I met George Chinen when I was beginning my adolescence. He had been born on the ship in which his family was traveling to Argentina, while it was already sailing within the shelf of Argentine territory, for which he was declared an Argentine citizen. His father was Shigeo Chinen, a prominent member of the Japanese community, from Okinawa, who became president of that association, with very powerful social and political connections.
His intense social life related him to figures from national history and he even baptized George in the Catholic rite, choosing as godparents those who were then the highest authorities in the country: General Juan Domingo Perón and his wife, Eva Duarte. I remember seeing several photos with prominent personalities of the country in his father's house. George became engaged to one of my sisters, whom after a brief courtship he married, celebrating their wedding with a large party with more than two hundred guests, in the large hall of downtown Okinawan. Beautiful ladies wearing kimonos, danced elegantly to the beat of the samishen, for the newlyweds.
Since we had a big house and my mother was already a widow, my sister and George decided to live with us. George, who was a technical draftsman, worked in a factory near our home, while my sister worked in a nearby town. He would return from his chores in the afternoon and would usually undertake any repairs in our house, as he was very skillful and industrious. I must even admit that he gladly offered to support me in my schoolwork, which filled the void that my father had left.
I remember that for my Geography class I had to draw a map that I would copy from a book and he, who was a technical draftsman, offered me his help. I told him that during the year, I had to copy the maps that appeared in that book. Two days later, I found them all on the table where I did my homework, neatly made on tracing paper... Time passed, my sister and he became parents of four children, with whom I lived and to whom I gave my attention and affection.
I bring to my memory an episode that highlights it at its best. As an adult, I acquired a property through a bank that gave cheap loans. I was summoned by that entity to complete the process. Since it was impossible for me to be absent from work, I asked George, who already had his own dry cleaning business that he ran with my sister, to go do it for me. Of course he agreed, with very good disposition.
While he was already in line at the bank and about to be attended to, he heard that the person in front of him was desperate for not having brought the money they required to pay off the debt. Without hesitation, after asking him if he would also live in the apartments on the same lot as mine, George offered to lend him the money he needed to make the payment they demanded. The man was very surprised, because he did not know who was offering him such unexpected help, and of course he accepted, excited. After exchanging his address information, he promised to return that money the next day.
I had the opportunity to meet that man, who was absolutely grateful for such an act of trust coming from a stranger. He kept telling his neighbors about it because it was such a noble attitude that no one could have imagined.
Some time later, affected by the effects of tobacco, George died. Although this is not a story of risks and challenges, I rescue the memories of that person and his extraordinary personality, whom I keep in that corner of memory to illuminate my days and paint with a rainbow, that stretch of the road that is already behind me.
© 2019 Marta Marenco
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