Miguel’s wife answers my questions in quiet monosyllables, hardly raising her voice above a murmur.
“She is embarrassed that she cannot get up from the bed, that she cannot offer you anything,” Estrella whispered to me before we left our house to come here.
“It is good you have a light, pleasant room to stay in,” I say to Miguel’s wife, taking a cafecito off a tray brought by Estrella from her apartment.
“We are very lucky,” she murmurs.
“You are lucky,” I say.
IV. 83
The official dining area of the Palacio de la Revolución is beautiful in a 1960s-seat-of-power-in-the-tropics kind of way, with large islands of space on the ground floor that are not floored with marble, but filled with minijungles of native plants. Nick and I and the president of Energy Consulting International sit at a large table among the minijungles with Fidel Castro and twenty other people—some foreigners, but mostly high-ranking members of the nomenklatura.
The president of Energy Consulting International says to Fidel that he doesn’t agree with his belief that globalization is a bad thing.
There is a shifting as the high-ranking members of the nomenklatura who have sunk in their seats prepare to push themselves back up. They wait to see if Fidel will keep talking, but Fidel stays silent. The members who have sunk push themselves up halfway.
The president of Energy Consulting International says that globalization will undoubtedly cause trauma and dislocation to many populations in the beginning, but that in the end it is a good thing because it will reduce tensions between nations and it will create jobs.
“How will it create jobs?” Fidel asks.
“It will create jobs in the service sector.”
“How so?”
“Well, for example . . . even now, because of the computer, many North American banks no longer keep their records in the United States. They keep them in Bangladesh. They can keep them in Bangladesh and use Bangladeshi workers, because in Bangladesh, they speak English.”
There is a murmur. The members of the nomenklatura who had sunk down in their seats are now all the way up. I have never heard that American banks are doing this. I do not know this because I don’t read current magazines and newspapers. Judging from the rapid adjustments to the expressions on the faces of the members of the nomenklatura around the table, it looks like they don’t know this, either, but are trying to look like they do.
Fidel pushes out his lower lip, then leans forward and silently checks the faces of the members of the nomenklatura on one side of him and on the other, his eyebrows raised.
There is silence. “We should all learn English!” Fidel declares merrily, slapping the edge of the table. “Here we were, learning Russian all those years, and while we were learning Russian, the Russians were learning English!”
IV. 84
We don’t know what to say to Roberto. It has never happened to us before, to not be able to find a job for someone. We did try. There were the little suspicions about him, but they were never substantiated, and we are sure that if the salary were good enough—say, $150 a month—the little skims here and there (which may or may not have happened) would really not happen anymore.
“Good luck,” we say.
There are tears in his eyes.
IV. 85
We watch them through the back window of the car in which José is driving us to the airport until we cannot see them anymore—Manuel, Miguel, Concha, Danila, Estrella, Lorena, and Bloqueo, who is squirming in Lorena’s arms, for Lorena is holding one of Bloqueo’s paws and waving it at us.
Will Manuel and his mujer’s house be requisitioned for the nomenklatura? Will Miguel’s wife’s leg get better? Will Concha’s son motor to Cuba in his yate? Will Danila’s learning-disabled son be discharged from the army? Will Estrella and her husband live long lives in their apartment? Will Lorena’s son get out of jail? Will Bloqueo be petted and loved by those who come after us and die a fat cat at sixteen?
I want people coming out of Cuba to keep telling me about them always, for I am going to miss them until the end of my days.
IV. 86
Juana, the children, and I are in the Cancún airport. Nick is on his way to X—— to get our apartment ready for us there. We go to the newsstand. I buy comic books in English and in Spanish for the children, and the Herald-Tribune, Time, the Economist, and Vogue for me. Juana buys El País and El Nuevo Herald.
We go to the gift shop. It’s just a plain old Mexican gift shop, but everything looks wonderful, like it always does when you’ve just left Cuba. Juana and I talk about how we want to buy everything in the store. I tell her the impulse subsides after a few days. The important thing is to get over the first wave of wanting to buy. I tell her we have to buy a little something, though, to appease the wave. I buy hand cream for myself, some sandals for the children, and a key chain in the form of a Mexican sombrero for Juana. Juana buys a key chain in the form of a beach ball and gives it to me.
We go to the coffee shop. We order tacos even though we are not hungry and eat them all. We drink iced tea.
We walk to the gate for the airplane to Miami. The children sit in chairs, absorbed in their comic books. Juana is reading El País. I wait for the “I’m not in Cuba!” feeling to come—a kind of singing and running in my mind over a mountaintop, like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, only it should be more this time, with alpine winds and fluffy clouds and hoards of liberated children on either side of me, because we’re not going back and because Juana is with us—but it does not come. It has always come before, in Nassau, Miami, Cancún, and even European airports, as soon as I got off the plane from Cuba. I wait for it and wait for it; it has always come so easily before. This time it’s like being on a swing with my legs pumping, but the swing won’t go.
It will come, the “I’m not in Cuba!” feeling, but maybe not until we get to the States, or to X——, in the fall. It will come, but not like Julie Andrews.
We board the plane to Miami.
Epilogue
THINGS HAVE CHANGED AND not changed since we were in Cuba.
Though they have been proposed many times, there are still no provisions for the creation of small and medium private enterprises or independent trade unions. The salaries of professionals such as doctors and architects and of Cubans in other peso-paying jobs continue to be a small fraction of what is made by Cubans in contact with tourists and dollars. Against rising crime, policemen’s salaries have been increased four times. This has led to an enlargement of the police force and a still more visible police presence on the streets.
Until September 11, 2001, the economy was growing in all sectors but sugar. The number of tourists was expected to rise in 2001 to 1,750,000, to the point that the Union of Artists and Writers worried that the ratio of tourists to natives in some cities would turn integral elements of cubanidad, such as Santeria rites, into nothing more than sanitized shows geared to tourists. The events of September 11 have drastically reduced tourism to Cuba and Cuba’s economic prospects; a subsequent devastating hurricane has delivered a further blow. It is not know at this time when Cuba’s economy will recover.
Terrorists and natural disasters, however, do not affect the increasing worldwide popularity of Cuban art and music, which continue to be Cuba’s most effective and posititve means for gaining international recognition.
Independent tourism in the hinterlands continues to be a daunting experience, though Havana sprouts new, well-run hotels. Punishing taxes have caused many paladares to close, but those that remain are ever fancier.
The U.S. embargo, though softened, continues. The United States has approved Cuban purchases of medicine and food from the United States, but Cuba is still denied access to the loans necessary to buy them. A recent shipment of corn from the United States to Cuba—the first since the beginning of the U.S. embargo—was paid for by Cuba in cash. Though there has been a clampdown by the United States on its citizens’ making unauthor
ized trips to Cuba, there has been, at the same time, a broader definition of authorized trips and greater facilitation of travel to Cuba. The hurdles set before Cubans wishing to travel outside of their country remain very high.
Cuban history, like the history of most states, is a time line riddled with brackets: brackets within brackets, and brackets that overlap. Simply stated, the brackets mark times in which unexpected things happen. What makes Cuban history different even from the history of other Latin American countries is the extent to which magical realism is allowed to become part of its timeline, both within and outside its brackets of unexpectedness.
Without a doubt, the most distinct bracket of time since we left Cuba has been the Elián González period, when Cubans on both sides of the Straits of Florida fought over the fate of one little boy. The case might have been concluded quickly had it not been for the seemingly miraculous circumstances of the boy’s survival. Elián came to be equated with La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre herself, with Moses, with Elegguá, the opener of roads (who is often portrayed as a child), and with the child-savior of Ifa (one of the five branches of Santeria) oracles, who, it was predicted, would arrive by sea. As if that were not enough, Elián was also found on Thanksgiving Day. And so the figure of Elián manages to be syncretic not only in an Afro-Cuban sense but also in an Afro-Cuban-yanqui sense, hitherto unheard of.
Since Cuba has repossessed Elián, the leadership of the Cuban-American National Foundation has been replaced by a more moderate, younger generation. And on September 12, 2001, Raúl Castro presided over a rally of “solidarity with the American people over the tragedy they are living through.” Manipulations aside, the fact is that Elián is growing up with his one remaining parent in his native land. His future there becomes harder to imagine every day. Still, one cannot have lived in Cuba without being affected by magical realism oneself, without believing it a distinct possibility that Elián, growing up, will experience more miracles. And maybe they won’t even have to be miracles.
February 2002
Glossary
agua mala: “bad water,” microorganisms in the sea that cause raised welts on the skin of sea bathers
agro, agropecuario: fruit, vegetable, lamb, and pork market
apagón: blackout
babalao: Santeria priest
balsa: raft
balsero: rafter
barrio: neighborhood
blumes: underpants
bodega: neighborhood food store where Cubans shop, using ration cards
bohio: hut
boniato: sweet potato
El Caballo: the Horse, another name for Fidel Castro
caoba: Cuban mahogany
cáscara de toronja: grapefruit rind that has been boiled, then pressed under a weight, in syrup
CDR: Committee for the Defense of the Revolution
chica, chico: girl, boy
chicharrones: pork cracklings
La China: the Chinese Woman, another name for Raúl Castro
chino: “Chink,” “Chinaman”
Cohiba: the best brand of cigars
compañero: comrade
conseguir: to achieve, obtain, get
coprocultivo: bacterial culture grown from a stool sample
Cubalse: state-run monopoly for construction, the distribution of construction and household materials, and the providing of employees to foreign entities, among other activities
cucurucho: sweet made of coconut, sugar, and almonds
cuentapropista: self-employed worker
Diplo, Diplomercado: Diplomarket, the largest and most well supplied dollars-only supermarket in Havana
dulce de coco: coconut sweet
duro: hard-line
un duro: a hard-liner
El: Him, another name for Fidel Castro
Elegguá: a Santeria saint who is “an opener of roads”
ensalada de espan: SPAM salad
escabeche: fillets of serrucho, a type of fish, breaded and fried with onions, then pressed under a weight, in vinegar, for a week
fula: dollar
gallego: Galician, from the province of Galicia in Spain
guajira, guajiro: farmer or country person
hijos de puta: sons of a whore
jamon biki: a salami-shaped ham made of many parts of the pig
jine: short for
jinetera; also, of or pertaining to a
jinetera, as in
jinewear jinetera, jinetero: semiprofessional female or male prostitute
judias: literally “Jews;” white beans
loca, loco: crazy
majá: small boa constrictor native to Cuba
malanga: an edible tuber
maricón: “faggot”
mariquitas: green bananas sliced thin, then fried like potato chips; also, “little faggots”
mojito: cocktail consisting of light rum, dark rum, lime juice, sugar, and crushed mint
mojo: garlic sauce
mulata, mulato: mulatta, mulatto
muestra: stool sample
un negro: a black person, a negro, a “nigger”
un negrito: a little black person, a little negro, a little “nigger”
El Niño: the Child or the Kid, another name for Fidel Castro
nomenklatura: the Communist leadership
oriental, orientales: oriental, orientals, meaning Cubans originating from anywhere east of Camagüey; also known as palestinos
panatela de Boston crema: Boston cream pie
panqué: pancake
paredón: a wall against which people were executed
periodo especial: special period, short for “special period in time of peace,” the time in Cuban history following the withdrawal of aid from the Soviet Union, in which Cubans were asked to endure shortages and inconveniences for the sake of the survival of the socialist revolution while the government adjusted to new realities
perros calientes: hot dogs
permutar: to exchange houses or apartments
picua: a fish that is often toxic
la pincha; pinchar: work; to work
plátano: banana
plátanos verdes: green (nonsweet) bananas
P.P.G.: pronounced pe pe hay, an anti-impotence drug
puros: cigars
quedarse: to stay, meaning in Cuba “to go to another country and stay there;” se quedó en el exterior means “he stayed abroad”
resolver: to resolve (a problem), also meaning in Cuba to find goods and take possession of them, to settle an issue with the bureaucracy
ron: rum
ron añejo: rum aged more than seven years
rumbera: female rumba dancer; also, a folklorically dressed Cuban woman, in long, flounced skirt, white cotton or lace puffy-sleeved off-the-shoulder blouse, and head kerchief, sometimes seen smoking a cigar
El Señor: the Mister, the Sir, or the Lord, another name for Fidel Castro
serrucho: a fish
tostones: green bananas that are fried, then flattened
el triunfo: short for “the triumph of the revolution”
vieja, viejo: old
yucas rellenas: mashed yuccas stuffed with meat, rolled in bread crumbs, and deep-fried
La Yuma: the United States
yuca: an edible tuber
Principal Characters
The Tattlin Family
Isadora, the narrator
Nick, her husband
Thea, their daughter
Jimmie, their son
Sam, Isadora’s brother
The Help
Concha, the downstairs maid
Danila, the upstairs maid
Estrella, the laundress
José, the driver
Lorena, the cook
Manuel, the butler
Miguel, the gardener
Roberto, the driver for guests and errand boy
The Nannies
Juana, the Cuban nanny, who joined the family later and left with them
Muna
, the Bangladeshi nanny, who came with the family but left for home early
Instructors
Carlita, the swimming instructor
Gonzalo, who replaced Carlita as the swimming instructor
Lety, the gymnastics instructor
Mrs. Fleites, a teacher at the children’s school
Olga, the Spanish instructor
Doctors
Millares Cao, the specialist in skin diseases
Maria del Carmen, the psychologist
Yamila Lawton, the allergist
Silvia, the pediatrician
Cuban Officials (some no longer in office at the time of this writing)
Fidel Castro, president
Raúl Castro, his brother, vice president, and head of the armed forces
Alfredo Guevara (no relation to Che), head of the Instituto Cubano del Arte y de la Industria Cinematográfica (ICAIC), or Cuban Film Institute
Eusebio Leal, historian of the city of Havana and founder and president of Habaguanex, a corporation dedicated to the restoration of Old Havana
Maida, a Bienes Culturales employee
Nestor, a Customs agent
Orestes, a plainclothesman in Havana
Piñeiro, aka Barbaroja (Redbeard), former head of Cuban intelligence
Rigoberto, head of the Consejo Popular in Pinar del Río
Cuban Artists, Writers, Musicians, and Intelligentsia (see also Survivors)
Natalia Bolivar Arostegui, a former teenage revolutionary, now an anthropologist, writer, and expert on Santeria
Saidel Brito, an artist Alexis Esquivel, an artist
Reynaldo González, a writer and director of Cineteca, or the Cuban Film Archives
Kcho, an artist
Dulce María Loynaz, Cuba’s greatest living lyric poet
Meira, Ángel Toirac’s wife, a writer and poetess
Cuba Diaries Page 37
