The Cuban

by Kim Rodriguez

  Rafa licked my tensed, clenched thighs, but when he pushed right into my sex with his fingers, the sensation was so unexpected and intense that I had to grab his hair and put one of my legs over his shoulders to keep steady. Now opened up to him, he devoured me with abandon, savoring every inch of flesh he’d been denied, desperate and unashamed to feed hungrily. To my amazement, he managed to gracefully pull me down to the floor by the hips so that I was sitting on his face, and I protested, mortified by the sheer obscenity of something I never imagined I’d do.

  “Rafa, no,” I said, trying to lift my pelvis, but his hands were like clamps around my hips, bonding me to him. Knowing I needed reassurance, he lifted me off himself with ease. “I’ve missed your taste,” he said. “Let me.”

  I did as he said, feeling strangely euphoric as I slowly relaxed my thigh muscles and steadied myself against the footboard. I could feel that he had me mostly supported with his arms, moving me at will, his lips and tongue at an angle that created sensations I’d never imagined were possible.

  “Oh my God, Rafa, I’ve never felt anything like this before,” I panted. “Rafa, I love you, I do, I love you so much.” He replied by thrusting his tongue in even deeper, twisting and rolling it in such an intricate dance that I couldn’t even begin to visualize what he must be doing. It wasn’t long before I began to feel warmth spread across my body, first down my arms, to my forearms and wrists, and then finally in my chest and between my legs. In spite of my self-consciousness, I began to moan and thrust my hips, so he loosened his grip a little, giving me the opportunity to move on my own accord. Instinctively I started to crawl up on to the bed, over his head, not wanting to climax astride him, but when he realized what I was doing, he pulled me back. I knew then he wanted exactly what I was most afraid of, so I let go. I shouted out his name again, and as I went over, he drank from me until there was nothing left.

  We were an amalgam, so physically and emotionally fused that he was truly in the climax with me, a bizarre altering of both our consciousness that was like stepping into the same dream together. The physical act of love, I now understood, was every bit as powerful as the spiritual connection, yet Rafa had known this about us from the beginning. He’d just taught me never to exile him from my body again, no matter what.

  I was collapsed against the footboard when Rafa slid out from under me, slipped off my shoes and lifted me onto the bed. I curled up, still reeling from whatever magic he’d just conjured, but when I started to miss him I opened my eyes and saw him across the room, standing naked in the doorway of the bathroom as he wiped his face with a hand towel. He tossed it aside, on top of the pants he’d left on the floor, and came to me.

  “Amada,” he sighed, slipping into the bed. “You’re right here next to me, but I’m still lovesick. It’s never enough.” He filled me from behind with no further comment or preamble, as if that was the way our bodies should be by default. Arms and legs entwined, I moaned softly as Rafa whispered te amo in my ear and made love to me for a long time.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We had just under two weeks together before the grand reopening of Madrina’s, and there were way too many things to do, but we’d have to try. I spent almost every waking moment with Amada, taking care of all the household and business details that had to wait during Doña Delfina’s funeral and burial. We took care of mundane tasks like stocking the kitchen with food and cleaning out the guest house, but because we were together, they were fun. Amada read to me every night from Don Quijote, which I loved, but when she insisted I read to her, I was a little less enthusiastic. Still, I did my best and tried not to feel self-conscious. She was a fantastic teacher, explaining exactly why certain words sound like they do, and how their linguistic origin influences meaning and pronunciation.

  First, she showed me a diagram showing how Western languages evolved, then explained how closely related Spanish and French are because they’re both Romance languages. Any word in English with a French origin would likely very easy for me to understand, she said, but the ones that were Germanic in origin I’d just have to memorize. The word helmet, for example comes from the German word helm and is nothing like the French and Spanish words for helmet, casque and casco. That would be a difficult word for me to figure out, she warned, but something like the word intelligent is identical in French and therefore the Spanish cognate inteligente.

  She looked so sexy during my English lessons that I was tempted to point out that rule also applied to the word sexo, but I thought better of it and kept my mouth shut. There was a time and place to come on to her, which was pretty much all the time, but not while she was teaching. I reasoned that it was just like when patients flirted with me, which I loathed for many reasons, so I made sure to remain respectful toward her while we were in her office. She showed me other tricks that could help me in a pinch, such as how words ending in -tion often end in -cion in Spanish. To learn everything I needed to know, we’d have to speak to each other in English at least part of the day, she said, to which I reluctantly agreed. Finally, she demanded that by our next lesson I’d have registered for the USMLE Step 1 and bring proof of registration to ‘class.’

  “You’re tough, Professor,” I said in English. “How do you know what the USMLE is?”

  “I made it my business to know,” she said. “I already downloaded sample items. We have to see what this test looks like if I’m going to prepare you for it. You know the information, you just have to be able to read the questions, correct?”

  “Yes, but they’re long, and then the second part of the test later will require me to speak to patients in English. That’s hard. If you came to me as a patient and told me your wrist hurt, I wouldn’t be able to communicate with you at all. I have to be able to take a history and write notes. Everyone says it’s horrible. Very few foreign doctors ever get past that part.”

  “So how did you and the other physicians get along in Haiti if you can’t speak French?”

  “You just make do in an emergency, but most of the time we used translators to communicate with patients.”

  “Interesting. Trust me, Rafa. Schedule part one for twelve months from now and you’ll be ready. We’ll worry about the other sections one at a time, and don’t concern yourself with what other people say; they didn’t have me as their coach. My Ph.D. qualifying exam was three solid days of nothing but essay questions. Do you know how many novels and poems there are just in the area of Eighteenth-century English literature alone?”

  “I’m sure I don’t.”

  “Here’s volume one.” She pulled a book called The Norton Anthology from the shelf behind her, set it on the desk and opened it. It was at least four inches thick with pages so thin they felt like rice paper. “I had to be prepared for any question on hundreds of texts, Rafa, and I did it. It’s certainly not as important as what you do, but I know how to prepare for a beast of an exam. Lucky for us, in this case your weakness is my strength, and if you let me push hard, you’ll be fully bilingual by this time next year.”

  “Thank you, Amada. I believe you.” Her confidence was quite remarkable. When she was in her element, she was dominant and aggressive, and I loved to see her this way. It turned me on in fact, and I could see it was going to be difficult keeping my teacher fantasies in check. It amused me to think that she probably had no idea how many college-aged men had sat in her classes so innocently by day, but then thought about her with great enthusiasm at night. It was better she didn’t know, actually.

  “Don’t thank me, Rafa. We’re a team.” She sighed and leaned forward, the front of her robe dangerously slack.

  “Can you just do me one favor?” I asked.

  “Of course.” She took off her reading glasses and smiled. “Anything for you, handsome. I know you need a work space of your own, so I’ve already ordered furniture for your study. I’m giving you the room down the hall. You’re going to love it.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Amada. But it’s not that. When you want
me to pay attention, don’t wear that robe.”

  ***

  I tried to buy a car, but Amada wouldn’t hear of it. She stressed how ‘wasteful’ it would be for me to let the other four cars sit and rot while I went out and bought another. Using words that she knew would bother me like ‘decadent’ and ‘sinful,’ she successfully convinced me to use one of her cars for now. I told her I would buy the Range Rover from her, but she refused, insisting she had no idea where the titles were.

  “You really want me to feel like a kept man, don’t you?” I had no idea how we were ever going to get around this, so I tried to make light of it for now. “I hope it doesn’t affect our sex life.”

  One of our first errands together was to the medical supply store, where I went crazy looking at the warehouse full of every item imaginable. I’d heard about these places from other doctors and I thought they’d been exaggerating, but sure enough, the quantity and quality of medical equipment was staggering. My mind raced as I thought about how I could buy and donate as many supplies as I could.

  “Rafa, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Amada.

  “No, I just can’t believe it. If you only knew how little we had out in the field. Even gloves were scarce.”

  I walked around like a kid in a candy store, marveling at the masks, gauze, ointments, catheters and pristine German steel surgical instruments that sold for about four hundred dollars each.

  “What are these things?” asked Amada, holding up a pair of bandage scissors.

  “They’re for cutting off a dressing,” I said, dragging it against the palm of my hand. “The blunt tip slides safely against the skin.”

  “What about this?” she asked, holding up a different kind.

  “Tenaculum forceps. It’s what your doctor used to hold your cervix in position while inserting the IUD.”

  “Ugh! It has teeth!” She put them down in disgust. “Please, just the thought of it nauseates me.”

  “What does?” I dug through a deep bin of enormous adhesive bandages. Damn, these were awesome. “The clamping of an internal organ?”

  “I don’t know.” She rolled her eyes and turned away. “Just don’t tell me any more.”

  “So squeamish.” I laughed and gave her a little pinch on the rear. “You asked.”

  As we browsed up and down the aisles, Amada inquired casually, “Do you know how to take it out?”

  “The IUD? Why?” She’d be the type to hide a health issue, so I immediately became concerned. “Are you having a problem? Pain? Bleeding?”

  “No,” she said, fingering a nebulizer mask.

  “I’m not going to assume anything,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but obviously we’re on the same page. We both have reasons to be cautious, but things change. Circumstances change.”

  I gave her a kiss and a hug, silently thanking my beloved Madrina as I brought Amada in close. My instinct told me Doña Delfina’s cleansing had the intended effect, liberating her of heavy energies that shouldn’t be around. When the time was right, I’d teach her how to honor the dead properly so that they were happy. Amada was finally ready to move forward, and for that I’d be eternally grateful.

  “I’m thrilled you want it out,” I whispered in her ear, “but unless there’s some kind of emergency, let’s have an OB/GYN remove in the proper setting. There could be complications. I’ll go with you. It’ll be fine.”

  “Why?” she asked, clearly annoyed at my suggestion. “It’s easy. There are dozens of videos on YouTube—”

  “YouTube?” I laughed. “I hope you’re joking. This is just about your dislike of doctors, which you have to get over. You should be going at least once a year anyway, which I know you’re not.” I was about to ask how she managed a pregnancy and Cesarean section without anyone touching her, but thankfully I caught myself before making the epic blunder.

  “Amada, if something happens, say you break your leg one day, are you going to refuse to go to an emergency room? What if I had a seizure and refused treatment? How would that make you feel?” I started to become upset at the thought of something happening to her and stupidly focused on the bin of thermometers I’d happened upon. “You are sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to watch another person I love—”

  When I finally took a breath and turned around, she was white as a sheet.

  “Amada, are you alright?” I took her hand in mine and found it clammy and cold as ice. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s just all of this. The smell of alcohol. It reminds me of a hospital.” She wrinkled up her nose and closed her eyes. “Can we get out of here?”

  For obvious reasons we wrapped up our visit, and thankfully I’d already found a great stethoscope, a high quality blood pressure cuff, an otoscope, and ophthalmoscope, all things that would be useful just to keep around the house if nothing else. I’d been watching Amada carefully, and as soon as we changed the topic she’d been fine, but I knew that sooner or later I’d have to figure out what was at the root of her issue. If it had anything to do with her son, maybe I could get a better sense from Kieran and help her work through it.

  On the way out, the attractive young woman at the register stole a few glances at me as she rang up the merchandise, which didn’t escape Amada’s notice. Sliding the paper sack across the counter, the girl asked, “Are you a doctor? Where do you practice?’

  I was about to answer when Amada snatched the bag away and intertwined her arm in mine. Never having seen her so openly jealous, I was fascinated. The girls in my old neighborhood would have been on the floor fighting already, but Amada was another breed. She tilted her head to the side and smiled sweetly before turning on her heel, pulling me along with her.

  “Sorry, sweetie. He’s not a plastic surgeon.”

  ***

  Feeling guilty for upsetting her, I spent the rest of the day baking her favorite syrupy Capuchino cakes, submitting to double English lessons, and giving her a back massage in front of the fireplace that led to very relaxed lovemaking as I spooned her from behind. After we’d finished, we lay side by side on the silk rug and lounged for a while, luxuriating in all the sensations around and between us. I held her hand and remembered the moment I first saw her, an untouchable lady who, according to Freud, I instantly recognized as my deepest unfulfilled wish.

  “What makes you happy?” she asked, reading my thoughts. The way the shadows from the fire danced along the curves of her body was one of the most erotic things I’d ever seen.

  “Being inside you. Making love to you. When you tell me you love me.” Sentirme dentro de ti. Hacerte el amor. Cuando me dices que me amas.

  “What else?” Her green eyes glimmered like diamonds in the warm, incandescent light.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

  “Caracol pastries,” she prompted. “Cuban coffee. Beautiful, exotic things. The Arts. Making friends and meeting new people. Fixing.”

  “Fixing?” I asked.

  “You like to solve problems, especially when it helps other people. You also love this house because it’s beautiful, but you feel guilty, so you won’t admit it to yourself. I see the way you look out at that water. You’re intensely spiritual, and you love sex because you love life.”

  “Is that so?” I asked.

  “And you’re a philanthropist at heart. You’re the type to fund a public museum instead of hoarding a private art collection. You’re a good man, Rafa, and I’m learning how to be a better person by watching you.”

  “I disagree.” I took her hand and held it. “To me, you’re already perfect. You love to learn. You’re curious about everything. You’re a wonderful teacher. You’re cautious, but you do want friends.” I stroked her palm with my thumb. “Even when I tried to push you away, you still cared and wanted to help me. More than once.” A lump began to form in my throat, so I paused until it passed.

  “I like that you’re reserved with most people. It’s digni
fied. I feel like I have a queen on my arm when you’re with me. You have such beautiful manners, such poise. I’m learning so much by watching you, too. But when we’re alone,” I said, suppressing a groan, “you are the most loving and sexually open person I’ve ever known. I enjoy sex, yes, but it’s our sex that makes me wild. Sex with you.”

  Later that night in bed, as she fed us Capuchino cake while I struggled through my chapter of Don Quijote, I was drunk with happiness. I stopped to ask her more questions than usual just because I wanted to hear her talk. About anything.

  “English is so damn hard,” I complained. “In Spanish everything is written the way it sounds.”

  “You have a point, but let’s just be glad neither of us has to learn Japanese. Imagine trying to learn to speak and read that language. I had to drop a Japanese class in college because my average was a seventeen. Out of a hundred. And I had one of the highest averages in the class, too. You’d like Russian, though. It’s surprisingly easy.”

  “I know,” I said. “I had to take it in elementary school, but I forgot it all.”

  “Oh, how interesting,” she said, as she took off her eyeglasses and brought the plastic tip to her plump lips. “I’d like to hear more about that sometime.”

  “Of course, sweetheart. Just remind me.” I continued to read but quickly came upon another word that gave me trouble. “What’s this word?” I asked, completely mangling the pronunciation.

  “Modesty. Put emphasis on the first syllable as if there were an accent over the o.” I visualized the accent as she suggested and managed to pronounce it properly. “Good. It means humble. The opposite of lying around half-naked and distracting me with your body.” She let herself steal a glance and then looked away, very endearing considering all of the incredibly intimate things we’d already shared. I continued to read, feeling strange and excited all at once.

  “And this word?” I asked, pointing impulsively to the middle of the page.