. Plus of course, there was also the little matter of a certain Lady named Beatriz. ' Beatriz who?' I ask. 



'Beatriz de Bobadilla!' Fernando divulges with one impacting phrase and proceeds to momentarily take his sight off the road ahead, gently turns towards me and sighs with the imperceptible exasperation of a teacher faced with a pupil who has clearly not paid attention to classes. And once again, I am converted into an errant seven-year old school girl. 'My dear child, did you learn nothing at your fancy school in England?'  'I learned lots', I reply, 'but I have never heard of anybody called 'Beatriz'. Who was she? And what did she have to do with Columbus?' I ask. But Fernando cannot answer me, for we have now reached the cemetery in Guia de Isora and our important mission of searching for The Missing Gravestone supercedes the mystery of, 'Who was Beatriz?' She will just have to wait until later.

 To be continued....

Next post 16th June :  Gravestone Mystery Resolved

Note: All written content is the intellectual property of this Author. Image material is drawn largely from Pixabay with some small additions from private family archives.