Talk:Victor Batista Falla

Personal

The following is a personal account written by Martin Berkowitz and edited by Rosario Andino on April 20, 2020, both of whom live in Springfield, Missouri in the United States of America.

Víctor Batista Falla - The Last Holy Innocent: A Personal Remembrance.

On or about August 1, 1960, in the open-air Havana dance pavilion "La Tropical", I met for the first time a tall, thin, bald man named Víctor Batista. He was dancing (the national pastime of all true Cubans) with a young woman. I had gone to Cuba to meet for the first time Dr. and Mrs. Alberto Andino, my future parents-in-law. The next time I saw Víctor was five months later when he took the place of Rosario Andino's father when she and I were about to be married on a snowy day in New York City. Rosario's parents had been denied exit permits by the Castro regime. Thus, they could not be present at their only child's marriage. Víctor walked her down the aisle and presented her to me in her father's place. It was, and is still, one of the unforgettable moments in our lives. He became a frequent guest in our apartment in Elmhurst, Queens in NYC. He loved to sit at our Cuban-made Majagua wood table and eat the remarkable food Rosario had prepared. Picadillo, Ropa Vieja, Frijoles Negros and Plátanos Maduros Fritos were - and remained - some of his favorites. The always abstemious Víctor also partook of his favorite dessert: "Isla flotante".

When Exilio was founded by him in New York, we were invited to the "Naming" meeting. In a smoke-filled apartment in Manhattan all the members of the editorial board were raucously debating possible titles. When it came time to choose one Victor asked us our opinion. We replied that we really had no input in this project but he insisted. We opted for Exilio along with him. We were always proud of having been present "At the Creation".

Our apartment in New York was also the scene of a number of literary "Tertulias". We would eat dinners with half-a-dozen or more Cuban, Spanish, Mexicans and an occasional born New Yorker. There were movie editors, Spanish and Cuban literature professors, a poet working at the United Nations (!). We would sit 'till 2 or 3 O'clock in the morning talking animatedly of Cuba, NY City, religion, philosophy, literature and music. It was a "symposium" of sorts - a 20th Century "Salon" fueled by whiskey - (of which Víctor drank little or none) - "Saladitos", cigarettes (which Víctor did not smoke) and ideas of all sorts.

When Rosario and I began to concertize in Europe (we are both concert pianists), we next saw him in Madrid, Spain in 1973, walking towards us on Calle Serrano. He had just moved to Madrid and was getting settled in his new apartment. Whenever we were not playing concerts out of Madrid, Víctor would re-encounter his favorite Cuban food at our apartment (as well as an occasional merluza a la gallega or a gorgeous lenguado). When Víctor founded his publishing house "Colibrí" we received copies of the books he published. One of them was 'A History of Baseball in Cuba'. Because he knew I had been a fierce New York Yankee baseball fan he wrote a very kind dedication to only me (!) inside. All the other books Colibrí put out were of course personally dedicated to both Rosario and me.

On July 12, 2019, we saw him for the last time. We sat having Cuban-style coffee under an umbrella on a balmy Madrid evening until - once again - 1 a.m. in the morning. And once again the same subjects came up: philosophy (José Ortega y Gasset in particular), politics, and music. We never thought we would never see him again.

I have described Víctor here as a "Holly Innocent", meaning that he was one of those unique people who remain all their lives faithful to the quixotic idea that through thought, art in all its various forms, culture, and kindness this world can become a genuine civilization of true humanity. Víctor never lost his youthful idealism as so many people do. He never became bitter even though his beloved Cuba had been stolen away from him by a brutal regime.

To the end he remained the Víctor Batista I had met in Havana 60 years earlier. He strove to find meaning and truth in an often chaotic and unforgiving world. Rosario and I are deeply saddened that he is no longer physically present. "He Kept The Faith."