Havana Jazz Club
Page 20
“Don’t worry, Billie,” the Russian replied. “It’s so close.”
“Come on. We’ll walk you. I insist. Right, Matías?”
“Of course! It’s on our way.”
Tatiana shrugged and waited by the door for them to grab their stuff and put on their coats. Billie flipped off the lights and the place went dark. She locked the door, and Matías helped her drag down the metal gate, which was profusely decorated with elaborate graffiti. She knew it would be useless to try to get rid of it. A new painting would be up the next day. They closed the padlock and started to walk unhurriedly through the solitary streets. It was cold, the ground was wet, and they felt the damp in their bones. It was drizzling. No, it was snowing. They smiled when they realized the snowflakes were flitting on their shoulders and then melting right away.
“It’s snowing!” Billie exclaimed.
“It’s not sticking,” Matías said, stopping to contemplate the snow falling slowly and silently, then disappearing immediately among the cobblestones. “It almost never sticks in Barcelona.”
“Well, in Russia it snows a lot,” Tatiana said. “The snow piles up in the streets and stays there for months. You wouldn’t think it was so exciting if it snowed the way it does in Moscow.”
“In my country, it never snows,” Billie said, smiling at how obvious her comment was. “There are hurricanes, typhoons, everything. But no snow.”
“In Barcelona there was a blizzard once,” Matías recalled. “It was in 1962. The city was paralyzed—we weren’t prepared for anything like that. Highways were closed; there was no public transit or communication. It was a disaster! The kids loved it, since school was closed for a few days. But it was total chaos.”
They had arrived at Tatiana’s door. After saying good-bye to her, they continued on toward Billie’s house.
“Where’s Gerardo?” Matías asked.
“He went to spend Christmas with his children.”
“Will he be back soon?”
“He’ll be here for New Year’s,” Billie said, looking at Matías. “He has two grandchildren. Did you know that? He hasn’t even met one of them yet. He was really excited.”
“It’s going well with him, right?”
Billie made an evasive gesture and smiled timidly.
“I’m happy for you, Billie. Armando would be too. He already was. I think he liked Gerardo from the beginning.”
“Unlike you.”
“I’ll admit I didn’t trust him much at first. But then I realized he was a good person. And he loves you, Billie. You can tell from a mile away that he’s crazy about you.”
“You think so?” Billie asked, averting her gaze. “It’s hard to believe that someone could be attracted to me at this point. I’m old and fat.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Matías exclaimed, stopping to look her in the eye. “You’re still beautiful, Billie. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
And he said the words so emphatically that Billie blushed.
“You’re such a drama queen, Matías!” she said, trying to make light of it. “But I appreciate it. It’s always nice to hear things like that.”
“I’m being completely serious! You’ve always been a very beautiful woman, and you still are. And more importantly: you have a heart that doesn’t fit in your chest.”
“Alright, alright! Get out of here and go to sleep,” Billie said, laughing as she cut him off.
They had arrived at her house, and Matías gave her a kiss good-bye.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful.”
“See you tomorrow, Matías. Merry Christmas.” Billie kissed his other cheek and opened the door. She watched him walk away under the snow, hunched against the cold and stooped by years. She felt a stab of sadness. Matías was getting pretty old as well.
When she went into her house, the light on her answering machine was blinking. She pressed the button to listen to the message:
“Hello, Billie,” said Gerardo’s voice. “I just wanted to say good night and tell you that I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ll call you tomorrow. Sleep well. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Billie whispered, a smile playing on her lips.
She went over to the window. Outside, the snow was still falling, placid and steady.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Marlene Moleón, the Cuban writer and editor who, responding to my many letters peppered with questions, helped me re-create the protagonist’s years in Cuba. Though any error in documentation is only ascribable to the author.
To Vivian Stusser, the Cuban writer who advised me on the language and idioms of her land.
To Zoé Valdés, who did this in her own way, without even realizing, lending me atmospheres and speech through her books.
To Mercedes Gallego, the last critical and objective look at the manuscript and consultant in layout and other technical matters.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014
Lola Mariné is a writer, licensed psychologist, and actress. Born in Barcelona, she worked in show business in Madrid for twenty years before returning to her hometown. There, she earned a degree in psychology while teaching theater workshops to children.
She has contributed to four anthologies, Tiempo de recreo (Playtime), Dejad que os cuente algo (Let Me Tell You Something), Atmósferas (Atmospheres), and Tardes del laberinto (Evening of the Labyrinth), and wrote Gatos por los tejados (Cats on the Roofs), a collection of short stories. Her first novel, Nunca fuimos a Katmandú (We Never Went to Kathmandu) was published in 2010.
For more information, visit gatosporlostejados.blogspot.com.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Photo © 2015 Jack Peele
Rosemary Peele holds an MFA in literary translation from the University of Iowa. Her translations from Spanish have been published by AmazonCrossing and The Translation Review. She was awarded the Iowa Arts Fellowship from 2011 to 2013 and received the honorable mention in the 2009 Susan Sontag Prize for Translation. Rosemary has lived in England, Bermuda, New York, Spain, Ghana, and Iowa City and also holds a BA in literary translation from Sarah Lawrence College.