Broken Paradise

by Cecilia Samartin

  Beba pressed her beautiful dark hands against my face, and I breathed in the fragrance of coffee and lemons and salt crackers and deep abiding wisdom. Then I kissed her on both cheeks and said good-bye.

  I tried to sleep, knowing I had to be up early to catch my flight that was scheduled to leave José Martí airport at eight in the morning. I gazed out the window at what had been Alicia’s view during the many months of her illness, as she dreamt of being with Tony again, and as she prayed for Lucinda once she accepted she’d never recover her sight. I could see a once elegant apartment building and in the evening light, its former glory was almost restored, its wrought iron banisters adorning the balconies like curling eyelashes heavy with paint and glitter.

  I saw the glowing light of a cigarette floating about on one of them and just made out the figure of a young woman sitting in a chair and leaning back with legs crossed as she gazed up at the night sky. Even in the dim light I could see she was lovely. Her slender limbs caught the light of the moon in narrow ribbons, her hair was awash in golden light and she began to glow as if a stage light had been placed on her and was gradually starting to intensify. I blinked hard. I was tired and needed to sleep, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from this young woman. I tried to discern what she was doing, but as the light grew brighter I realized she wasn’t smoking at all. In her hand she held a candle and she moved it up and around, trying to get my attention. She was motioning, beckoning to me. Was there something wrong? Was she stuck up there?

  I remained in my bed watching the young woman, transfixed by the circular movement of the candle and the way her hair floated away from her face as though there was a breeze stirring about her. But the night was still. The motionless curtain against the open window confirmed this.

  I concluded that she thought I was Alicia and was trying to communicate something to her as she had in the past. I should go out and tell her that Alicia had died. All the neighbors knew this. Why didn’t she?

  I got out of bed and threw on another shirt over my shorts and tee shirt. The girl was only three floors up on the other side of the street. It would be an easy thing to shout up to her and see if she was OK. I opened the door and went out into the road. She was still there, holding her arms out toward me as though she was in trouble.

  “I’m coming,” I yelled up to her and rushed to the main door of the building. It was not only locked, but bolted with layers of boards that appeared to have been rotting there for years. Then I remembered the building was condemned and hadn’t been occupied for some time. The girl must have found her way inside and didn’t know how to get out. I was about to call to her again, but when I looked up, she was no longer there.

  I tested the main entrance and concluded she couldn’t possibly have entered or exited through there. I walked around the building several times, but all the windows and doors were hammered shut with layers of old boards.

  Perplexed about her disappearance, I began to circle the building once more when I caught sight of something gleaming out of the corner of my eye. Perched on the frame of the gate was the white votive candle the girl had been waving about on the balcony, its delicate flame still flickering in the night. I walked closer to examine it and finally picked it up. How, I wondered, could she have come out without my noticing? The windows and doors were boarded up from the outside. She would’ve had to jump down three floors.

  I took one final look down the street before heading back to my bed. It was already late, and I tried to put any thoughts about the mysterious girl out of my mind and focus on Jeremy who’d be expecting me in less than twenty-four hours. Would it be the same for us after so many days apart? I was giddy with anticipation, and yet my heart sank with the realization that this was my last night in Cuba—my last night at home.

  33

  I ARRIVED AT THE AIRPORT AT SIX IN THE MORNING, KNOWING IT would be a mass of confusion. I carried my one empty suitcase and wore the only dress that remained of the clothes I’d brought. I decided to leave my other suitcase outside Berta’s bedroom door as a gift.

  I’d been in such a rush to get to the airport that I hadn’t had time to think about the events of the previous night. And there was a part of me that didn’t want to think about them at all. It was time to get on with my life. I was the wife of a wonderful and loving man who was waiting for me. I should’ve been thinking about how much I wanted to make love to him instead of what had happened to that girl on the balcony. I’d tucked the candle safely in my purse, and now I poked my hand inside to make sure it was still there. If only I’d had time to talk to Beba. I was sure she’d have an explanation involving the “call of one’s dreams” or the “power of the lesser known spirits”. However far-fetched, I longed to hear something that would make sense of the lingering doubts that had preoccupied me all morning.

  I was near the front of the line and was preparing to hand over my passport for its third or forth time since I arrived. I closed my eyes and forced myself to picture Jeremy waiting for me, so happy to know that soon I’d be there with him and all would be well with the world. We’d take care of Lucinda’s papers, of course we would. She’d be with us in no time. Beba was more than capable of making sure she was safe. She was more ingenious and savvy about life since the revolution than I could ever be. And Lucinda didn’t hate me. She knew I’d be back for her, Alicia had told her so herself.

  My head and my stomach jolted, and my feet refused to move forward in the line. Sweat erupted on my brow and everywhere else, dripping down my body and the backs of my legs. I thought I might faint.

  The young man expecting to receive my passport sounded concerned. “Is there something wrong, miss?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Step up and lean on the counter,” he offered as though he was quite accustomed to managing fainting spells.

  I did as I was told, but didn’t feel any better. My head was swimming and a faint humming vibrated through my ears as though I had two large shells glued to them. I couldn’t hear anything at all.

  The young man reached for my passport, but I held it to my chest as if to still my heart. “I can’t go.”

  He didn’t hear me correctly. He was transfixed on the computer screen with one hand still open and waiting. The passengers who’d already cleared were taking anxious little steps toward the open door and the plane that awaited us. “There’s a bathroom on the plane, miss.”

  I staggered backward onto the shoes of the person standing behind me. “I can’t go,” I said again and collapsed into the nearest chair. How could I forget how Alicia had looked when she first became a woman and fell in love? I reached inside my purse for the candle. She had lighted countless candles over the years to keep hope alive when her world was crumbling around her. And now she wanted me to stay and see to Lucinda’s freedom myself. I knew that as surely as I knew Jeremy wanted me to go back to him and our wonderful life in California.

  I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the fact that I had to get on that plane. Perhaps Beba was getting to me with all her Santería and rituals, but all I could think of was my vow to Alicia that I wouldn’t abandon her child. I had promised her as she died in my arms.

  I managed to stand and make my way to the window, smeared with the remnants of squashed mosquitoes and sweaty palm prints, to watch the plane bake in the heat as the mechanics milled around checking this and that. I had plenty of time to change my mind if I wanted to and the passport in my hand reminded me of this. Sweat accumulating on my fingers caused it to slip and fall to the floor. I didn’t bother to pick it up until the plane had rumbled down the runway and lifted off Cuban soil.

  Lucinda hugged me and laughed with joy. “Tía Nora you came back so soon. I didn’t think you’d come back this soon, but I’m so glad you did.” Her hands fluttered over my face.

  Beba wasn’t at all surprised to see me standing there in my last good dress, an orange linen shift with matching sandals and purse. She leaned in the doorway leading to the
kitchen with arms crossed, chuckling, and shaking her head. She promptly disappeared to prepare coffee and returned with two chipped cups. As we drank our coffee I explained what happened the night before and showed her the candle I found.

  Lucinda took it from me and pressed it against her cheek, already convinced that her mother had left it. But Beba, munching on her cracker like a chipmunk with her one front tooth, appeared unmoved. I was waiting for a supernatural explanation that would set me straight, anything that might help me justify my decision to not go back to Jeremy as I had promised I would.

  “It doesn’t matter what you saw last night, whether it was a ghost from heaven or hell or just your wild imagination,” Beba said finally. “What matters is that you did what you thought was right.”

  This was not what I wanted to hear. I needed something more substantial; assurances that I’d done the right thing. I pressed her about Jeremy and how she thought he’d take the fact that I wouldn’t be on the plane. I pressed her like I did when I was a girl, insisting that she tell me yet another story before turning out the light.

  “For God’s sake child, I can’t give you what I don’t have to give. All I can tell you is that time and happenings will let you know if you did right.”

  Time and happenings, as Beba said, spoke to me soon enough. I spent the night at Beba’s apartment and the next morning we were awakened very early by a knocking at the door. By the solid sound of it, it was clear that whoever was on the other side was using some sort of object. And it wasn’t just one person because we could hear conversation. Beba, who always slept fully dressed, complete with handkerchief on her head, slipped on her sandals and headed toward the door while shooting a look in my direction that said, “I’ll handle this; just keep quiet.”

  I pulled the sheet over both my and Lucinda’s head. From where we slept on the floor, the person at the door would have to pass Beba and enter the room to see she wasn’t alone. I didn’t have to tell Lucinda to stay quiet. We held each other tightly and hardly breathed.

  Beba coughed and opened the door. I could easily imagine her sizing up the intruders. She had a stare capable of turning blood to ice water when it was at full strength. I had been victim of this and benefited from its protection on many occasions in my life. At that moment I never felt more grateful to have Beba in my corner.

  “We’re looking for a child,” the man said, and I recognized the voice as that of the bespectacled man from the Ministerio de Educación. “Her name is Lucinda Rodríguez. And we were informed she’s living here now.”

  “What do you want with her?”

  Another voice spoke up, a woman’s voice strained and high pitched as though she had her vocal cords tied in a very tight knot. “Are you a relative?”

  “Yes, I am,” Beba replied without hesitation.

  “That’s funny, we were informed the child had no living relatives.”

  “You got your facts wrong.”

  Silence followed. They were staring each other down now, I was sure of it. They’d be no match for Beba. Their bones were probably already turning to jelly. I had to fight the bizarre temptation to giggle, and I held on to Lucinda more tightly.

  “Your name please,” the man asked.

  “Beba.”

  “And your last name?”

  “It’s just Beba.”

  Silence again and the shuffling of feet. Not Beba’s feet. “Your lack of cooperation won’t help you or the child, let me assure you,” the woman said in a superior tone. “Unless you have documents indicating you have legal custody of the child, she’ll be placed in the government orphanage for her own protection. Is that clear?”

  “Oh, very clear. You put your words together real good.”

  It was the man who spoke this time. “We’ll be back…Beba.”

  Beba closed the door behind them and went to the kitchen window. Once satisfied that they’d left, she lifted the sheet from over us and stood with hands on hips and a funny smile on her face. I knew she was afraid, but she didn’t want Lucinda to notice and it was too hard for a woman as honest as Beba to look one way and sound another.

  “I think now’s a good a time,” Beba said to Lucinda and I as she fixed our breakfast. “Now’s a good time to take that money and find a way out of here.”

  “You mean not wait for the visa?”

  “With the money you have, you don’t have to wait for anyone or anything.”

  It was an option I’d never considered. I always imagined we’d leave legally with my American passport and Lucinda’s visa in order, and hadn’t thought of the possibility of escape. I remembered what Alicia had written to me about securing passage on a banana boat a few years back. Perhaps we could find something similar now? Suddenly, I wanted to run to the nearest phone and call Jeremy to tell him all was well and not to give up on me. I’d be home soon.

  Lucinda informed us that it was Pepe, the neighbor, who was known for helping in these matters, so I told her and Beba that I would go and see him. I found him a few hours later sitting on his front step unraveling a fist-sized ball of thread. He explained that his wife had paid pennies for it because it was all knotted up, and it was very difficult to find thread. He didn’t seem particularly excited about having thread, but he appreciated having something to do that didn’t cause him too much anxiety.

  When I told him what Lucinda and I needed, his long brown fingers that were moving like spider’s legs stopped and he looked straight out in front him. With lips barely parted he asked, “How much have you got?”

  When I told him, his fingers started moving again and he nodded soberly. “I can find you something with that. In a couple of weeks there’s a shipment coming in and…”

  “I don’t have that kind of time. I need something for tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

  His brow furrowed. “Ships come and go every day, but the people coming in a couple weeks, I know them. I know they’ll be fair. I can’t be sure about anyone else.”

  “I’ll have to take my chances. The authorities will come back any day and if they find Lucinda, I’ll never see her again.”

  Pepe nodded his agreement and I pulled the envelope of cash out of my purse and handed it to him, but he refused it saying he only needed fifty dollars or so to secure an agreement. The balance I could pay myself. We agreed to meet later that same evening.

  I told Lucinda and Beba that Pepe might find a way for us to leave the next day and that we’d know by this evening.

  “How should we spend our last day in Cuba?” I asked Lucinda.

  She was sitting on the couch reading, where she’d been most of the morning. “I don’t think we should go out Tía Nora, in case they see me. I think we should stay here and wait,” she said after a pause.

  “You want to stay here all day?”

  She nodded and turned back to her reading.

  Beba sat with me by the window, her arms crossed over her chest. The thought occurred to me that we might have enough money so Beba could leave with us too. Maybe there was enough time to inform Pepe? I mentioned this possibility to Beba who grinned at the prospect.

  “Could you see Beba in such a big fancy place?”

  “I could easily see you there, Beba.”

  She shook her head and pressed her lips together as if she’d tasted a sour lemon. “It’s too late for me, Norita. Maybe ten or fifteen years ago I would’ve gone, but not now. I’m going to die here in my country where I belong.”

  “Don’t you want to live in freedom again?”

  “Maybe I don’t think of freedom the way you do. There’s a freedom I found over the years. It comes from discovering I don’t need much to be happy. It comes from living past misery and fear and finding hope in your own tears.” Beba laughed that deep golden laugh that filled the room. “I feel freedom standing in line all day with my ration card, only to learn they’ve run out of bread before it’s my turn. I feel freedom when I pray at the water’s edge and ask the Good Lord to feed me wi
th the wind and the sun and the sky.” Beba readjusted her handkerchief and tucked stray strands of hair underneath it. “That’s my freedom, Norita, and I don’t have to escape anywhere to get it.”

  There was no one at Pepe’s house when I arrived in the evening, so I sat on his usual spot on the stoop. The breeze swept down the narrow street and when I leaned over to my left I could see a portion of a plaza where children played in an old fountain long since dried. I remembered this plaza when we drove to church on Sundays before the revolution. It was bordered by white and yellow roses, and the fountain always flowed with the melody of soft water. Children were allowed to throw pennies for a wish or two. And, at least in my case, this was usually followed by a treat of coconut ice cream. No wonder Pepe loved this spot. For a moment it was possible to dream of the days when Cuba was young and carefree.

  He approached with his loping side to side gait. It was impossible to guess by studying his face whether or not he’d been successful in his quest. Pepe always looked the same. He barely nodded his head when he saw me and when I stood up to greet him he handed me a folded piece of white paper.

  “It leaves tomorrow at seven in the morning. You have to go meet the man tonight and pay him in advance.”

  “How much?”

  “Two thousand. And the rest when you get there. The ship’s going to Jamaica first. That’s where you get off, and it’s easy to get a flight from Kingston to Miami.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed hold of Pepe and gave him a hug. He endured my affection without a word, although his stoic expression was rippled by a curious half smile.

  “I need to pay you for your help, Pepe, please.” I reached into my pocket for the wad of cash that had felt thick and sticky against my thigh all day.