CURSE THE MOON

by Lee Jackson

  Atcho’s head jerked up. “You lost a baby?” he whispered.

  “Yes. And I might never be able to have another one. I had a late miscarriage. We didn’t tell you because you couldn’t come to Germany anyway.” She paused again, breathing hard, and wiped the tears from her face. “Tonight,” she continued, her voice acquiring a hard edge, “I listened to the president and all those other people talk about what a great hero you are. Well, Hero, are you ever going to be around for your family?”

  Numbly, Atcho stared into the night. Behind them, Bob called through the door, “I found you two! Is everything all right?” He advanced across the terrace.

  Eyes furious, Isabel glared at Atcho. “I was happier thinking you were dead!” she whispered, and ran past Bob into the ballroom. Atcho watched her go, then turned back toward the rail.

  Behind him, Bob approached. “I’m sorry, Atcho. I saw this coming. I should have warned you.” He grasped Atcho’s shoulder. “We’ve had a lot of discussion on this subject, and our opinions differ. I hope she doesn’t resent my combat in Grenada. Doesn’t seem to. And if you’d won in Cuba, she might see things differently.” He waited, but receiving no reply, continued. “She’s a wonderful woman, Atcho, but she hurts deeply. I hope her pain passes in time. Meanwhile, you’re always welcome in our home.”

  “Thanks,” Atcho managed through trembling lips.

  “Are you ready to leave?” Bob asked.

  Atcho shook his head. “No, I’ll find my own way home.”

  Bob nodded. “I’d better find Isabel. I’m sorry your evening was spoiled.”

  Atcho heard Bob’s footsteps trail away. Every emotion he had ever felt churned through him. Rage, hatred, sorrow, and all their mutations moved in counterpoint against an overwhelming sense of failure.

  Standing alone in the ring of cold moonlight, his shadow cast a dark specter across the white marble floor. As strains of music floated through crisp, night air, he stared into blackness. For the last four years, Isabel’s aloofness had separated them. Although saddened by the situation, Atcho accepted it as necessary in order to protect her life. But I never saw this coming! He ached to think of her as a child, crying herself to sleep, and he felt the loneliness and despair she must have known when Raissa had died. Thinking of his sister, he cursed his dead brother-in-law for adding to Isabel’s misery.

  His affection for Bob felt profound, recognizing the immense worth he had added back into Isabel’s life. And he grieved for the loss of his grandchild. Isabel’s words rang through his mind: When are you ever going to be around to do something for your family? Suddenly, he felt very old.

  He stared at the bright impassive moon. “You’ve been present for every scene,” he said, addressing the golden orb. “What do you think? Could I have done things differently? Does it matter now?” He shrugged. “I’ll finish this fight, and then see if life is worth living.”

  28

  Atcho heard a light footstep behind him, and then felt a warm hand touch his arm. His chest constricted, but he remained outwardly impassive.

  “Atcho, are you all right?” Sofia regarded him with the same compassion he had seen in Havana.

  “I’m fine,” he snapped.

  Sofia moved to the rail and looked up at the stars. “I didn’t intrude deliberately,” she said. “I came out for fresh air. I heard you arguing and went to find your son-in-law.”

  Atcho hung his head. “Some hero, huh?”

  Sofia did not immediately reply. She searched his eyes as if trying to see behind a veil. “Were you more disappointed when Isabel hung up on you in Havana?”

  As the rush of tragic memories collided in his mind, Atcho turned away. “Please, I’d rather not talk about it,” he rasped.

  “I’m sorry.” Sofia’s tone was gentle. “I don’t mean to meddle. I’ve seen you suffer twice now. You could use a friend.” His emotions churned.

  Several minutes passed in silence before Sofia spoke again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to add to your discomfort. I’ll go back inside.”

  As her footsteps receded, Atcho called after her. “Wait!” Sofia halted and faced him. “Thank you. Again.” She nodded and turned toward the ballroom.

  “Sofia!” His heart pounded at the realization that she grew more beautiful each time he saw her. Moonlight glimmered in her shimmering hair and softened her finely sculpted features. Her eyes sparkled like stars, and, silhouetted against the marble backdrop of the hotel she seemed a living, breathing Venus.

  “I’m sorry,” Atcho said at last. “You’ve been very kind. Give me a minute, then please dance with me.” Sofia nodded graciously, and disappeared into the ballroom.

  Soft music greeted him when he re-entered. Most of the guests were still present, including Burly and Rafael. Bob must have told them that something personal had occupied Atcho because no one remarked about his absence, and everyone seemed deliberately jovial. As he strolled through the room they relaxed into more natural behavior. He was moved by their affection.

  He spotted Sofia standing near the door leading into the lobby. “God, she’s beautiful!” he breathed, and crossed the floor to dance with her.

  29

  Two days later, Bob called. “Atcho, can we get together for drinks?”

  “You’re worried about that argument with Isabel the other night at the reception. Don’t be. I’m fine.”

  “Can’t a guy have a beer with his father-in-law?” Bob’s voice boomed good nature across the telephone. “I was gonna take you to my favorite Irish pub!”

  Atcho was reluctant. “Okay, then. Where and when?” He hoped he sounded suitably enthusiastic.

  They met at Cowan’s Irish Pub in Alexandria, a fixture of local nightlife just a block off of Washington Avenue near the town center. It occupied most of the first floor of an ivy-covered redbrick building in a recently restored colonial area. The entrance was on the corner, with polished oak arches framing an outside foyer and windows along both street-side walls. Irish-green panels with gold colored trimming welcomed patrons. Inside, the warmth continued with polished wood walls and columns. The deep-grain wood bar was studded with brass fittings, and a soft carpet throughout the pub was done in a cheerful red and green block pattern. Mirrors bordered with Gaelic patterns were built into the walls. They reflected the half-light of ornate fixtures, throwing off a cozy atmosphere.

  Bob lounged on a barstool when Atcho arrived in mid-afternoon the next day, and had already struck up banter with the bartender. “Hey Atcho!” he called, “C’mon over here and meet my buddy, Aengus. I promised to introduce you if I could ever get you down here.”

  Aengus extended a massive hand. He towered above Atcho, and was even a few inches taller than Bob. His dark hair was short, oily and disheveled, and he showed a day’s worth of whiskers over a block jaw. “So pleased to meet you, sir,” he enthused. “Your son-in-law has told me so much about you. This is such an honor. Won’t you please accept a pitcher of ale on the house?” Animated and lively, he rolled his rs as he spoke.

  Atcho felt slightly embarrassed, but took the praise in stride, and simply said, “Thank you.” They chatted for a few minutes, and then Bob asked for a table in the far corner.

  “Not a problem, Bob,” Aengus said. “I’ll bring over somethin’ to wet the whistle and some pub grub, and keep the other customers away.” He grinned and winked at Atcho. “I know the two o’ you must be ginnin’ up somethin’!”

  Bob and Atcho moved over to the table. “Why do I feel like I’m being taken to the woodshed?” Atcho asked with a slight wry smile as he took his seat.

  “Not at all,” Bob laughed. “OK, so I asked you here because of what happened the other night. I don’t think that’s going to cause the Berlin Wall to come down.”

  Atcho smiled sheepishly. “You’re right. So, what do we hope to accomplish?” Just then, Aengus brought over a pitcher of Smithwick’s Ale, two frosted mugs, and a platter of corned beef and cabbage. “This is the best ale from the Ol
’ Country. I know other people talk about that other ale, but for my money … ” He gestured, indicating no equal.

  Sergeant Schultz, Atcho thought. He’s a dead ringer for Sergeant Shultz of Hogan’s Heroes!

  “And this corned-beef … ah,” Aengus continued. He rolled his eyes towards the top of his head in mental bliss. Looking back down, he caught Bob’s eye. “Oh yes,” he said as though recovering himself, and then lowered his voice, “I’ll leave you alone to talk.”

  Bob laughed as Aengus walked away. “Sergeant Schultz,” he said.

  Atcho chuckled. “I just had the same thought!” He poured ale into the two mugs, and took a long swallow. The cool beverage felt great going down his throat, and then he felt the spread of that peaceful feeling. He held the mug in both hands at eye level while he leaned on both elbows, and appeared to contemplate the dark liquid. Then he looked at Bob. “So, what are we going to discuss?”

  “Don’t look so serious,” Bob said. “This isn’t an inquisition. I have far too much respect for you for that.” He grinned broadly at Atcho. “Now, I’m not gonna say that I like you, and if anybody ever tells you that I do, you’ll know it’s a flat-out lie!” He reached across the table and clapped Atcho on the shoulder. “Seriously, you know how proud I am to be your son-in-law.”

  “You’ve done fine till now,” Atcho said with a slight smile. “Don’t start getting sappy on me.”

  “All right, all right, fair enough!” Bob took a deep gulp of ale. “Look,” he said, getting serious, “we have a strong mutual interest.” Atcho nodded in agreement. “I’m gonna get sappy for a moment,” Bob continued, “but only for a moment.” He shifted in his seat, and Atcho perceived that he was uncomfortable expressing whatever he was about to say.

  “I love your daughter very much,” Bob said, “and I have the highest regard for you.” He grinned slightly. “I’ll even admit to a little affection.”

  Atcho smiled, “That’s good, but go on about my daughter.”

  “Yeah, your daughter. Isabel.” He looked like he was searching for words. “Help me out, Atcho. I want to understand you so that I can help Isabel. Frankly, it hurts to see my wife and her father so estranged, and they are both wonderful people.”

  Atcho felt the blood drain slowly from his face and the gnawing at his stomach that had become so familiar over the years. “What would you like to know?” he asked quietly.

  Bob contemplated him a few moments. “I understand why you fought for Cuba, and I’m fine with that. I’m a soldier.”

  “You’re a captain, soon to make major,” Atcho interposed.

  Bob waved away the comment. “What I don’t understand is, why did you assume another identity and stay hidden all that time? You could have left Cuba years ago. Your classmates would have helped. They thought you were dead!”

  Atcho sat in silence, and sipped his ale.

  “Look Atcho, I’m not here to make your life more difficult. I really want Isabel to be happy. She had a rough time, too. I’m not saying her resentment is justified – but these are the same questions she’s asking. If I could understand, maybe I could help her understand.”

  Atcho continued his silence. His emotional warnings were blaring. Bob looked frustrated. “Is there anything you can tell me?”

  Atcho tried to deflect. “I hardly know where to start,” he said. “So much happened to so many people.”

  “All right, then let me ask some questions. I’ve spoken with many of the former political prisoners, Atcho, many who remember you. The stories about you really are legendary.” He paused, and Atcho looked away. “I’ve read reports that included mention of ‘Atcho’ and ‘Eduardo Xiques’ … ” He stopped as he saw Atcho react.

  “You checked me out?” Atcho asked with a tinge of anger.

  Bob drew back. “Atcho,” he said. “I’m an army officer. I have access to information. Yes, I read reports about what took place in Cuba during the invasion. I was a cadet when I met Isabel. She thought you dead, and I had no reason to think otherwise. I was curious about a West Point graduate in action during the Cuban revolution. Don’t you think that’s a normal curiosity?”

  Atcho nodded tiredly. “Yes, I suppose it is. Go on.”

  “I was about to say that those reports mentioned you both as Atcho and as Eduardo, but the two were not linked as the same person, and only Atcho was in action. Then, at the Bay of Pigs, you just disappeared.” Atcho’s mind headed towards darkness, but he steered it away. “Then, nineteen years later,” Bob went on, “you resurfaced. I know you were in prison, because your fellow prisoners remember you well, and some knew you were Atcho. The question is, why? Why didn’t you let anyone know that you, Eduardo Xiquez, were there?”

  Atcho felt rising anger again. “Why is that important to you? And apparently, you have asked other refugees about me. Were you checking on me? What do you think? That I am a spy?”

  Bob drew back. He scrutinized Atcho a moment, and then leaned forward. “Atcho, I’m your friend, not your enemy. Because my wife is Cuban, we mix with a lot of Cubans, many of whom are refugees. They tell their stories, and generally they love life! They party! They dance to salsa and merengue. You don’t.”

  Atcho looked at him morosely, and had the strange feeling of being a cornered animal. “I don’t know what to say. I lost my family, our farm … ”

  Bob shook his head, “Don’t go there, Atcho. You are too well known for bravery. You’re deflecting. Lots of those refugees lost as much. They’ve moved on. In actuality, you’ve had financial success beyond most of them, despite the fact that they’ve done very well. But you still carry a sense of being anchored in the past, and until we can get over whatever it is, I don’t think things will change with Isabel.”

  Atcho was quiet a moment, and then shifted in his chair as if to stand up. “Maybe you’re right,” he whispered, “and maybe I should leave.”

  “Please don’t,” Bob said quickly but firmly, and reached across to put a restraining hand over Atcho’s. Atcho stared at it, and Bob removed it. “Sorry,” he said. “Please don’t leave.” He leaned forward and looked Atcho directly in the eye. “I love my wife. I love her father. I want to see them both happy.” He lowered his voice and enunciated his words. “I will do anything to protect Isabel, and take anybody apart limb by limb that makes her unhappy.”

  “Meaning what?” Atcho snapped.

  “Meaning that something is going on that you won’t talk about, and it’s affecting the lives of two people whom I care about deeply.” His voice had risen, and he stopped as if just realizing that, and looked around. Then he looked back at Atcho. “If you won’t tell me anything,” he said, “I can’t help you. But let me tell you this. If anything comes around that could harm Isabel, I won’t leave anything lying around but blood ’n’ guts.”

  Atcho had to smile. “I know that,” he whispered. “And that’s why I love you, and am so proud and happy that Isabel married you.” His spontaneity surprised even himself, and he felt embarrassed by the emotion that threatened to dump moisture from his eyes. He felt his throat constrict and his mouth twitch involuntarily, and he hoped that Bob did not notice.

  Just then, Aengus came over. “How’s the ale?” he asked.

  “The best!” Atcho quipped awkwardly, welcoming the release of tension, and holding up his mug. Aengus beamed, and then eyed the untouched pub grub.

  “You didn’t like the corned beef?” he asked.

  “You know I love it,” Bob said. “Bring some more, but warmed up.” Aengus picked up the plate and looked at it. He seemed unable to comprehend how it could have been left uneaten. He looked back at Bob.

  “I will have to charge you.”

  Bob laughed. “Yeah, of course,” he said, “I’ll pay for all of it, including that pitcher of ale.”

  “No, sir! I could not allow that.” Aengus looked indignant. “The first pitcher is on the house.”

  “Fair enough,” Bob laughed, and Aengus went back to the bar.<
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  Atcho looked around. More patrons had entered, and the place was filling up. But, true to his word, Atcho saw that Aengus had left vacant the seating area in their immediate vicinity. His mug was nearly empty, and so was Bob’s, so he filled them both.

  Atcho leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs, and Bob followed suit. They sat in silence a few minutes. Aengus brought the fresh plate of corned beef and cabbage, and refilled the pitcher. When he had gone, Bob asked, “Do you mind if I ask about your time in prison?” He saw Atcho tense with apprehension, and held up both hands, palms forward. “No pressure here, just curious. There are so many stories floating around about you, it’s hard to separate fact from fiction.” He saw that Atcho was still hesitant. “You’re my father-in-law,” Bob said, “I’d just like to know about you from you.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’ll help.”

  “I’m sorry,” Atcho replied. “What would you like to know?”

  “The tank hijacking in the swamp, did that really happen?” Atcho nodded, and Bob shook his head in amazement. “Wow! And did you really punch out a guard your first night on the Isle of Pines?” Atcho nodded again. “Criminy! You were a regular hell on wheels!” He leaned his chair back and sprawled his legs in front of him. “And the thing about the escape attempt. Did that happen?”

  Atcho nodded again. “You saw how successful that was,” he said wryly.

  “Are you kidding me?” Bob’s eyes widened, and his normal broad grin crossed his face. “I know the guy that actually made it out of there, and he says that there is no way he could have done it without you.”

  “You know him?”

  “Well, I’ve met him. Bernardo Martin, right?” Atcho nodded. “We met him in Miami while we waited for you to arrive. He wanted to see you, but I guess in the rush of things, it slipped. He was meeting family members, too, so … ” He held up his palms and shrugged. “I guess it just didn’t happen. We tried to get him here for the reception, but he had another engagement.” Bob looked sheepish. “I should have told you. Anyway, I spoke with him for quite a while before your plane arrived, and he was emphatic that without your experience and training, none of the prisoners would have had a chance. People don’t widely know this, but his reports of conditions there played a large part in raising awareness, and brought pressure to close that dungeon.” He leaned forward and allowed the front of his chair to fall to the floor with a slam. “You see, Atcho, you succeeded!”