Broken Paradise

by Cecilia Samartin

  I closed my eyes and wondered if Alicia could hear the explosions from her house. Was she trembling in bed like me? No; she was probably hanging from her window, almost falling out on to the street below, as she strained to see what was going on. If Alicia were here she’d turn it into an adventure. We’d become underworld spies eager to save our country from Batista, beautiful heroines who snap our fingers and command the revolutionaries with our cunning and beauty. And after a night of death-defying adventure all would be still and calm in the morning. There would be café con leche waiting for us on the kitchen table and fresh bread and butter, and Beba would smile her expansive smile with teeth as white as sugar cubes, and tell us it was going to be another beautiful day.

  Marta and I arrived home from school to find Alicia and her mother, Tía Nina, sitting on our living room couch. Never before had they visited on weekdays in the afternoon. Stranger still, Papi was home, and it was hours before he was due back from the office. And instead of her school uniform, Alicia wore a pair of white pedal pushers with her loafers and a yellow sweater, clearly weekend wear. Tía Nina looked ill. Her hair was in disarray and falling out of a hastily made bun. Her redrimmed eyes darted about the room at nothing in particular as she puffed on an unlit cigarette. She fumbled with a lighter, then tossed it with the cigarette on the table and began to sob with her head in her hands.

  Papi sat next to her on the couch, still and pensive. It was obvious he’d been watching her cry most of the day. Mami ran in from the kitchen when she heard Tía Nina’s sobs. A cup of hot tea rattled in her hands, and she winced when it spilled a little over the sides and burned her fingers.

  “This will help you calm down,” she said, placing the cup in front of Tía Nina. Then she gave us her sit-down-and-don’t-saya-word look, and we dropped our books and sat right there on the floor. Marta and I became very obedient when we were scared.

  Alicia’s eyes were puffy from crying too, but she kept her hands neatly folded in her lap and smiled weakly when she saw us. She wanted to speak, but we both knew that we had to be quiet and still and simply listen, lest we be banished to our rooms. I was aware of Beba poking her head through the kitchen door while she prepared dinner, trying to hear what was going on. Her eyes were on fire, and she frequently shook her head in disgust and loudly grumbled her disapproval of the whole situation.

  Tía Nina took a tremulous sip of tea. The cup and saucer rattled all the way up to her lips and back to the table. Then she told the story she’d been telling all day, but had to tell again and again as though she herself could hardly believe it. “The sun wasn’t up when we heard them. I’m telling you, he barely had time to throw on his clothes.” Aunt Nina glanced at Marta and me, and stopped talking as she noticed we were in the room, but then tore her eyes away, and continued. “The police came fifteen, maybe twenty minutes after that.”

  “What exactly did they say?” Papi asked, his face cold, his eyes dark with a fear I’d never seen before. Papi was never afraid; he was angry sometimes and impatient, but never afraid.

  “They suspect he was involved in the bombing last night, but he was with me all night. He never left home. They wanted to know where he was, and I told them I didn’t know…And I don’t now, that’s the truth.”

  Papi’s trembling hands raked through his hair. “The less you know the better, Nina.”

  “My God, will they kill him if they find him?” Tía Nina threw herself on the couch almost landing on Papi in the process. He jumped and glared at Mami as if he expected her to do something.

  Beba poked her head out of the kitchen door. “They’re common criminals, and they should be shot,” she shouted, before disappearing once again. I could hear her grumbling in the kitchen as she threw pots and pans around.

  Mami kneeled next to Tía Nina and gently stroked her hair back into place. “Everything will be all right, Nina. We’re all praying. Everything will be OK.”

  Alicia took hold of her mother’s hand. “Papi knows how to take care of himself. Don’t cry anymore.”

  “She’s right, Nina. Carlos knows how to take care of himself, he always has,” Papi said with a certainty that was reassuring. But I could see by the way his gaze turned inward and his jaw tightened that he was thinking about things he couldn’t discuss here, things that would make Aunt Nina worry more.

  We stayed in my bedroom for the rest of the day. It was a brilliant afternoon, the sky was as blue as ever, and we saw the ocean twinkling playfully as it always had. But an unusual stillness had settled on the street below. The constant drone of cars on the wide avenue had dwindled to an occasional whirl. Last night’s bombing had kept many people home, and the merriment that was peculiar to Havana evenings was absent. It was so quiet that we heard the birds on the roofs and the occasional tinkle of someone selling tamales or sugar cane juice on the street. But even their cries were different. It was as if they weren’t interested in making any sales, but in getting home to their families in case they were caught on the streets during the explosions.

  “If Batista catches my father, he’ll kill him,” Alicia said matter-of-factly as she sat on my bed, her bare feet dangling. I detected the cracking patches of pink polish on her toe nails. When did she start painting her toe nails? It wasn’t even close to a year since she’d made all those promises to God.

  Marta gasped in horror as Alicia went on. “They’ll kill him, just like they killed those other men. That’s why he has to hide. Then when Batista’s gone, he can come out again.”

  “Some people say he’ll never leave,” I said.

  “Then I’ll go and find Papi in the mountains and live with him there.”

  It was upsetting to think of Tío Carlos in such a predicament. I imagined him strumming his guitar and singing Cuban folk songs to his companions, telling jokes as everyone laughed and slapped him on the back and tucked cigars in his shirt pocket because he was so clever and fun to be around. It was hard to imagine him doing anything so serious that would cause him to hide from the police. Even when he was serious, which wasn’t very often, his eyes smiled. He’d escape their capture, I was sure of it. He could slip through anything with his slick sense of humor that could charm a man out of his own shirt, not to mention a box of cigars. And Alicia knew this better than I did which is why she wasn’t afraid.

  But Tía Nina was not so confident. As the days went by without word, her desperation intensified and she lost so much weight that her nice dresses hung on her shoulders as though they were still on the hanger. She talked constantly in a shaky voice and smoked so much that the tips of her fingers started to turn a dark yellow. We’d sit at the table to eat the wonderful food Beba made, chicken and plantains, yucca with mojo, the best flan in all of Havana, and Tía Nina wouldn’t eat a thing. Beba shook her head when Tía Nina passed on the meat and potato stew, her favorite, and muttered that she couldn’t eat. Eventually it was decided that Tía Nina should go somewhere far from Havana so her nervous condition could heal, and Alicia would stay with us so she could continue to go to school.

  We hadn’t spent this much time together since we’d stayed at Tía Panchita’s house. Now we’d gaze at ourselves in the mirror while listening to Elvis Presley records and pretend we were on our way to grand parties to meet the most wonderful boys who immediately fell in love with us because of our amazing beauty and dancing skills. Marta, who was still happy just to be included, often played the role of the matronly chaperone who’d accompany us on our dates and scold us when we allowed the young men to hold our hands or peck us on the cheek when she wasn’t looking. Alicia and I took turns playing the young men’s role, and I suspected that no matter how I played my part, she’d always cast me as Tony. It was always Tony who asked her to dance, and Tony who fought off the rivals when it was time to go home. Once when I pretended to have been thoroughly beaten by another boy and was lying flat on my back begging for mercy, Alicia corrected me. “Tony would never give up like that,” she said. The game went on for hours
and evolved into the most fascinating variations, the magic spell following us to the dinner table, out with Mami to run errands, even to school. I happily completed my lessons knowing that in the afternoon I’d be rewarded with the delight of Alicia’s company.

  Months passed and still Tío Carlos had not returned. We heard occasional explosions in the middle of the night and in the day, but by now we’d become accustomed to the booming. It didn’t get in the way of our school, homework, dinner, and girl talk routine. Quite the contrary, it made us feel we were invincible. When we encountered the rubble produced by an explosion the previous night, we were intrigued not frightened, as if we were passing by the ruins of some ancient city and not the pharmacy we’d walked by for so many years. But Mami tensed up and began to walk very fast, so we could barely keep up with her, and behind her sunglasses, her eyes were moist with tears. I knew she didn’t want Alicia to see her crying for fear that it would make her worry about Tío Carlos, so I didn’t ask her what was wrong.

  Alicia still talked to her mother on the phone every day, and one afternoon, almost four months after she’d moved in, she hung up looking rather somber. “Mami’s coming back next week, and I’ll be going home,” she said.

  I felt empty and lost to hear the news, as though a magnificent party were coming to an end.

  Uncle Carlos reappeared a few weeks later, thin and easily startled, but in a very good mood nonetheless. Batista had left Cuba for good, driven out by a handsome man with a bushy black beard.

  After that, Fidel Castro and the Revolution were the only thing anybody talked about. Of course, we’d all heard of him before. He’d been fighting in the mountains with a few rebel supporters for years, but nobody paid too much attention. Now whenever we turned on the TV, Fidel was there. If we changed the channel, Fidel was there. If we turned on the radio, Fidel was still there preaching about a new Cuba that would grow stronger and richer and take its rightful place in the Americas.

  It all sounded very good and for the most part, the adults in my family liked what they heard, and Papi was so happy to have Tío Carlos back that I think it helped them finally agree on something. They stood around the TV during Fidel’s speeches like soldiers standing at attention. Papi was particularly pleased about his promise to reinstate the process for free and democratic elections. Uncle Carlos was simply overjoyed that Batista was out, and that he’d had something to do with it, although he was very mysterious about just how much.

  “Nothing could be worse than that bastard,” he said over and over again, his eyes were smiling, and his shirt pocket was never without a cigar.

  All the while Beba stood in the doorway of the kitchen surveying the scene with arms folded, shaking her white turbaned head in disapproval. “I’ve got a bad feeling about that man.”

  “About Castro? Why?” I asked.

  She narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously like she did when she thought I sneaked a spoon full of freshly made flan she was saving for dessert. “Someone who can stand in one place and make speeches for that long—there’s got to be something wrong with him.”

  All I knew was that the bombing had stopped and the only thing to worry about was completing my homework, weekend plans, and whether or not Mami and Papi would allow me to shave my legs like the other girls.

  “You’re too young to shave your legs,” Mami said.

  “My legs are as hairy as Papi’s, and all the other girls at school shave.”

  “OK, but only up to your knees, do you understand me? Only girls on the street shave their legs above their knees.”

  Here was yet another rule I couldn’t understand. But I welcomed it along with Mami’s usual attention to my grooming and manners. It seemed that things were finally returning to normal.

  7

  ALICIA AND I WERE TO ATTEND OUR FIRST FORMAL DANCE AT the Varadero Beach Club. Abuela selected our dresses and brought them home one afternoon as we sat with Abuelo drinking cokes frothing over with sweetened condensed milk. Marta scowled at the sight of the boxes; there’d be no dress for her as she was still too young to attend a dance.

  “Don’t be sad. We’ll have fun together, Martica,” my grandfather said, poking her in the arm. “While they’re at that silly dance I’ll take you out for a night swim. Have you ever swam in the ocean at night?”

  Marta shook her head, intrigued, but still pouting.

  “It’s magical. The moon lights the water with a silvery glow and the….”

  “You’re not going on any night swim with that child, Antonio,” Abuela interrupted as she fumbled with boxes and shopping bags. “It’s far too dangerous.”

  “I guess we’ll have to settle for a walk and an ice cream then.”

  Marta gazed longingly at the boxes and tissue paper flying. Abuela produced a blue green dress, the color of the ocean at twilight and held it up against Alicia who batted her eyelashes playfully. Instantly, her eyes assumed the same misty color of the sea and her hair shone like the sun in golden waves across her shoulders. We stared at her silently, not gasping only because we were accustomed to her beauty that grew more alluring with each passing day. I had no doubt she’d be the most beautiful girl at the dance. She was always the most beautiful girl anywhere she went.

  “I knew that color would be perfect for her,” Abuela said, well pleased with her selection. “Now, let’s see about Nora.” She opened the second box that contained a delicate cream colored dress with an embroidered light blue sash. Next to Alicia’s brilliant dress it looked horribly plain and child-like, more of a confirmation dress than a grown up dress for a dance. I wanted to cry at the sight of it, but I didn’t want to hurt Abuela’s feelings. I could see that she loved this dress as well.

  I could already picture us walking into the Beach Club. We’d make our entry into the hall chaperoned by Abuela, and Alicia would be mobbed by every boy in the room. They’d step on my white patent leather shoes in a desperate attempt to get somewhere on her dance card, while Abuela pushed me forward, trying to entice the boys like a street vendor selling over ripe mangos.

  “This light color will look beautiful on you,” Abuela said, but there were no gazes for me as there had been for Alicia, no flash of time standing still for the appreciation of my beauty. Abuelo was already setting up the dominoes to play with Marta, and Alicia was busy examining the length of her dress. It hit right above her well-shaped calf.

  “Try it on,” Abuela said. “I wasn’t as sure of your measurements as I was of Alicia’s. There’s still time to make adjustments if we need to.”

  “I’m sure it’ll fit just fine.” I dropped the dress back on to the tissue paper, eager to get it out of my sight. I needed to be out in the sun and the wind, away from this shameful stage where I always came up second. I didn’t understand why all of a sudden these things mattered to me, but for the first time, I wanted to be beautiful and draw the admiring gaze of the boys and feel the powerful rush of my own femininity. I wanted to cross my legs and catch the world with the tilt of my ankle as I’d seen Alicia do while we waited for the bus downtown. I wanted to pretend not to notice how every man I passed held his breath in the hope of possessing me.

  I mumbled a hasty excuse and left Abuela standing with my white dress in her arms. My feet dug deep as I marched across the beach toward the ocean. I kicked off my sandals and stepped into the warm water, wiggling my toes in the soft sand. I longed for a long cleansing swim, but that would involve going back to the house for my bathing suit and I didn’t want to face anyone. The only thing more shameful than being second best was letting them see how much it bothered me.

  Alicia’s toes appeared next to mine, pink toes wiggling next to my brown ones.

  “Why are you so mad, Nora?”

  I continued to stare at my toes that were now covered under ten little mounds of fine white sand.

  “It’s because you don’t like your dress, isn’t it?”

  Again, I remained silent.

  “You can have my dress if you
want. If you like it better, that is.”

  I stepped back and sat by the water’s edge. “No. Your dress is beautiful on you. I just get tired of it sometimes…being the plain one.”

  Alicia sat next to me. “You’re not plain, Nora. You’re beautiful. You just don’t know it yet.”

  I felt irritated by her lack of understanding. “But everyone always tells you how lovely you are with your green eyes and all. The only thing I’m told is to stay out of the sun, so I don’t look like a guajira.”

  Alicia laughed. “Don’t pay attention to Abuela. She doesn’t know everything. Besides, some dresses look better when you wear them than they do on the hanger. I think yours is one of those.”

  “Maybe it is,” I responded, feeling sleepy all of a sudden.

  There’s a spicy fragrance floating on the breeze today. Does it come from the vendors selling their garlic tamales or is the sea in a mischievous mood? My head falls back and the ends of my hair brush the sand. I let the full force of the sun hit me unconcerned that my tan should deepen, and that I will look like a shadow lurking about in a white dress. When I glance at Alicia, her face is also turned to the sun, like a sunflower smiling into her mother’s face.

  I don’t need to go to the dance. I’m not a dance type of girl. I don’t need to whirl about and be noticed and crooned over. I just need this moment on the sand. To know the ocean will always be blue or green or somewhere in between and that I can turn my face to the sky and find a moment’s peace.

  Alicia was right. My dress did look better on me than on the hanger. And Abuela was right too. The delicate cream color contrasted nicely against my dark hair and complexion.