Candelaria
Legacy Name: Candelaria

Have you ever seen a flamenco dancer?

The impassioned steps of the dance, the wild movement of the skirts and the clap of the castañuelas turns the dancer into a living flame, unpredictable in its heavy steps, untouchable beauty. The dancer inspires a wide range of feelings, and yet she retains the chastity of the fire.

Perhaps this is what enchanted little Candelaria, on the warm nights of her childhood when her mother taught her the first of the sharp steps of the dance.

Miserere, miserere

The daughter of a lovely gitana with green eyes that seemed spilling with the soul behind them and her valiant admirer, who'd decided that giving up his father's grand hacienda, where he'd grown up, was well worth when compared to giving up the light of her eyes, Candelaria was so tightly enveloped in love from the second she'd arrived in the world, she believed it was as tangible as her worn red shawl when it sat around her shoulders.

Even when there was little food on the table, and her mother's wondrous eyes filled with tears as the last of the coins vanished from the beaten up lead coffer, their smiles were soon to return, and a single hug from her father seemed to dispel the hunger pains instantly.

This was their greatest treasure, perhaps: the love that kept them so close to each other, even when the nights were long and filled with anguish about the future, and the kitchen cupboard was bereft even of ants to nibble on the last traces of sugar. When the days were clear, they headed out to the seashore, until night tinged the water black. It was then that they lit a fire to dance by, hand in hand, until sleep overtook little Candelaria, who fell asleep wrapped in her mother's hole-filled shawl, and only her parents remained standing, holding each other close as the sky went from black to grey to blue.

And yet fortune, often so cruel and harsh on these fragile moments of hope, for once acted with compassion, and the reluctant grandfather's heart softened just enough to extend a hand to help his ailing children and grandchild, when his old age began looming over his head like a vulture.

Magnum Bonum

And so it came to be that while the memories of hunger and tears and love remained in the back of their minds as poignantly beautiful as ever, there came days of full bread baskets (several of them) and blankets with no holes, and suddenly they had a huge house, with a fountain and a white archway over which bougainvilleas grew thick.

In her young mind, Candelaria innocently mourned the loss of their days of simplicity. Her tears were quiet, never falling when her mother attempted to serve breakfast around the maids (all walking with lowered eyes to avoid those of the gitana), or when her father took her wandering through the grapevines, supervising the harvest.

However, the lovely older wolf was sharp to identify the morose droop of her daughter's jaw, and quietly took out the castañuelas she hid wrapped in a brightly colored headband. After dinner, when they moved to the wide room where they spent the evenings, her mother held her paw lovingly, her castañuelas snapping together with the paw she had free, and wove her into the dance.

It was as if by magic that the rest of the night played out. The castañuelas snapped together, and if she listened hard enough, she became convinced that it was the same rhythm that drummed behind the walls of her heart. She found the intricate pattern of flamenco hidden somewhere in the thin layer of dust that had collected on the floors, and even the surly cook, who never took kindly to the cub's excursions into the pantry, raced out to watch.

Night after night the scene repeated itself, nights turning to weeks to seasons. Candelaria grew more agile and graceful, amidst the love of her family, until one day she looked into the mirror to see a young, beautiful wolf, dressed in the slim, layered skirts and long tails of the flamenco dress, following the sound of her castañuelas, her father's strong voice, and the claps from the paws of her mother, and the numerous younger brothers and sisters that had since joined the family, filling the hacienda with laughter and joy.

Leitmotif

And yet, amidst the light and dancing, there was still a heart unhappy. For there was still the silent figure that moved like a shadow across the grounds of the hacienda, limping into the grapevines at the crack of dawn with slow, sluggish steps.

Grandfather had frightened Candelaria from the instant the great wooden door at the gates opened for them, the night he recanted his only son's banishment from home. No amount of smiles, or Candelaria showing him her raggedy doll, would make the man (whom one cannot quite call old, as he is simply aged by his temper) would ever make him smile or react.

The old man's bitter soul was inscrutable to most in the family. Perhaps the one light to be shed came from the father, who quietly excused the older man's behavior. "His heart is shut up in a narrow box, nailed shut with pretentions." And so it seemed, for he never came out to watch the dance, nor did he linger long after mealtimes, eager for the seclusion of the study.

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