The Cuban

by Kim Rodriguez

  He ran his hand up my bare thigh, and I let him touch me all over as he drove toward Little Havana. He licked his lips and looked at me suggestively as if running different scenarios through his head.

  “You’re driving me crazy with that tight little body and those red lips, Amada. Always wear red for me.” He gave my hair a tug and pulled me in for a quick kiss, making me aware of the wetness accumulating between my legs again. God help me, I was perpetually ready for this man.

  “I will.” I took his free hand off my hip and brought it to my mouth. “I’ll do anything for you,” I said, as I gently bit down on each of his fingertips.

  ***

  The Copper Crown was alive with activity, through from the outside the place didn’t look like much. From the car it was difficult to see the entrance, a small, blacked out door on the side of the building. Rafa tossed the keys to a valet and we walked up hand in hand, my dress so restrictive I could barely keep up with Rafa’s long strides. As we came closer, I heard salsa music coming from inside every time the door opened. Rafa shook the young man’s hand at the door, a big fellow who welcomed Rafa by name.

  Inside the club, it was another world. There were wall to wall beautiful people everywhere, all milling around in groups with a drink or dancing near the front. We made our way through the crowd and ended up at the bar, where Rafa stopped to ask if I wanted a drink. I remembered his comment earlier about the open vodka bottle, so I declined. I really had no desire to drink now, anyway.

  “Not yet,” I said, struggling to speak over the loud music. “What’s that smell?” There was a faint but peculiar odor in the air, not bad, but definitely pungent. Earthy and masculine, it reminded me of burning leaves.

  “People smoking cigars on the patio.” He inhaled deeply. “I like it. It reminds me of my grandfather.” It was the first time he’d mentioned anyone other than his mother, so I hoped that later, maybe after a few drinks, he’d loosen up and tell me more.

  Rafa walked ahead of us through the dimly lit club, gripping my hand tightly as he made his way past a small section of tables where people were drinking and eating. It must have brought to mind the Cuban takeout we still had back at my place. “I can’t believe you didn’t try any of the food I brought you,” he said over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m cooking for us now, and you’re going to start eating.”

  I didn’t realize we weren’t here to drink or dance until we got to the very back of the club behind the stage. It was a little secluded for my taste, so I checked out our surroundings, hoping there weren’t any unsavory characters lurking in the shadows. He put his arm protectively around my waist and kissed my cheek, and I had to say that in this setting Rafa was visibly happy. Gone was the quiet, guarded waiter I’d met on the ship, and in his place there was a strong, confident man comfortable in his natural environment. Miami did bring out the best in him, and I enjoyed seeing it.

  “You’re safe here. It’s not fancy, but everyone is very respectable.” Decente was the word he’d used, but I knew what he meant. He knocked on the door, and in a moment we were face to face with another club employee who appeared to be about 6’5’ and as wide as refrigerator. The dark man’s face lit up when he saw Rafa, who greeted him enthusiastically.

  “Sandro! Good to see you!” he said, hugging his friend. I stood by quietly until Rafa was ready to introduce me, and though it was odd meeting people in such a revealing dress, I tried to forget about it and act like myself. Still, it was a far cry from my typically conservative clothing, so I couldn’t help but feel strange and exposed.

  “Rafa, you bastard! We’ve been wondering when you’d be back!” He leaned in as Rafa said something I couldn’t quite make out.” Sure, man, she’s with someone now, but I’ll tell her you’re here.” Looking down at me he said, “Oh, excuse me—”

  “Sandro, this is my girlfriend, Dr. Amanda Rose,” he said with pride.

  “Oh, wow, good to meet you,” he said, pumping my hand. Once I’d walked past him, Sandro gave Rafa a high five and whistled under his breath.

  Sandro stood aside so that we could pass, and inside there were about fifteen men playing cards and dominoes at three different tables. Rafa went around the small, plain little room and greeted them all, introducing each man by his title, all of whom of whom greeted me affectionately and stood up to shake my hand. One man was a judge, and several were police officers and attorneys. It really was a distinguished crowd, but you’d never know it. All the men were in Bermuda shorts smoking cigars and joking with one other like a bunch of teenagers in a pool hall, and they all wanted to hear about Rafa’s adventures on the ship.

  “Rafa! Come over here and play Brisca with us while you wait!” The man introduced to me as a judge waved him back over and and pulled out the chair next to him. “Come, sit!” Clearly he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, but it seemed like Rafa wanted to anyway.

  We went to the table, and to my surprise Rafa sat down and patted his knee.

  “On your lap?” I’d never sat on anyone in public before, and Rafa knew why I was hesitating and of course found it very funny. He regarded me with a mix of amusement and tenderness, and because the cute little smile on his face was impossible to resist, I did as he asked. As I put my arm around his neck, he leaned in my ear and whispered, “Don’t worry, profesora. Cuban men like their women smart and sexy.”

  One of the three men at the table, Carlos, looked up from his hand and took the cigar out of his mouth. He had to be in his late sixties but was still quite attractive, and I liked the big beauty mark right in the center of his cheek. “She speaks Spanish?”

  “Yes,” said Rafa. “Very well, don’t you agree?”

  “Where did you learn to speak Spanish, Amanda?” Carlos tucked a card under the stack of cards in the center of the table and took the one that was already there. They were playing with a deck of cards I’d never seen before.

  “In school.”

  “Getting her Ph.D. Amanda is a Professor of English,” said Rafa.

  “Oh, she’s a doctor. Excellent,” said Carlos.

  “I’m not—”

  “Doctora is also a woman who has a doctorate in an academic subject. Médico is strictly a medical doctor,” Rafa explained, patting me on the thigh. I loved his touch, but the highbrow, academic part of me was cringing at the way I was dressed and how I was draped all over Rafa, yet no one at the table acted as if it was the least bit out of the ordinary.

  “Amanda,” said the judge named Oscar, “teach him so he can get his license. Force him to speak to you in English. He knows we’ll get him a residency as soon as he passes the tests. Then, in three years, he’s done.” He waved his hand in the air as if he were chopping off an imaginary head. “He’s still not even forty years old by then.”

  “That’s exactly what I plan to do,” I said, rubbing Rafa’s shoulder.

  “You know, he can become a nurse in a year,” said the third man at the table, who I think had been introduced to me as Javier. “They have that program at FIU.”

  The room erupted in a chorus of Nos and Oh my God’s, which was hilarious, because I hadn’t realized everyone had been listening to the conversation at our table. It certainly was an intimate group.

  “He did not go to medical school in Cuba for how many years and save lives all over the world, dealing with Ebola and malaria and God knows what else every day to end up a nurse here,” ranted Carlos. “We all know what Castro puts those poor traveling doctors through. Please.”

  He took a sip of an amber colored drink and puffed on his cigar again. I noticed that Rafa didn’t interject a word, respectfully allowing them to carry on the conversation without interruption, and they all spoke so fast and loud I had to concentrate to be able to follow everything they said. Here Rafa sounded just like them, making me realize that he’d altered his natural way of speaking just for me.

  “Hey, nurses make good money,” said Javier, waving his hand in the air. “Every hospital in Miami
has twenty nurses who were doctors in Cuba. So what?”

  “They only do that because they have families to support right away and can’t get a residency,” said Carlos. “Rafa doesn’t have those problems. He’s stuck working a crap job for a while until he learns how to speak the language and gets his professional license, just like we all were. Big deal. You know what I had to do to get through law school again here? Clean out rat cages in a laboratory!” Everyone nodded their heads as if it was indeed the worst job they’d ever heard of.

  “Rafa’s just fine, don’t try to talk him out of what he needs to do. Damn!” ¡Coño! He banged his hand on the table and that was it. Carlos had spoken, and no one else was going to say another word about it.

  “Remember,” he said to Rafa, “you can’t give out medical advice or assistance to anyone here. It doesn’t matter if they’re bleeding to death in the middle of the street. It’s illegal, and you’ll get sued, too. You don’t have a license, so you don’t have that responsibility anymore.” He took another puff from his cigar.

  “I know.” said Rafa. “So, I guess I also shouldn’t—”

  “Hey!” said Carlos with a chuckle, meeting Rafa’s eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “You deal,” said Javier to Rafa, passing him the deck. Happy to change the subject, Rafa turned his attention to me.

  “This is a Spanish deck.” He tapped the stack of cards on the table and fanned them out. While I was looking at all the colorful images, he very lightly bit my breast through my dress. Mortified, I turned beet red and silently mouthed for him to stop. “No one saw me,” he said with a wink. It was true. A waitress had just set down a huge platter of fried appetizers and little sandwiches, so everyone was very focused on the food and passing plates around.

  Javier popped a little fried ball in his mouth and wiped with a napkin. “Come on, deal,” he said impatiently. Rafa scooped up the cards, shuffled, and dealt. He showed me his hand and explained that the object was to get the points for as many hands as possible. They’d been playing as singles before, but now that there were four people, he would be playing as Carlos’ partner. He pointed to the card he’d placed right side up under the deck.

  “That one decides what the trump suit is for the game. If it’s a high card, worth ten points or better, any of us can exchange it for a seven of the same suit after a winning hand. The suits are called bastón, espada, oro and copas. Get me a croquette, mamita.”

  “These?” I asked, holding up a little fried cylinder. I fed Rafa croquetas, bocaditos, papas rellenas and mariquitas as he won round after round of Brisca, giving him a little peck on the lips every few minutes. The finger sandwiches they called bocaditos contained a delicious pickle and ham spread I really liked, and to Rafa’s great satisfaction, I ate two myself. We were all having so much fun that time flew by, and at least an hour had passed when Sandro called out to Rafa.

  “She’s ready for you, partner.”

  I hopped off Rafa’s lap after he gave me a little pat on the thigh, but when I went to sit back down in his chair, he grabbed me by the elbow.

  “No, sweetheart, come with me.”

  “Why?”

  He answered by pulling me by the hand to yet another room off the game area. It was quiet and dark, and I could barely see a thing, but we walked to the center of the space and took it all in. The only light came from about a dozen candles placed strategically around the room, and there were lots of bottles and knick knacks everywhere, as well as all sorts of interesting scents I couldn’t place. It wasn’t necessarily a messy space, but it wasn’t neat either.

  “Rafael, my son.” To our left stood a tiny white-haired woman no taller than five feet, and because he towered over her, Rafa had to bend considerably to give her a hug and kiss. She wore a long, white dress with a bright shawl around her shoulders and colorful, beaded necklaces that tapped against each other as she moved. Though she was frail looking and had to be at least ninety years old, she was sharp and observant, her relatively unlined face an exotic mix of Asian, Latin and African cultures.

  “Madrina,” he said reverently, as he leaned forward to let her make a gesture over his head.

  “It makes me so happy to see you again. How was your trip?” she asked, smiling now at me.

  “It went very well. Here, I had this made for you in Panama.” Rafa reached into his pocket and produced a beautiful gold bracelet, channel set with shiny white and black stones. She looked at it closely and was obviously very pleased, but instead of slipping it on her wrist, she shuffled to a little table in the back of the room and set it up against a statute of a Catholic saint.

  “She likes it,” she said, when she came back over to us. Le gusta.

  “Good. Madrina, I want to introduce someone to you.” Rafa motioned for me to come over, so with some hesitation I stepped toward them and extended my hand.

  “Hello,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

  To my surprise they both laughed, and instead of shaking my hand, the old woman held out her arms for an embrace. Strangely, it wasn’t awkward, because I sensed that Rafa had some sort of special connection with her.

  “Doña Delfina, this is my friend, Dr. Amanda Rose,” said Rafa.

  “She’s lovely, but she’s not your friend, Rafael,” she said sweetly. “She’s your lover.” Ella es tu amante.

  “Yes, Madrina,” he answered, although it wasn’t a question. Rafael held out his hand and escorted her back to a rocking chair I hadn’t seen when we walked into the room. There were two more chairs and a little glass coffee table next to her. “Sit down,” she said. Sientense.

  We sat across from her, and I couldn’t help but notice the assortment of objects on the table. There was a lit, smoking cigar resting in a large glass ashtray, more unlit candles of various colors and heights, a dish of what appeared to be honey, scattered pieces of hard candy and a small egg cup containing a shiny liquid metal. Intrigued, I reached out to touch it, but Rafa saw what I was going to do and stopped me.

  “No, that’s liquid mercury. It’s toxic.”

  Doña Delfina positioned her hands on her belly and intertwined her fingers. She sat quietly and watched us, and because Rafa didn’t seem to be in any hurry to talk, I did the same.

  I wished he had explained more to me about what we were doing tonight, because I hadn’t a clue how to behave. The candlelight cast moving shadows in the room, an interesting counterbalance to the otherwise still and quiet space. Finally, after about two or three minutes, she began.

  “This is her. The other thing is gone, but there are still some matters that need resolution. For you, for her, and for the both of you.” She took the cigar from the ashtray, puffed on it, and set it back down. Then she leaned back, closed her eyes, and kept talking. “You think something is in her house.”

  “Yes, Madrina,” said Rafa. “It was there.”

  “You’re right. The space has to be cleaned, and so does she. Something has attached itself, and for her to have peace, it must leave.”

  I was about to interrupt when Rafa squeezed my hand. I understood that he wanted me to keep quiet, but I was dying of curiosity. It was clear she was some sort of fortune teller, and Rafa believed in it.

  “Then, when that’s done, I want to bind you together. There will be children.” I almost fell off my chair, because if there was one thing I knew for certain, it is that I would never have another child.

  “Madrina—”

  “I know what you fear. Don’t.” She lifted a finger and pointed at him. “You must accept what is meant for you.” And with that, she stood, clearly indicating our meeting was over. “Give Sandro the address. We’ll be over at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. I need a white dove, a coconut, a bouquet of white flowers and three gallons of coconut water. I’ll bring the herbs.” And with that, she dismissed us.

  “Thank you,” said Rafa, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  “You’re welcome, Godson. Now go make love before you’re too old
, like me,” she said with a giggle.

  After saying goodbye to Doña Delfina and his friends, Rafa and I headed to the Ritz-Carlton Coconut Grove for the night. In the car, I had a million questions.

  “Children?” I choked out, in tears. “Something is attached to me?”

  “I know, sweetheart,” said Rafa, his hand on my cheek. “It’s a lot to take in at once. Maybe I should have prepared you better, but once we get in bed and talk, and you’ll understand.

  I promise.”

  “Rafa—”

  “Wait until we get there,” he said, with a pained look. “Just let me hold you.”

  Unable to find a tissue anywhere in the car, I dabbed at my eye with my finger and tried to stay quiet, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Is she a medium or something? I mean, everybody knows they’re fake! You can’t really believe any of that!”

  “Please, let’s get to the room and I’ll explain everything.” Rafa took a deep breath, his expression hardening. “She’s not a fraud. She saved my life.”

  Because it was already so late, the staff got us into our accommodations quickly, and it was a good thing because I really didn’t want to lose my composure in public. It was a beautiful room that otherwise would have been very romantic, but I was so shaken up by what I’d heard, I barely noticed anything other than the chair I fell into the minute we walked in. We didn’t even bother to turn on the lights, but Rafa went in the bathroom, washed his hands, then came right back out.

  He dropped to his knees in front of me just like the night we met, and looking at him through my tears, I was moved by his physical beauty as always, but this time there was more.

  I was learning that Rafa was a complex man whose good looks were actually the least complicated thing about him.

  “Amada,” he said, rubbing his whiskered face across the soft skin of my thighs, “let’s get undressed. You’ll feel better if you lie down and relax with me.”