Irene Armenta DesGeorges
Inocencia is a thick, luscious, juicy slice of life story. It will speak to anyone who has been forced to leave his or her country in search of a better life. It will resonate with anyone who has experienced a broken heart due to oppression, isolation, discrimination, injustice, poverty or desperation. It is a MUST read for the young, hungry adolescent looking to make his or her dreams come true. It will heal the wounds of those who have defied insurmountable challenges, while delivering a powerful message of hope, faith, and an invincible courage to conquer and survive.
The book has received high praise and support from the Hispanic community. INOCENCIA’S literary merit has been acknowledged by:
THE LATINO LITERARY HALL OF FAME, 2003
First Place: BEST SPANISH FICTION
Premio Mariposa - Second Place: Best First Book by an Author.
The Omen
The day Inocencia arrived in this world, the banks of the riverbeds overflowed, plantations flooded and torrential rains fell incessantly for hours, sweeping away everything in their path and causing untold damage to the hacienda of don Rodrigo.
In the midst of this deluge, the harrowing screams of a woman—at the peak of labor and about to give birth—escaped from an abandoned shack in a corner of the enormous hacienda, southwest of Mexico City. The echo of her cries mingled with the explosions of thunderbolts and flashes of lightning.
The shack reflected the sheer poverty of its inhabitants. In a dark room lit by gas lamps, a young Indian woman tossed in her old, yellowed sheets, moaning and howling in pain.
After several hours of the pains of labor, Esperanza was driven to madness. She clutched pieces of sheets, thrust them into her mouth and bit them with desperation, attempting to alleviate the stabbing pains she felt running through her hips, thighs, buttocks and vagina. Esperanza’s imagination ran wild with a vision of her legs being pulled apart with such force that would end up tearing her in half. She thought she would die before giving birth. She had never imagined that the sublime act of making love would result in such agony.
Standing at the foot of the bed, paralyzed with terror, was Eusebio, the father of the child about to enter this world. He and Benigna—an ancient midwife with strong hands and abundant breasts and thighs—tried without success to calm the expectant mother. It was impossible. Esperanza, normally so calm and in control, was completely beside herself with the pains of labor. Between panting breaths and bathed in sweat, the woman gave out one last shriek of pain that shook the old walls of the shack, as a bolt of lightning lit the entire room. It was at that moment that the top of the baby's head appeared, followed by the rest of the tiny body—covered by a reddish, slimy, hot film—and thrust violently out of the Indian's womb. It was a girl.
The expert midwife gathered the baby into her arms and placed her on Esperanza's bosom. The screams of pain quickly turned to abundant weeping, prayerful and joyous. Eusebio embraced them mother and child, kissing his wife on the mouth while softly touching the child's small head.
"Íjole Negra,” he exclaimed. “Such a little thing and how it made you scream, Negra, and how it scared the Jesus out of me. Look at her, she is just like a doll made out of chocolate."
After a few minutes had passed, the midwife—with scissors disinfected in alcohol—severed the umbilical cord in a sharp, blunt cut. She took the infant and submerged her into a small bowl of warm water, bathing her and then wrapping her in an old but clean blanket and placing her in the anxiously waiting arms of Esperanza. The child's crying filled all the corners of the poor house with unrestrained joy. The mother, as if by mere instinct, took out her heavy breast bursting with milk and tenderly introduced her nipple full of the precious life-giving liquid into the little mouth of the baby. The child took hold and began to suck, hungrily, almost without stopping for breath. The young woman felt a slight pain run through her body, which gradually turned into a feeling of pure, sweet satisfaction.
While she was feeding her baby, Esperanza studied her from head to toe. One by one, she counted the tiny fingers and toes, placing them in her mouth and kissing them, laughing and crying with elation at the same time. She touched the little body and felt it soft and warm. The child was whole, healthy and perfect. Esperanza thanked heaven and, feeling the slight tugs of milk which the child pulled almost desperately from her breast, was fighting to stay awake. Her eyes, tired from so many hours of fatigue, induced her to sleep. Struggling against exhaustion, she turned her face to Eusebio.
“Negro, what day is it?” she asked.
“I'm not sure. Yesterday, when you started labor, it was Monday. I think its Tuesday. I heard someone say that it was Holy Innocents Day.”
“Mmmm. Well, if that's true, we will name our little Negrita… Inocencia. Do you like the sound of it?”
“¿Inocencia? Let me think. Inocencia, no está mal.”
“Well, there it is,” she managed to say before falling into a deep sleep.
Once the child stopped suckling, Eusebio took her in his arms and, with infinite tenderness, clasped her against his chest. He wept silently. “A miracle!” he exclaimed. “As God is my witness, this child is a miracle.”
While Esperanza slept, Benigna bathed the mother’s exhausted body, which lay motionless, completely oblivious to everything happening around her.
The storm gave way, gradually, giving way to the blinding brightness of a majestic sunrise. From inside the dark room, one could see the golden glow of dawn welcoming the first and most important day in the life of the newborn child.
When her task was over, the midwife stepped out of the shack. Looking straight up to the skies, she saw a glorious rainbow of bright and living colors crowning the horizon. She turned to Eusebio and solemnly said, “This rainbow is an omen. Something of major significance will happen during your daughter’s lifetime. There is no doubt about that. Look well after her and love her with all your heart because your wife will bear no more children. Her womb has become cold.”
The Indian shivered and looked straight at Benigna, not knowing what to say. The old woman inhaled deeply the dawn’s fresh air, walking slowly and fading away into the distance, through the narrow muddy path which led her out of the hacienda and towards her home.
