by Faith O'Shea
It was the traits they had in common he hoped would create a connection. They were both highly sensitive to the world around them, both worked hard for what they had, and they were both calm in a crisis. And there was the fact they’d both been born in a fishing village. The water called to them in the same way as it did him.
How would Alicia see his homeland? As the stagnant nation it had become or the colorful nation seen through the eyes of tourists, with the old cars and the historic buildings? He’d have to remind her that it was a third-world country. She would need to know that Wi-Fi was limited and there were certain brands that couldn’t hook to it, that old phones worked better than newer ones, that ATM’s were not compatible with American cards, and that she had to take enough cash with her to last her entire stay, that mosquitoes were everywhere and she had to make sure she had repellent.
He smiled, wondering if she’d attempt to take in a baseball game. He was sure it would spark her curiosity. Should he ask if she was considering it? Give her the names of some of his friends there so she could seek them out, say hello? No, it was better if she had no contact with them. It might prove dangerous.
He was shaken out of his thoughts when Alicia asked, “Do you want to see the Shire?”
She was standing, apparently finished with the meeting. Her expression was warm, which meant it went well, but he had no idea what she was talking about.
“What is that?”
“The stadium. Pittsfield is in Berkshire County. They dropped the Berks when they named it. It also refers to the Hobbit village in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Hobbits had value, and the future of Middle Earth was in their hands. I don’t suppose you’ve read it.”
“Actually, I have read the first book. I picked it up in Rotterdam when a British player told me they were good stories. I meant to read the rest but have never gotten to them.”
“The movies are good as well. You should watch them.”
“Maybe when you are away, I will do a search.”
They would make him think of her while she was gone, although he didn’t think he’d need any more reminders than her personal belongings scattered around the condo. Given the number of shoes she had, he doubted she followed her own rules about excess.
“Come on. We’re done. Mickey’s been working with Mac for a year and knows what he’s doing. He was a good fit for the position. Played ball for the Astros and Mets and has a wealth of knowledge under his belt.”
Once the goodbyes were attended to, they walked out of the office and into the muted sunshine. He slipped on his sunglasses and looked toward the small stadium. “This is where your players start out.”
“Most of them. The ones drafted, anyway.”
As they moved in tandem, he asked, “How long does it take to move to Triple A?”
“Depends on the player, how motivated, how talented, how adaptable.”
“How long was Seb here?”
“He wasn’t. He went right to Cranston. It was a shame he couldn’t have moved up to the majors before now, but we had a great fielder out there. He had to wait his turn.”
Seb had told him that he might be up only for the year or until the outfielder’s knee was healed.
“Once the guy is ready, will he be back? And if he is, where will Seb go from there?”
“Atticus has made it known he’s done. He’s seen others go through the rigors of physical therapy and how long it takes to get back the flexibility. He was only giving himself another year or two before retirement and figures the road to recovery will take that long. Seb’s here for the duration.”
He sighed in relief and then wondered, “Does Seb know?”
“We just found out yesterday. I’m meeting Seb before the wake tomorrow, and I’ll tell him then. I’m also going to ask him to get you to your driver’s test. As you know, I’ll be out of town that day.”
“If he can’t, we can postpone. The visa is more important than a driver’s license.”
She’d led him to the top of the concrete steps, and he had a bird’s-eye view of the field. It was snow covered, but he could tell from the scoreboard to the seating that it was in pristine condition.
“Our fields are not this well-kept.”
“I’ve read that. We want the best for our players, no matter what level they’re at. This was built just a few years ago and attendance went up by thirty per cent.”
He wasn’t sure better conditions would increase attendance in Cuba. Their seats were always full. Even in little league, mothers and fathers would fill the stands, cheering their children on. It was his mother who’d gotten him back and forth, sat with his grandfather and then alone after his death, a solitary figure set apart from the rest.
Alicia sat on the uppermost bench and patted the place beside her. It wasn’t as cold up here. The wall behind them buffered them from the chill. Once he’d joined her, she asked, “How did you get involved in baseball?”
He glanced over, trying to gauge how deep she wanted him to go. He couldn’t read her expression, so he gave her the short and sweet explanation.
“When my father left, my mother wanted to make sure I had things to do to keep me out of trouble. She enrolled me in one of the sport centers and I must have shown promise because I was selected to join the Camagüey little league. Even at that age, we participated for our municipality, played against others, like Holguin and Havana. The most talented were sent to sports academies and I was among them. They are schools, but much of our time was spent in vigorous athletic training and competition, after which we are chosen for the provincial teams. Those who achieve outstanding results are selected for the national team. I was lucky to be one of them.”
“You weren’t lucky, Mateo. You are talented and disciplined, and as you say it was your outstanding results that placed you there.”
“It became my life. There was very little to do where I come from.”
“There must have been more to do when you joined the nationals.”
“We traveled, yes, but we were watched, especially after the defections began.”
“You didn’t have much freedom then?”
“The only thing allowed was shopping in malls. There was shock with my first visit. So many stores, so much to choose from. No lines, no lack of things to buy. I didn’t buy much, because I not only had very little cash, but I was overwhelmed by the variety.”
“No malls in Cuba?”
“Not like in Rotterdam or Canada. Or here. There are open-air markets, more choices today than a few years ago, but we do not have the…merchandise to fill it with. Food is rationed, medicine is scarce. Some of my teammates who had relatives in America would ask them to send aspirin for our aches and pains.”
He thought he might go shopping at one of the local malls here. Buy to his heart’s content, anything that caught his eye, gaming equipment, clothes, athletic paraphernalia… savor the ability to have the purchase power needed to have everything he ever wanted. Suddenly he became aware of what he was doing, and he slammed the door on it. That’s how the others had gotten into trouble and he refused to go that route.
The wind had picked up and he noticed that Alicia shivered beside him and he stated the obvious.
“You’re cold.”
“I am. I guess we’d better head…back. I have some calls to make, meetings to re-arrange.”
“Will you drop me at home and go to the office?”
She was staring out into he distance when she said, “I’ll check in, and if there’s nothing pressing, I think I can do what I need to from your condo.”
They got up and began to descend the stairs. He held her elbow as they made their way down.
“What shall we eat for dinner?”
They’d skipped lunch and he was hungry.
“Why don’t we stop along the way, eat dinner out. There’s a place not far from here that serves good Colombian food. I think you’ll like it.”
He’d eat anything right now but took pleasure kno
wing she was thinking of his palate. He was glad it was only a ten-minute drive away.
The restaurant was a small place and they took seats tucked in a corner and out of the way.
The menu set his taste buds to dancing and he wasn’t disappointed with the taste.
They’d ordered tostones, and empanadas as an appetizer and the beef stew with sweet plantains and beans was rich and hearty.
It was after they’d finished the meal that he broached the subject he’d been dwelling on most of the afternoon.
“I am wondering whether I should tell my mother the truth. If it would make this trip of yours easier.”
She’d been wiping her mouth with her napkin, stopped in mid-swipe, her eyes flashing up to meet his.
“You’d be willing to do that?”
“If that is what you’d prefer.”
“How will she take it?”
“Not well. She will be angry. She’ll know I did it for her.”
Her eyes squeezed closed. Her lips compressed. When she opened them, he read resignation.
She said softly, “I’m curious to know what you’ve told her? That we fell madly in love the minute our eyes met?”
He could tell her that and there would be no lie to untangle.
“I told her a partial truth. That as we got to know each other, we wanted the chance to explore the relationship but could not do so without getting married.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s pure fabrication.”
“Is it? I did not say the relationship was a personal one.”
“The implication is there. Marriage is personal.”
She was massaging her temples, her nails scratching the surface. When she finally looked back at him, she asked, “Is there much difference between telling her now or telling her later, when we’re no longer together?”
Time with her was necessary. He wanted to woo her, get her to trust him…
“There is. She will already be in America by then. My fear is that she’ll refuse to come if she knows.”
“Would she really do that, knowing if she stayed, she wouldn’t see you for eight years? I thought you were close.”
He was sure she wouldn’t. She’d save her lecture, practice it until they were re-united, and she could express her disappointment in him. Alicia didn’t need to know that.
“We are but she is somewhat stubborn.”
“Fine. Leave it. I’ll play whatever role you need me to. I can’t afford to have you worried about her.”
Of course. She’d do anything for the team. He should have guessed that angle would have worked. Maybe he could use it to keep her with him. Lay guilt on her shoulders. He could fall into a slump. Make some errors in the field. If she stayed, he’d come out of it. Where deception wasn’t his strong suit, or so he thought, he dropped that card out of the hand he’d been dealt, hoping for a better one.
All he could do at this point was nod and say, “I appreciate it.”
A couple of hours later, they were back in his condo: Alicia in her room making phone calls and he out in the living room, his old worn copy of Rumi in his lap. He felt at peace in his new home. He also felt married. Their lives had intersected and had begun to merge. He just had to figure out how to keep them moving in the same direction.
He didn’t have much of a chance over the next two days. The wake and funeral took her away, and he’d been left with Seb and Rique. The ritual of death in his country had been another new experience and the stark differences between his old culture and the new one were startling clear.
The massive structure where Jethro Farina was viewed for most of the day was well-appointed, the landscaping green, with trees, shrubs, and flowers lining the walkway and a parking lot filled to overflowing with expensive new cars. He walked in to sounds of soft music playing in the background and a placard with Farina’s face just outside the viewing room, as if to remind the visitors who they were there to mourn. Accommodations were spacious, chairs were in rows, some of the players sitting and chatting to those around them. There were flowers everywhere, the scent at times overpowering, and they lined the walls, standing at attention around the casket. A kneeler sat before the open coffin, where he paid his respects at Seb’s direction.
When his grandfather had died, his body was taken right to the funeral home for embalming. The service was short, held in a small room where mourners gathered, drinking coffee and smoking the cigars sold in the bleak cafeteria. There was no such thing as a wake, the time from autopsy to crypt taking only eight hours, the state picking up the expense. The family paid only for the flowers and the labor of those who worked the tombs. He could only wonder what this had cost and if there was a need for it.
On the second day, they arrived at a church, ornate with stained-glass windows, dark oaken benches with padded kneelers, where a mass was held prior to the funeral. It wasn’t as grand as some of the cathedrals that sat majestically in city plazas around his country, which were hundreds of years old, and built by the Spanish after their conquest. Where his family wasn’t religious, he’d never participated in such a service and paid close attention to Seb and Rique, who seemed to know when to stand, when to sit, and when to kneel. Open worship of Catholicism had returned to the island in the last decade. It had never disappeared completely when religion was deemed the opiate of the masses and all but forbidden to its participants, but it had quietly carried on in the face of church closings, in spite of the choice given. It was socialism or muerte. His mother never had any use for it, had lived her life according to her own tenets, and was never willing to follow those set by others. She had her own code of honor, that she’d learned from his grandfather and she’d passed it down to him.
The cemetery was another surprise. The dead in Cuba weren’t buried in green space, with trees for shade and benches for sitting. At home, the bodies were entombed in caskets, but they were not placed into the ground, but laid to rest in previously occupied crypts that lined the street. They had too many dead to bury and not enough space for them, so after a few years, tomb workers would jimmy off the lid of an occupied crypt, take out the disintegrating casket, which would be moved by the family to another spot, guide the new coffin in, and close it back up. When his grandfather passed, he and his mother had to sidestep the moldy flowers that had spilled out from the exhumed boxes to get to his burial place. Now, as he looked around the acres of greenery, the monuments telling the story of life, he was baffled. The Americans spent lavishly even on death. He would follow their lead, and with the infusion of cash from his signing, he’d have a mausoleum built in Uriel Arteaga’s honor and have him moved there for all eternity. It would be a way to commemorate a life that had meant so much to him.
The mercy meal was the culmination of the two days of mourning. Everyone gathered together to celebrate the life of the deceased. He’d sat with Seb and Rique, along with some other players for the team. He’d kept Alicia in his sight all throughout the meal, wishing he could have had a more public relationship with her than what she’d left him with. It was only when she rose, checking her watch that he knew she’d soon be leaving. He didn’t want to let her go without at least a good-bye.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Allie checked her watch. The meal was just winding down and she had to get going. Her suitcase was packed and waiting at Mateo’s condo. She intended to pick it up and leave her car there, take an Uber to the airport. Her nerves were beginning to get the best of her. With shaking limbs, she offered her final condolences to the Farina family and began weaving through the dwindling crowd toward the exit. Mateo stopped her before she could get there.
She felt a flutter in her chest when his hand took hold of her own. He looked so good in his suit, his unruly waves sitting disquietly around his head like a halo.
“You are leaving?”
“Yes. I’m meeting Jelani in just over an hour at the gate.”
“I will be thinking of you. Missing you.”
The song of the same
title sung by Alison Krausse and John Waite came streaming into her head, the soft, mellow voices adding to feelings of regret. He did make her smile, set her heart to beating in a crazy rhythm, and she was beginning to think she was not only going to lose the fight but her heart as well.
She touched his cheek with her hand, oblivious to anyone who might be witness. What she wanted to do was lean in for a kiss, feel his lips on hers, and the need was so acute, she stepped back and away.
“I’ll be back on Saturday. I promise I’ll get this done for you.”
“I know I can trust that you will.”
She thought about those words in the Uber ride to the airport. Trust. He trusted her with one of the most critical moves of his life. And it came so freely.
She hadn’t been able to do that since she was four, the day her mother had walked away for the first time. Her life had been solid, and then, suddenly, she’d been freefalling, with nothing to grab on to. Even though her mother had explained some of it, she still didn’t understand the ins and outs. Was her father Ida’s touchstone? Did she need to return from time to time, to test the quality of their relationship? It might have been what her mother needed, but every time she breezed back into their lives a dark cloud came with her. It hovered until it burst, washing away any foothold gained, when her mother walked away again. Ida might have been back ten years this time, but the dark sky remained.
When Steve had cheated on her, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. She’d taken the risk with him, and she’d gotten burned. It was another lesson in love. It didn’t come without bumps and bruises. And it didn’t last forever.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Maybe it did. Her parents had been together, off and on, for over thirty years. She wondered if Rumi had a treatise on that.
When the driver pulled up to the airport terminal, he lifted her carry-on out and placed it at the curb. She muttered a thanks and carried her bag in through the revolving doors wishing that Rumi hadn’t popped into her mind. He’d brought Mateo with him and she didn’t want to feel his presence. It was too invasive, too consuming. She couldn’t afford another lesson in inconstancy. His abandonment would be bigger, hurt more than any that had come before. Better she end it before it happened. Taking control wouldn’t necessarily mean less pain, but it would lessen the disappointment. A heavy weight settled in her heart. She wished—