Naked in Havana (2 page)

When I came back downstairs, the man Papi had been talking to was gone.

Papi was sitting on the terrace where countless pots of ferns and malangas fought for space. It was shaded by avocado trees, their trunks swathed in orchids, everything still glistening after the afternoon’s rain. The air was filtered through the spray from the fountain. There was the murmur of the water and the rustling of the leaves on the custard apple and mamey trees.

Our old Labrador, Rafa, lay on the tiles at Papi's feet.

“What’s the matter?” he said.

I shrugged my shoulders and tried to look puzzled.

“You look upset.”

“I’m just tired, Papi.” I bent and kissed him on the forehead. I couldn’t talk to him about this. He was my father; he would be destroyed if he ever found what his baby girl had done. There were some things it was better he did not know.

Anyway, he couldn’t help me. They can love us, sometimes, but what does any man - father, husband, son - really know about women?

Perhaps if my mama was still alive I could have talked to her, she might have known what to do. I couldn’t even tell my friends , I didn’t trust them, they would look sad for me,, then when I was gone they would laugh at me behind my back or perhaps tell their parents out of malice and it would get back to Papi the worst possible way.

“What are you reading?” I asked him.

He tossed the newspaper aside. “Apparently we’re winning the war against the rebels, even though we’re not. Everyone loves the president even though no one does. Why do I read this nonsense, cariña? Because I think it makes me look sophisticated, but really it just gives me an excuse to sit out here and smoke cigars and drink rum.” He smiled.

Papi looked better today, the rings under his eyes were not as pronounced. I wished he would not smoke as much, it couldn’t be good for him, and every night he was out late at the casino. I told him to let his boys run the place, but he said he couldn’t trust them. I didn’t believe that for a moment, they were good guys, they knew what to do with or without him.

Our cook Maria said he didn’t drink and smoke this much when Mama was alive.

His glass was empty. He reached for the bottle but I moved it out of reach. “You know what the doctor said,” I told him.

“What’s the point of living till you’re a hundred if you can’t enjoy it?”

“Doctor Mendes says-”

“That man doesn’t drink and he doesn’t smoke and he looks twice my age. Is that any recommendation, sweetheart?”

“You’re always telling
me
not to drink.”

“You’re a young woman. That’s different. A scoundrel like me can afford to do whatever he pleases, people expect it.” He turned the tables on me. He looked pointedly at his wristwatch. “Where have you been?”

“I went shopping in the Nacional.” I held up the bag and showed him the dress I had bought in a rush on the way home. I held it up for him to see. It was awful; I hadn’t had time to pick and choose. He smiled and said that he liked it. He was almost as good a liar as his daughter.

Maria brought me an iced lemonade. I pulled my cane chair closer to his and put a hand on his shoulder, played with the long black hair that hung over the collar of his white shirt. He smiled and closed his eyes. There were flecks of grey in his hair now but he was still a handsome man. There were always women flocking around him at the club, but he repelled their advances in the most gallant way. He had told me he would never marry again. “There is no one like your mother,” he said.

“Who was that man?”

“What man?”

“The man who just left, he came in the black Cadillac.”

“It was just business.” A casual wave of the hand.

“Meyer Lansky.”

“If you knew, why did you ask?”

“What was he doing here?”

“I told you, it was a business matter.”

“Does he want to buy the Left Bank?”

A long and theatrical sigh, like it was not even worth mentioning. “He wants a piece of the club for a casino, he’s offered me twenty percent of the action. But I’m not selling.” He drew on his cigar and grinned at me.

“Everyone else has given in to him.”

“I’m not everyone else. I told him there’s no point, my club’s too small, it’s no competition to him.”

“He obviously doesn’t think so.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Then: “These bastards. It’s all about money, everything now is about money. They think they can throw dollars at me and I’ll give in. They want to turn Havana into another Las Vegas, and maybe they will. They have Batista in their back pocket, the government’s handing out visas to these people like lollies to little children. But it doesn’t mean I have to be a part of it. You know their trouble? They have no honour.”

Honour. Here was a man to whom the word still meant something. He was so old fashioned, a man of the last century. But how I admired him for it. I felt ashamed, I knew I could never live up to this man; he always did what was right, my only talent was for doing what was wrong.

I was bursting to ask him about Angel, but I knew I must not appear too eager. I watched the smoke from his cigar dissipate on the still, heavy air, while the smells from the kitchen made my stomach growl. Maria was preparing a spicy broth of chicken
cazuela
, frying cumin and garlic and onions in a heavy iron griddle.

“I hear Angel Macheda is getting married.”

“Some American girl. Her family’s very wealthy, they say.”

I would be such a good actress, I thought, pretending to be only vaguely interested while I imagined getting a knife and cutting my boyfriend’s heart out. Or anything else that came easily to hand.

“Is she pretty?”

“I’ve not seen her. I don’t suppose it matters, she’s a Salvatore.”

“I’ve never heard of the Salvatores.”

“They own half of Miami, old man Salvatore has shares in the Tropicana and the Sans Souci. It’s a match made in heaven.”

“So Angel is doing this for his family?”

“I think so.”

“ Would you ever make me do something like that?”

“No, cariña, I wouldn’t dare! I know who’s the real head of this family.”

He relit his Cohiba cigar and peered at me through the blue smoke. “You don’t have a soft spot for Angel Macheda, do you?”

“Of course not!” My laugh sounded brittle, even to me. “I was just curious. We’ve known each other a long time.”

“I thought he would have told you himself then.”

“So did I. How long have you known about this, Papi?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “A while.”

I felt my cheeks burn. I wondered how long “a while” was. Days, weeks - months? Did everyone know about this but me? Angel had made a complete fool of me.

Those times Angel went to America with his father, it must have been to meet her and her family. He was screwing me in his father’s apartment during the week, and then Saturdays taking some rich American slut to dinner in Miami.

Perhaps the look on my face gave me away. Papi was looking at me with his eyes narrowed, that look he had when he sensed something wasn’t right. “Are you sure you’re not carrying a flame for that boy? Because I’m telling you now, this girl is getting a bad bargain-- he only cares about one thing, and that’s money.”

“Oh, Papi! I don’t care who he marries. It just seems a shame, that’s all. I’m glad you’re not like that to make me marry someone I didn’t love.”

“I don’t care who you marry. I just want you to be happy,
cariña
. And I’ll tell you this, you’d never be happy with a boy like that. I’d never let you marry a Macheda, and they’d never let him marry you.”

“Why? We’re old blood, just like them.”

“They’re hardly old blood; they’re from Argentina. They only got here a hundred years ago. Their ears are still wet.”

“So why aren’t I good enough for him?”

“Good enough? That has nothing to do with it, cariña. Angel’s father wants to get out of Cuba, and the best way is to marry his son to a wealthy American girl, like Esmeralda Salvatore.”

I screwed up my nose. ““Esmeralda,” is that her name? It will never last.”

“Because her name’s Esmeralda?”

I almost said: “because can you imagine shouting: “Esmeralda!” in bed?” Four syllables. Angel wouldn’t have time to shout her whole name before it was all over. But I bit my tongue just in time. Instead, I said: “Esmeralda is an unlucky name.”

“Well it’s unlucky for her, if you ask my opinion.”

I was feeling so angry and humiliated it didn’t hit me straight away. But then I realised what Papi had said. “They’re leaving Cuba?”

“They’ve sold their house; he only got half what it’s worth. He’s bought an apartment in Miami. Can you imagine living in an apartment? What kind of life is that?”

“What’s in it for Esmeralda’s father then?”

“You’re like the son I never had,” he said, admiring my calculation. “It’s like this: they’re both hedging their bets. Angel’s father has an option in America if things go bad here. If things carry on like they are, Salvatore gets half of his casino in Marianao.”

“If things go bad?”

“There’s a lot of frightened people in Havana these days, they worry about what will happen if Batista goes.”

“What do you think will happen?”

“The same thing that happened when the last president was thrown out. We get a new dictator and carry on like we did before. It doesn’t matter whether they have a beard and a green uniform or wear a suit with a gardenia in the buttonhole. If it’s power they want, they’ll stop at nothing to get it, and that’s their political position. Why shouldn’t we have a president who wears a forage cap? I think it will make a refreshing change.”

“Would you ever leave Havana, Papi?”

“Why would I leave? We’ve been here for three hundred years. Our blood is in this country, there’s a dozen generations of our family buried here. I’m not like Macheda, I can’t walk away from the country that made me what I am.” He patted my knee. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.” He stood up. “Now I’m going to get ready for dinner. The smells from the kitchen are making me hungry.”

I waited until he had gone upstairs to his room before I stopped smiling. It was making my face hurt. I saw Maria watching me from the kitchen. She knew, of course; not the details, but a woman knows when another woman is lying.

I got up and went outside. The afternoon humidity was suffocating. There had been a brief shower during the afternoon; I remembered hearing the shutters bang in the wind while I was making love to Angel. But now it had passed, it only made the air feel even hotter.

Luis was polishing the car in the shade of the ceiba tree that dominated the driveway. He had stripped off his shirt, and his black muscles gleamed with sweat.

He had the car radio tuned to Radio Rebelde, and when he saw me he looked up guiltily and quickly tuned it to another channel. He frowned and stopped what he was doing, the polishing cloth twisting between his fingers.

I leaned on the bonnet. “You know where I was this afternoon, don’t you, Luis?”

He nodded.

“This is our secret.”

“I know what a secret is.”

“And you know I know yours.”

Another nod.

“Good,” I said. “We understand each other.”

As I walked away he came around the car and rubbed at the coachwork where the rich bitch had left her sweaty handprint.

I went back inside, dreading the ritual of dinner. I loved spending time with Papi, but tonight I didn’t know what to do with myself. Acting as if everything was all right was torture. Three years Angel had chased me, watching me through the window when I was at dance school, always pushing his way to the front whenever our drama class put on a play. Sometimes he would park his car in the street outside my window and play his radio too loud and stare up at the window.

Papi never let him near me, Angel had a reputation, and even if he didn’t, Papi wasn’t going to let me go out with a boy without a
duenna
. But I always knew I was going to be his one day, and it was fun making him wait. I was beautiful, I knew it from the looks I got in the street, but he was my perfect fit, the one I had chosen as the handsome prince for the lonely princess.