Augusta’s ring

I can imagine the radiance in Carlos’ face on the day he bought the engagement ring for Augusta.

A young man of 25 years, Carlos had met Augusta only a few months earlier. She had just turned 24. They had met at the office where they both worked and they immediately felt attracted to each other.

The ring, made of platinum on the outside and gold inside, was covered with tiny sparkling simulated diamonds. He had the date of their engagement engraved inside: May 5, 1934. He paid 8 pesos for it at a jewelry shop in Havana. A fortune for him, considering his salary was 95 pesos a month. They were married a few months later, and the ring became her wedding ring.

The silver ring witnessed the birth of their first two sons, Carlos Alberto, born eleven months later and Francisco Javier, born in 1939.

Augusta had obtained her kindergarten teacher certificate before meeting Carlos, but the governing party had changed and the new government had declared invalid all the diplomas earned the year Augusta had completed her training. In 1936 Carlos took a job at Minas de Matahambre, a copper mine in Cuba’s easternmost province. Augusta stayed behind in Havana to complete a three-month-course that would revalidate her teaching certificate.  The thin ring remained on her finger, a symbol of the love that endured across the miles that separated them.

Five months after Francisco Javier was born, Augusta was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Two long hospital stays separated Augusta and Carlos again. During her confinement at the “Sanatorio la Esperanza,” a sanatorium in the outskirts of Havana, Augusta met many other married women whose husbands had abandoned them because of their seclusion in the hospital. She then realized the depth and the strength of Carlos’ commitment to her. I can imagine her looking at the ring on her finger during those lonely days. I can imagine a smile forming on her face as the ring reminded her of the love it signified.

After several years of struggling with the disease and trying all available remedies for it, Augusta was finally cured. Shortly after that, Carlos became ill with pneumonia. An adverse reaction to an injection that was part of the treatment to cure him, brought him close to death.  In fact, his brother and father, both doctors, declared him dead. A third doctor, a neighbor and friend of the family, realized that he was not dead and ordered that he be given intravenous feeding since he was dehydrating rapidly. Augusta and other relatives sat by his bed day and night to make sure that the I.V. was flowing properly. I can imagine her clutching to the ring on her finger throughout that long watch. Carlos recovered and eventually healed completely.

The ring was present at the birth of a third son, Alejandro, in 1945, and two years later, my own.  “This one is different,” said the nurse that had assisted at the birth of their three sons, as she announced the gender of their fourth and last child.

When I was a little girl my Mom was a Kindergarten teacher and also a student at the University of Havana completing her degree in Education. Sometimes she took me with her to her classes. I remember seeing the silver ring as she clutched on to me to make sure I would not fall as we went up the eighty eight step stairway at the main entrance of the University.

I had just celebrated my eleventh birthday when Fidel Castro made his triumphant entry into Havana on January of 1959. As I have written before, my family celebrated what seemed to be a victory for freedom, justice and democracy. I celebrated with them and so did my mother. Her ring, glittering in her sun bathed hand, cheered Castro’s triumph.

The months and years that followed brought one disappointment after another. Not only did the Revolution not fulfill its promise. It brought in a reign of terror. In 1961 my Mom and Dad had to make the most difficult decision of sending their two minor children away and of encouraging their two adult children to leave the country.  They harbored the hope that the Castro regime would come to an end. When that hope was shattered they decided to emigrate. Three years later the regime allowed them to leave.

My Mom did not include any valuables in her suitcase when she packed for her trip.  She returned to her Mom, my grandmother Antonia, a cherished gold watch she had given her as a gift. She was sure the custom agents at the Rancho Boyeros Airport in Havana would take it away.  She kept her silver ring on her finger, hoping the custom agents would let her take it. As she went through customs an officer saw her silver ring and asked her to take it off and give it to him. “You will get it back when you return in 29 days,” he said.

My Mom knew she was not going to return. After we reunited in the United States she spoke to me repeatedly of the sadness she felt as she surrendered the silver ring.  “The ring was worth very little,” she said. “The memories it held for me made it irreplaceable.” The ring had been her constant companion throughout the joys and the griefs she had shared with my father in their years of marriage. It had witnessed births. It had survived illnesses, involuntary separations, and political upheavals.  It did not survive Castro’s revolution.

Shortly after their arrival in Miami my parents celebrated their 30^th wedding anniversary. They celebrated many more anniversaries with family, extended family and friends. In their old age, when they were frail, their health failing and their hair had turned as white as the gown and suit they had worn on their wedding day, we marked their anniversaries by visiting them at their home in Miami.

On May 23  of 1999, after my Dad had been feeling ill for over a week,  I drove to their house to pick him up to take him to the hospital. As we were leaving out the door he stopped and turned around. “I have to say good bye to Augusta,” he said. She was sitting on a chair in the living room. He approached her and gave her a kiss. We left.  My Dad died at the hospital 6 days later.  They would have celebrated 65 years of marriage on August 26 of that year.

Although the silver ring Carlos had given to Augusta 65 years before had not survived the Revolution, the love the ring symbolized endured until death made them part.  Their love won. I feel deeply grateful for that. 

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This was published originally as “Anillo de Compromiso (Engagement Ring)” in La Voz Católica in November of 1989.  This is a revised and updated version.