"How did you meet José?"
"He came to Camagüey City to work in the TV station, and he stayed in the building where I lived with Mario. We have been married for eleven years. My first husband was a soldier, and he died in the war in Angola. Mario never knew him. For Mario, José is his father."
A curious fact came into Gail's mind. Yolanda and Mario had the same last name. Cabrera. Why didn't the son have the name of his father? Yolanda had called him her first husband, but perhaps they had never married. How did one ask that question?
Irene came back in, and Yolanda gave her a bowl to fill with red beans. Irene said she would love it if Yolanda and José could come to Miami. They could stay at her house if they wanted. She had plenty of room. "Have you ever been to the United States?"
"No. I want very much to see it. I have a brother in Tampa, but I have not seen him since 1980. He went from Mariel in the boat lift. He wants us to come visit him, but they won't give us permission to leave." "Who, your government?"
"Oh, yes! We are criminals." She laughed. "Not just José. Me too. In 1994 there was a manifestación ... what do you call it? A demonstration, at the statue of Antonio Maceo on the Malecón. I was arrested with the others, and they put us in jail for a week. So when José and I ask permission to leave the country, they stamp our papers, 'no autorizado a viajar.' 'Not authorized to travel.' "
"Well, I don't understand it," Irene said. "You'd think they'd be happy if you left, being dissidents and all."
"It's crazy, I know." Yolanda bent to check on the tostones in the oven. "Gail, do you like onions in the salad? I have some in ... el frigidaire. I don't know how to say that in English."
"Refrigerator." Gail found the onion.
"Ref— Retri—" Yolanda laughed and gave up with a wave of her hand.
The lid clanged when Irene dropped it back on the pot. "Yolanda? I've got to do something to help you and José. I don't know what it is yet. When I get home, I could write some letters. Maybe you need donations. I know loads of people."
Setting the pan of tostones on the stove, Yolanda turned to look at Irene. "You can help us in Havana, if you want to."
"Fine. Just tell me what to do."
Gail's knife stopped halfway through the onion.
Yolanda said, "We have the new computer from Anthony. Now we can do e-mail, but we need Internet cards. We can't buy them, but you can. You're a tourist."
"What do you mean, you can't buy them?"
"They're for tourists or if you have permission from the government."
Irene's blue eyes widened. "You need permission to go on the Internet?"
"Yes, but if we have a card, we can do it. There is a code, and we use our telephone line."
"I'll buy your cards for you."
"Mother—"
"I'm going to help them," Irene said. "Yolanda, how do we do this?"
"It's very easy. We go to the commercial center, and you show your passport, and they give you the cards. They cost fifteen dollars. I want four, so I'll give you sixty dollars, and you buy the cards. They never ask questions."
"Okay, but you're not giving me any money. I'll get you as many as you need."
Gail said, "We should talk to Anthony first."
"But darling, you're not doing this, I am. They're not going to make problems for a sweet little sixty-year-old grandma. I'll take Karen with me. Yolanda just said nobody gives you a hassle."
How was Gail to explain that Anthony was caught between the CIA and las Fuerzas Armadas! What if his mother-in-law was seen illegally buying phone cards for the dissidents?
Yolanda filled the silence with, "Gail is right, Irene. She should ask her husband. If Anthony gives his permission, then we'll do it."
With a sigh, Irene said, "Gee, I forgot how much fun it is, being married."
"No, Mother, it's not that, it's... a courtesy."
"You're right. You're right." Irene picked up the bowl of beans to take to the dining table.
Gail noticed Yolanda's eyes move to the back door, where a panel of glass formed a window. She smiled and tossed her dish towel aside. There was a knock, then the door opened and a young man in blue jeans appeared. His long black hair was braided with beads and tied back with a leather cord.
"Hola, mami." He picked Yolanda up off the floor in a hug and set her down again. She kissed him on both cheeks. Their speech flowed too fast for Gail to understand a word of it.
Mario Cabrera had melting brown eyes and full lips. His black leather vest hung open over a silky white shirt. A tiger was tattooed on his forearm, and a small silver earring in the shape of a crucifix shone in one earlobe.
With an arm still around his mother, he noticed Gail and held out his hand. He wore two silver rings and a small one of carved black stone. "Hello."
"This is Mario, my son," Yolanda said. "Here at last. Muy tarde. Why do you come in the back door?" She shushed his apologies. "Mario, this is Mrs. Connor, the wife of Anthony Quintana."
"How are you, Mrs. Connor?" He bent to put a quick, customary kiss on Gail's right cheek.
"Call me Gail if you like. I've heard so many nice things about you, Mario. The kids are in the other room. They'd love to meet you. But you've met Angela already."
He smiled and shook his head. "Sorry. My English ... very bad."
"Mario!" José Leiva called out that he didn't believe it, was that boy really here?
In the living room he went to his father. "¿Qué tal, viejo?"
Leiva stared up at him for several seconds, then asked where he had been keeping himself They had been worried. Did he need an invitation to visit his parents? Mario nodded and said he was very sorry. Leiva held out an arm. Mario helped him out of the chair, and the two men embraced.
At dinner the talk was of family, not politics. They wanted to know about Angela and Danny, about Karen. They talked about Gail and Anthony's wedding. Translating for Mario, Yolanda asked Gail to explain what an American lawyer did in the courtroom. Angela told them what she was studying at the University of Miami.
The dining table was barely big enough, but they all squeezed in, Mario sitting on a wooden box topped with books from the library. They put the kids at one end, adults at the other. The table was a garden of color: blue cloth, a green two-liter soda bottle for water, red and yellow carnations for a centerpiece, and a cheerful mismatch of plates.
Karen talked about her soccer matches at school and how she liked sports more than ballet, which she took for only two years. She wasn't any good at it, she said, not like Angela, who was great. Angela sighed and sadly admitted she hadn't made it into the Miami City Ballet. But she would take a job in another company, if one were offered. Mario asked if she had seen the Ballet Nacional de Cuba. Perhaps they could go together, if she had time. He smiled at her. They reached for the serving spoon at the same moment. She told him to go ahead. He said please, after you. Finally he heaped rice on her plate until she laughed and told him to stop, that was too much.
Angela's despondent mood over her faithless boyfriend in Miami wouldn't last much longer, Gail thought. She exchanged a glance with Anthony. He didn't seem displeased that this young man was paying attention to his daughter.
Mario asked Danny, "¿Qué te parece Cuba?" What did he think of Cuba?
Danny swallowed a mouthful of fish. "Me gusta mucho." In Spanish that his father patiently corrected, Danny said he and his cousin had been around the city yesterday, and he had seen everything. He liked the music, the people, the old buildings. He was surprised to see that nobody was starving, which wasn't the story he'd heard in Miami. "Gio says you don't have to pay to go to a doctor, and the education is free, too. Is that true?"
Mario laughed. "The doctor in this neighborhood drives a taxi because he makes only twenty dollars a month in the clinic. Education is free, that's true, but they tell you what to study. They send you to the countryside to do voluntary work, and if you don't go, they kick you out of school."
"My cousins don't
go to the countryside," Danny said.
"Their father is an important man," Mario countered. "If you want to know how we live, you should stay out of the nightclubs and the tourist district. I'll take you to Cerro, to Guanabacoa, to Matanzas. It's not like Mira-mar, where your relatives live. We'll go out to the countryside. Open your eyes, and you'll see."
Danny was skeptical. "In Miami they were talking about people setting off bombs. I haven't heard any explosions since I've been here. I haven't seen any bomb damage or craters or anything like that."
Gail could see Anthony's irritation, but he let Mario answer.
"You don't hear about it because they don't put it on the news. People know. Ask your cousin. Ask General Vega."
"I did ask my cousin. He said it was mercenaries from Miami." Danny looked at his father. "That's what Gio said."
Mario shrugged. "No, I think they are from here."
"A gang of crazy kids," Leiva said. "They think violence is the only way. Good never springs from violence. We must follow the law and make our demands in a relentless but nonviolent way." He lifted a hand. "Argue with me if you like, but I am right about this."
Sitting next to Angela, Gail leaned close to hear her translations. Irene's eyes were fixed on the movement of Angela's lips.
Mario said, "I respect your views, papi, but some people don't want to wait another forty or fifty years. Change will come faster than we think. A great wave is building, and it will take one crack in the wall to bring it all down. One small crack."
Anthony said, "I understand your passion. When I was your age— Well, I was sure that I could liberate the world. I left Miami and went to Nicaragua to fight with the Sandinistas. It was bloody and useless."
"Nicaragua was not your country," Mario said. "Would you die for America?"
Anthony said, "Yes. If the cause were right."
"And I would give my life for Cuba." Mario spoke as though it was completely normal, talking of death and martyrdom. "I'm not afraid to die or to be put in prison for the rest of my life. My father told me that the day he became free was the day they turned the key of his cell. Why? He had nothing left to lose. It was in prison that he discovered his purpose. A man without a purpose may believe he is free, but he lives inside an illusion. That is the real death."
"Don't speak like that," his mother said. "You're scaring me."
Smiling slightly, Leiva stroked his fingers through his short white beard. "Mario. There will be a meeting here on Wednesday night, some independent journalists and librarians. We're going to discuss ways to work together. You should come."
He shook his head and said he was sorry, but he would be busy practicing with the band.
"Busy with the band. I knew it. Young men in Cuba are all talk. They're only interested in music and girls."
Yolanda broke in. "That's enough. Please, José. And you be quiet too, Mario."
"That meeting could be a mistake," Anthony said. "I've heard rumors that the dissidents are being watched more closely. If this is so, holding a meeting at your house would be provocative."
"Yes, we always hear rumors," Leiva said. "We're not doing anything against the law. Where did you hear these rumors?"
"This one comes from a woman with friends in the army. Olga Saavedra. You remember Olga."
"Ah! The devil take her. Where did you see Olga?"
Anthony explained that she was helping his sister Marta plan the quinceañera for her younger daughter. He had seen Olga at the house, and they had talked.
Tearing a piece of bread, Leiva said, "Nothing will happen. Do you know why?"
Angela translated: Arrests of peaceful dissidents would look bad for the regime. The international press would scream if the dissident movement were crushed. As long as they stayed within the law, Castro had to leave them alone.
Leiva dredged his bread through the liquid remaining on his plate. "Olga Saavedra is working for MININT. Look at what she did six years ago, how she betrayed me."
Yolanda objected. She thought that Olga had been pushed to do it to save herself from prison.
Leiva shook his head. "She is working for MININT, I am sure of it. She probably told Anthony because she knew he would pass it on to me. This is a way to disrupt our activities."
Yolanda said, "Shall I make some coffee?"
"My wife doesn't like this kind of talk."
Irene said she was going to help clear the table. Angela said no, to sit down, she and Danny and Karen would do it. Danny slouched in his chair. "Get up," she said.
He laughed when she poked him. "Men don't clear the table in Cuba." "Get up! Dad, tell him not to be such a slug." "Danny, help your sister."
Mario stood up with his plate and walked around the table collecting the others. He told his mother to stay with her guests. He would make the coffee.
Danny pushed out of his chair and laughed again. "I was kidding."
Elbows on the table, Anthony hid his smile behind clasped hands. When the boys were gone he said, "Mario is a good influence on Danny. He has turned out very well. You should be proud of him."
"We are," Yolanda said. "He's a good boy. I'm sorry to hear him talk about prison and dying. So serious!"
"It's his age," Anthony said. "I was the same way."
"La juventud tiene su pasión" said José. Youth has its passion.
Yolanda steered the conversation from this gloomy topic by asking Irene what she wanted to see next in Havana, and Irene told her she hoped to spend some time in Habana Vieja looking for artists' studios. They talked about the new exhibition at the Bellas Artes.
Soon Mario returned with a tray of small cups, followed by Angela with sugar and spoons. When he reached Anthony's place he said, "Señor Quintana." He made a request that Gail couldn't follow.
Anthony said, "He wants to take the kids to see the cañonazo. They shoot the cannons at nine o'clock at La Fortaleza. The cañoneros are in costume, old Spanish uniforms." He checked his watch. "If they leave now, they can make it."
Gail said, "Wait. Is this all right? For Karen, I mean."
Mario said, "I have the car of a friend. I drive very good."
"They'll be safe with Mario. I think they'd enjoy it." Anthony smiled at his daughter. "You want to go, sweetheart?"
"Please."
Karen was bouncing up and down on her toes. "Mom, say yes. Please, can I go?"
"Okay, then. Sounds like fun."
Anthony said, "Mario, what about our flute serenade?" When he repeated the question in Spanish, Mario pulled in a breath.
"Oh! I am sorry!" Yes, he had promised to play the flute at dinner tonight in honor of their marriage. It was outside in the car—
With a smile, Anthony waved off the idea and told him they would have their concert another time. Then he stood up and reached into his pants pocket. "This is for you." Gail saw the envelope that contained two hundred dollars and a letter wishing him well.
Mario shook his head. He didn't need any money, thank you. He had enough. It was no problem. Anthony held out the envelope and said to take it. "No, no, está bien" There was an argument, which José Leiva ended. Take it, he said. Are you getting rich now, playing with your band?
He took the envelope. "Muchas gracias, señor." He embraced Anthony quickly, and Anthony gave him a pat on the back.
From the corner of her eye Gail thought she saw such venomous dislike on Danny's face that she had to look again, but it was gone, a flicker like lightning in a distant storm, and she hoped she'd been wrong.
The young people left through the kitchen door. Gail thought it was odd, but Mario explained that he had found a parking place around the corner, and it was shorter this way.
The night was clear and warm enough to sit outdoors. José Leiva suggested they bring out the Scotch and the wine and enjoy the fresh air. Gail pulled Anthony aside.
"When are you going to see Ramiro?"
"Later. I don't want to leave right now, I'll call Cobo to pick us up in a couple of hours.
Ramiro doesn't usually go to bed until late."
"You don't know what to say to him yet, do you?"
Anthony shook his head.
"Listen, you were a little hard on Danny, don't you think?"
"What do you mean?"
"You shouldn't have given Mario that money right in front of him."
"Gail, please."
"I think it hurt his feelings."
"He could learn from Mario how to show gratitude."
"Never mind," she said. "Forget it. Let's open that other bottle of wine."
They sat in a ragged circle of five chairs on the small concrete patio. Irene sniffed the air and asked if that wasn't night-blooming jasmine. It reminded her so much of home, but Miami wasn't nearly this quiet at night.
Anthony filled Gail's wineglass, then walked over to fill Yolanda's and Irene's, then his own. José was drinking Scotch. He lit a cigarette and shook out his match.
They talked about the garden, the neighbors, the dog that kept them up all hours. Gradually the talk turned to the past. Anthony explained to Irene what the elementary school had been like in their little town of Cascorro. Yolanda said that Anthony had been very bad, always in trouble. Anthony denied it. His Spanish became faster, more colloquial, and Gail couldn't keep up.
Laughing about something he had said, Yolanda raised her arms and loosened her hair clip. Her arms and face and the V of her neckline shone white against the darkness. She raked her fingers through her hair, then refastened the clip.
Anthony fell silent. The light from the house was behind him, and Gail couldn't see his face. He resumed speaking, and she felt a pain in her chest, a heavy tug like a cord pulling across her heart.
16
Against the edge of the ocean, the city twinkled with gold lights. Across the harbor Karen saw some cruise ships, a park, and a small fort. The Malecón was behind the buildings, but she could see the bell tower of the church that Mrs. Vega had shown them today, and the dome of the capítol.
Suspicion of Rage Page 16
