A Place Where the Sea Remembers

Chayo, the flower seller, is the wife of Candelario Marroquin and sister of Marta Rodriguez. While Chayo initially appears to be the stereotypical subservient wife—her husband makes unilateral decisions without consulting her, and she defers—she has an independent streak that is hinted at. When Candelario offers to adopt Marta’s unborn child, Chayo, who believes herself incapable of bearing children, secretly recoils from the idea. Later in the novel, when Chayo tells her sister that they will not be taking Marta’s child, it is Chayo’s decision, not Candelario’s.

Chayo can be stubborn as well, which may be how she holds on to those moments of independence. To relent would be to relinquish her autonomy. When she finally does become pregnant and finds out that Marta has tried to place a curse on her child to benefit herself, Chayo cannot forgive or forget. When Marta begs forgiveness, Chayo tells her, “you might as well be dead” (151). It is only when she feels responsible for the death of Marta’s son that the logjam of resentment is broken and Chayo can let go of her anger.

Like any savvy salesperson, Chayo is adept at reading the tourists. She has been selling her paper flowers long enough to sense when to pursue a sale, when to back away, and when to try again later. Like many of the other residents of Santiago, Chayo is caught in the tug-of-war between past and present. She operates within the parameters of modern economic necessity—with one foot in the world of curses and spells and folklore. But even then, she makes distinctions. The “fortunes” of Justo Flores’s birds are absurd, but Remedios’s spiritual magic is gospel truth.

Few characters embody the aspirational ethos of Santiago like Candelario. He has worked a variety of jobs, but he is always on the lookout for something better. When he is promoted from waiter to salad-maker, he sees a better life that he can provide for himself and Chayo. He is diligent and obedient. He works hard to master the Caesar salad recipe and the technique for preparing it tableside. Even when he has received complaints about the dressing—indeed, he himself suspects that the recipe may be a bit “off”—he ignores those inner warnings because he is “follow[ing] the recipe the way it was explained to me” (17). His boss, whom Candelario respects, created the recipe and therefore it must be made in this way.

Candelario falls into the time-honored tradition of “the dreamer.” Candelario doesn’t (or can’t) read the signs around him. Rather than suggesting to his boss that the salad recipe may need some changes, he invests his full faith in his patrón and pays for it with his job. As someone who can’t read or write, Candelario sees himself as low in the social hierarchy, which may explain his blind faith in his boss.

Candelario has a superstitious relationship with the color blue. It calms him and gives him hope. Blue is the color of the sky and sea. It represents stability and dedication, two qualities Candelario aspires to. In his youth Candelario held a variety of jobs, but as a husband he has settled down and sees his primary role as that of steady provider. By painting his front door blue, he is attempting to instill that stability in his life every time he enters or exits his home.

As the town midwife and caregiver, Esperanza serves a vital role both practically and thematically. She is responsible for delivering healthy babies in a culture that values offspring and family. Midwifery connotes holistic, natural, and traditional methods of childbirth, as opposed to the more antiseptic (and modern) hospital procedure. Even lying on a bed, feet elevated in stirrups—an image so indelibly associated with birth—is not considered “natural” by many holistic birth practitioners. And so Esperanza has more in common with Remedios than with a modern nurse. Remedios understands the rhythms of the Earth, and Esperanza understands the rhythms of the human body. As such, she, like Remedios, is a bridge between the contemporary world and the ancient one.

Ironically, she has no children herself. At 17, she was raped, and she sees herself as spoiled goods undeserving of love or children. In fact, because of her selfless devotion to her community, she may be more deserving of love than almost anyone else in Santiago. She not only delivers babies, but she also treats the sick, including doña Lina, mother of Rafael Beltran, who harbors a long unfulfilled love for Esperanza. Doña Lina’s ailments pervade her entire existence, making her extremely difficult to deal with, but Esperanza never complains, treating her with care and professionalism. Her marriage to Rafael near the end of the novel suggests that justice does exist, that a life spent caring for others is rewarded in the end; and whatever shame she may feel over her past, love is always possible regardless of age.

The novel deals with the dualities of life and death, and it is Esperanza who represents the former. She brings life into the world; she pulls her patients back from the brink of death, as she does with Chayo’s son, Tonito, after he suffers a life-threatening allergic reaction to an insect bite. In a sense, she also gives new life to Marta by providing her with a job and a place to raise her son. Marta had considered motherhood a burden, an unnecessary interruption in her future plans, but Esperanza helps Marta to find value and purpose in her new life as a mother.

As one of the youngest characters in the novel (she is 16 when she becomes pregnant), Marta may be as aspirational as Candelario, but in a way that exemplifies the headstrong but often misguided drive of youth. While Candelario aims to improve his station within the community, Marta simply wants out. She dreams of a new life in a new place. She plans to cross the border into El Paso and work as a private housekeeper for a wealthy American family. In her fantasy she becomes an indispensable part of that family, with her own room, her own television, and an employer who truly values her (and compensates her accordingly). Marta falls victim to the foolishness of youth, and it’s easy to see where this might lead. She sees only the fantasy and none of the potential obstacles (such as the hazards of crossing the border, the unlikelihood that she will find such an ideal job, and the constant threat of deportation). Marta’s naivete comes from reading American gossip magazines; she assumes, like so many teenagers, that the glossy photos portray real life. Her dreams are not supported by experience or well-laid plans but merely by the fact that she has dreamed them.

The tension between tradition and progress is present throughout the novel, and Marta, perhaps more than any other character, represents the relentless surge of modernity. Her culture may dictate that she stay in Santiago, raise her child, and play the cards fate has dealt her, but Marta is a modern woman. She eschews cultural expectations. She plans to visit a doctor for an abortion until Candelario offers to take her child. She sees the child as a burden, and once relieved of it, she will be free to live her life as she chooses. Marta is akin to any modern woman who postpones or rejects motherhood in lieu of independence and career. She is driven back into the world of her traditional culture only by desperation. When she fears her dreams will be shattered by Chayo’s refusal to take her child, she forgets her modern ways (which have seemingly failed her) and runs into the sinister arms of el brujo (the sorcerer). And then, when she regrets that decision, she desperately seeks the help of Remedios. Marta flies by her whims like any 16-year-old girl. She is passionate, defiant, and often scattered, and it is precisely these qualities that give Marta universal appeal.