They talk about the plaza everywhere. From the bank queue, the park corridors to the illuminated room of a large conference. It was a few days ago. It coincided with the visit of a cultural official to the city of Holguin. I was passing by the street that was between two parks when I heard: “Look, they said things when they built the square, but it seems that we were the ones who misunderstood.”
After a while, a playwright stood up in a room. Everyone listened to him. He said: they promised us that Plaza de la Marqueta would be for artists. And is it now? Is it the artists’ square?
The official replied that she had heard that before. That the playwright was neither the first nor the last artist to speak about the Plaza. Not the first to tell him that they had promised too much to art. Which was not the last one who would tell him how little by little they had removed the artists: first, because there was no place for the actors. Then because there was no room for dancers. No shelf for craftsmen. No walls for exhibitions. But not because it had shrunk, or suddenly the platforms, or the curtains, or the brushes ran out. It seems, rather, that what was sold out was the Plaza.
The Plaza de la Marqueta, do you know it? If you go to Google and type it, a photograph taken from the top of Casa Marco appears and it looks like this, let me tell you: that shiny, magnificently colonial façade, without American cigarette brand umbrellas or alleys full of red cellophane benches, grouped one on top of the other; nor ceilings made of light bulbs from fast fashion stores, nor tables separated by silver chains to differentiate between bars, on what was once ancient. There are no bags of garbage around the corner – where the photo no longer captures – nor art stores occupied with shelves of beer or gaps where so many pass by that they could be covered with drops of Dior.
Let’s blame Google, which shows us a photo of what the square used to be. An outdated photo, perfectly aesthetic, authentic, that makes us want to sit down and take a breath of fresh air in the Plaza de la Marqueta. Look on the blackboard in the corridor to see what the cultural programming is for the weekend. Yes, put a roof of lights on me and fill the alley with benches: I want to see an indie band from the Conservatory of Music give their first concert. Yes, sell me the expensive wine, I want to enjoy it while I walk through the new shelf that was inaugurated by the Romerias, to see that thing about the paintings, what you told me about the dimensions and colors. And dance for me in front of the market, put up your platform and recite those lines from Lorca to me. I will be there, or was at some point.
I don’t know well anymore. Could it be that I was stuck in time, or that I still remain in what they promised me about the Plaza?
Translated by Radio Angulo
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