March 2005
Amy Joffe
fiction
Bernardo and the Virgin by Silvio Sirias
Do you believe in miracles? I mean miracles of the religious variety. Never
mind - it’s not a prerequisite for reading this book, Bernardo and
the Virgin by Silvio Sirias, but if you have a tendency to believe, particularly
if you happen to be Catholic, this story may send a holy shiver down your spine.
I’m not Catholic. I’m not sure what a rosary sounds like and I think
a Hail Mary is a last ditch effort on a football field. But Sirias’s recount
of the incidents that took place twenty-five years ago in the small Nicaraguan
town of Cuapa intrigued me. It is ultimately unimportant whether or not the
Virgin Mary actually appeared to Bernardo Martinez as he claimed. This is essentially
the story of a simple man with unshakeable beliefs who, in his steadfast, quiet
way plays a role in some of the pivotal events of his country’s struggle.
A modern day miracle, virgin notwithstanding.
The novel begins in 1980 just as the Somoza government has been overthrown and
the Sandinistas have seized power. Bernardo, the caretaker of the church in
his town, is puzzled one night when the lights inside are on though he is certain
he has turned them off. He is awed when he encounters the statue of the Virgin
Mary, illuminated. One month later, she appears to Bernardo with words of peace
and hope, asking him to spread her message.
Sirias could not have created a more sympathetic character than Bernardo Martinez.
Even if you don’t believe his story, you will have no doubt that he is
sincere in telling it. The real momentum of the story, though, is provided by
the political scenario. Having rid the country of its dictator, Nicaraguans
are crushed to see that life has not improved, but is actually worse under the
Sandinistas. The ensuing struggle to regain their identity and way of life is
the richest part of the novel. We only see glimpses of the decade long counter-revolution,
but the harsh reality of the war juxtaposed with the ethereal vision of the
Virgin makes for an interesting contrast. And just when you think you’ve
seen enough halos, praise God, you get a shootout.
Unfortunately, Sirias’ writing is hindered by his style which frequently
mixes Spanish words and phrases with English. Sirias is an American born to
Nicaraguan parents who left the country in the 1950’s and this is, no
doubt, the kind of idiomatic English he heard growing up. While it provides
an occasional melodious tone to the narrative, it ultimately encumbers his writing
to the point where it sounds, well, cliché. It’s a little like
the way I spoke in high school Spanish class. Yo tengo my notebook. Como esta
on this bonita day. No wonder my Espanol teacher rolled her eyes -- this is
big time annoying after a while. However, he turns out to be a great storyteller
with a knack for creating characters. The story of Rocio and her mother stand
out to me as the most moving piece in the book. I think he hits his highpoint
in the chapter where he tells the tragic story of a beautiful, vibrant girl
who makes a poor choice and the consequences which follow that decision. Told
through the voice of her mother, it is haunting. The other chapter I particularly
liked tells the story of German Sotelo, a Nicaraguan writer and his idol, the
award winning Ecuadoran writer, Jaime Jaramillo Solis, who turns out to be an
arrogant, pompous bastard. He writes the vignette with a sense of humor and
a wink to the reader, never making it caustic.
In a provocative epilogue (relax, I‘m not ruining any surprises), Sirias
introduces us to the alleged "author," a university professor (so
is Sirias) with a mid-life crisis who leaves his family to go back to his Nicaraguan
roots where he eventually stumbles into Bernardo’s story. At first I wondered
if there was more than a grain of truth to this story within a story -- was
the "author" the author? I don’t think so. From what I can tell
from my research, Silvio Sirias is married and living in Panama where he teaches
at the University of Florida in Panama. But it raised an interesting question
-- the merging of truth and fiction and the author’s license to tell a
"true" story his way. In 1999, Ronald Reagan’s biographer, Edmund
Morris, started to write a book about the former president. After struggling
to capture the essence of the man, he chose to tell the story in the form of
narrative novel, some of which he admittedly made up. The book was controversial,
to say the least, but the author defended his approach by explaining that he
felt that he had gotten closer to the core of Reagan by deviating from the facts.
In other words, he could only get to the truth through a little bit of fabrication.
Though many people were outraged, I appreciated what he did. Look at it this
way… did you learn more about life in the South from Gone With the
Wind or your high school history class? A little imagination goes a long
way. So does a leap of faith.
So is the story of Bernardo as told by Silvio Sirias the truth? I think the
author answers that question in the best possible way at the beginning of the
novel, before the opening chapter, when he quotes Albert Einstein:
There are only two ways to live your life. One is though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as if everything is.
You choose.
Bernardo and the Virgin by Silvio Sirias
Northwestern University
ISBN: 0810122405
320 Pages
