Chapter 34: That smell of your skin

Gebrayel and Alice’s first child was born in Havana on January 30, 1911. Among the family documents is a luxurious, hand-painted christening announcement, with the picture of a lilac branch and, in the background, a landscape with two sailboats. We learn that the parents held the ceremony on July 16 in their home, at number 5 Egido Street, and that the officiating priest was the “parish priest of the church of Santo Cristo del Buen Viaje.” The persons mentioned are the two parents, “Gabriel” and “Alicia”; the godfather, whose name was Fernando Figueredo Socarrás; and the godmother, a certain Carmela Cremate, who was apparently unable to attend, for she was “representada por la Señorita Rosa Martinez.”

Included with the announcement is a photo of the baby, lying on his stomach, bare bottom, on an embroidered sheet. Cut to fit into an oval frame, it must have been taken on the day of the christening; nothing is written on it except the name of the printer in tiny letters: IMP. CASTRO, HABANA.

I was not particularly surprised that the Presbyterian preacher’s daughter had agreed to have her child christened by a Catholic priest. Had she asked her father, this is probably what he would have advised. In his twilight years, Khalil had adopted a moderate attitude on these issues, which he lacked in his youth. In the later documents of his that I own, he almost always signs “Khalil, son of the priest Gerjis,” and adds, in small letters, “Servant of the evangelical community.” This was an elegant position to take, illustrating his desire for reconciliation and peaceful coexistence, and furthermore it showed tact and cleverness. The Protestant community was a recent, tiny minority where he lived; he had a duty to preach by example and convert only those who came to him eagerly requesting it.

Since his son-in-law Gebrayel was not Protestant, his newborn child wouldn’t be either. If the son later expressed a desire to convert to his mother’s religion, he would be free to do so. For the time being, let the priest christen him. One of the boy’s given names was even Theodoro, in homage to his uncle, the Catholic prelate.

Hence two persuasions were brought together around the crib. Digging a bit deeper, I discovered a third, for one name on the announcement held my attention: “Socarrás.” I was certain I had come just recently across the name. Was it when I read up on Cuban history after my mother brought me Gebrayel’s letters from Lebanon? Working my way backward, I was pleased to find the following paragraph, which had left a trace in my memory:

On January 28, 1895, José Martí celebrated his forty-second birthday in New York; it was to be his last birthday. The following day, he signed the order for the general uprising that would lead to Cuba’s independence. On February 2, the document was given to Fernando Figueredo Socarrás, who rolled it up and inserted it inside a cigar that he placed among four other identical cigars. Then he left for Key West and Cuba. The war of independence began on Febrary 24. In the interval Martí had gone to Santo Domingo to meet Máximo Gómez …

When I read this text for the first time, I was primarily interested in the person mentioned last, whose house my great-uncle bought. I already knew the name José Martí, at least as author of the famous “Guantanamera,” but I wasn’t aware of how revered the poet is by his compatriots, for whom he is the founding father, in a certain sense, of the Cuban nation. On the other hand, I knew nothing whatever about Figueredo Socarrás and the part played by his cigars in the war of independence. How had this person become the godfather of my great-uncle Gebrayel’s son?

It seemed incredible, yet I would be lying if I said that I was completely astonished. No, I had my own theory. But to confirm it, I had to immerse myself in some reference books as well as in the family archives. What linked Gebrayel, émigré from Mount Lebanon, and Figueredo Socarrás; the latter and José Martí; and Martí and the Dominican officer Máximo Gómez, commander in chief of the revolutionary forces, was that all four were Freemasons. The membership of three of these men is extremely well documented in the books that recount their careers. As for my great-uncle, whose name never entered the history books, one need only read his letters. Actually, you don’t have to read them, you merely have to glance at his envelopes, or the heading of his stationery, to see printed in the left corner, just under the logo of the shop and just above the address, the words “Distintivos masónicos”— “Masonic insignia”—which means that he was authorized to supply the different objects—medals, ribbons, aprons, sashes, necklaces, etc.— used in the ceremonies.

All of this squared with the things I had heard whispered in the family. Namely, that my great-uncle Gebrayel was a Freemason, and so was my grandfather. Had the two men influenced each other? And at which point in their lives? I must confess that I can’t be certain about this, even if I am slightly less ignorant after having read our archives.

As far as Gebrayel is concerned, I would imagine that he was initiated after his departure for the New World, either in Havana or earlier in New York, and if so, probably by Cuban exiles and Martí supporters. This is just a hypothesis, but it seems much more plausible than my great-uncle’s being initiated at eighteen in a village in the Lebanon mountains.

As to my grandfather, I was unsure for a long time and groping in the dark. I could make many assumptions, but none of these constituted proof. For example, the previously quoted letter, written to him shortly after his return from America by the friend with whom he had had a long conversation in Beirut on the terrace of the Star of the Orient:

It was darkest night, and what we were saying had the precise purpose of clearing away the darkness and spreading light; which can only happen if people like you rally together and join forces. So don’t let indecision override determination, for you are a free man, and a free man doesn’t accept injustice.

I would think it’s not irrelevant to point out that the expression “free man,” in the singular and particularly in the plural, al-ahrar, is commonly used in Arabic as a way of designating al-massouniyoun al-ahrar, “the Freemasons” …

Let me read on in this letter.

Go down the only path possible, the only one a man like you should take. I am telling you my most sincere feeling because I find it admirable that you are in such a frame of mind, and that you want to remain in this country … I hope to get an affirmative answer from you so I can raise a toast in your honor, though I am not in the habit of drinking.

I shall soon send you the book of doctrine I mentioned …

This man, whose tone is that of a close but recent friend, was evidently encouraging Botros to join a brotherhood. Given the situation at the time, March 1906—two years before the uprising of the Young Turks—it could only be a secret society, or at least a “discreet” one.