Broken Paradise

by Cecilia Samartin

  There was no doubt in my mind that this was an event to be avoided at all costs and on the day and hour of the reception I ensconced myself in the most remote corner of Powel Library to read Alicia’s most recent letter. I had already planned to reward myself with it if I could get through a third of my reading for Medieval European History class. As it turned out, I finished with enough time to read Alicia’s letter and respond with one of my own as well.

  Dear Nora,

  I’m starting to believe that God purposely partners good with bad, so we can understand that life is never simple and sometimes more confusing than a Chinese recipe for quimbombó.

  I’m writing this letter from a small hut Tony and I share with two other couples in the heart of the countryside in Matanzas. We’ve been living here for about five months ever since we were married. That’s the good news; Tony and I are married, and we’ll be blessed with a child in six months. Can you believe it? I’m going to be a mother, Nora! And I pray that our baby will have Tony’s pure heart and strength. He’s already begun building a sturdy crib from straight pieces of wood he collects in the jungle around the village. He wants to finish it as soon as he can because (and this is the bad news) he’ll be going away to Africa soon. They’re putting together troops of the strongest and most intelligent men for the cause in the Congo.

  I love him more every day. With this life we made growing inside me, I feel I’ll go crazy with love for him. Every night since I found out he was leaving I cry myself to sleep. It’s almost as bad as when Papi died, that dark pain gripping the very center of my heart and squeezing it until I can hardly breath.

  Tony tells me I have to be strong for the baby and that it’ll sense my sadness and be born cranky and weak instead of happy and strong. I try, Nora, believe me I try to hold back the tears, but whenever I think about being alone again, I can’t help myself. The other night I was glad when a small storm blew through the village so Tony wouldn’t hear me sobbing again. I don’t want him to think I’m weak, but I’m afraid I am. I can no longer put on that face I used to have. Remember it? I could make anyone believe I wasn’t afraid of anything and that I could calm a hurricane by shaking my finger at it. All of that stubborn strength has now left me, and I feel more lonely than I ever have before.

  Lola and Tía Panchita were happy to hear about the baby, but no one else in the family is, I’m afraid. They still believe a white woman has no business with a man who isn’t as white as she is. It doesn’t matter if he’s kind and intelligent like my Tony. I thought Abuelo and Abuela would be different so I took him to Varadero to show him the house where we spent so much of our childhood, our beach and our palm trees. We knocked on the door and when Abuela saw Tony standing next to me, she slammed it in our faces, but not before saying that I shamed the whole family and the memory of my father by this marriage. I don’t think Abuelo was home, but it’s too painful to think of going back. I won’t put Tony through that again, and I wouldn’t hurt him for a lifetime of conversations with people who’ve turned their backs on me.

  Tony’s greatest hope is that he’ll be invited to join the party. Even as I write these words and feel the hot wind of the jungle surrounding me, I shudder. How can I forget that the party killed my father? I don’t forget and I’ll never forgive them…yet, I see goodness here. I see people working harder than they ever have in their lives to improve a village where there was never running water. I see a medical clinic being built next to a schoolhouse, and if all goes as planned the children and adults in the village will be immunized against major diseases and be able to read in one year’s time. It’s happening all over Cuba.

  Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder what’s happened to this world. It’s as if God and the Devil are the same man depending on how you look at him, and so I try not to look too hard or else I will go back to how I was, a hopeless and pitiful woman.

  The sun has gone down and Tony will be home shortly. We don’t have much for dinner, a little left-over beans and rice. It’s amazing how a bit of food can seem like a feast when you’re sharing it with the one you love. After we eat, I’ll settle myself into his arms and watch the stars come out over the treetops. If my life never changes from this moment on, I’ll be the happiest woman on earth. I hope and pray that someday you can say as much and more.

  Some of my new friends say I shouldn’t write to you anymore. They say you and your family are traitors for leaving, but I defend you most of all. You had no choice but to leave, and now your life has changed as much as mine.

  I miss you, Nora. More than ever, I miss you now. I promise you as I promise Tony to be strong. I hope you do the same. May I hear from you soon.

  Alicia

  16

  “HOW DO I LOOK?” MAMI ASKED WHILE SURVEYING HERSELF IN the full-length mirror in the bedroom. “Your father said he wants me to wear something youthful.”

  I studied her with an objective eye. Red was always a good color on her and although she’d put on a few pounds, the overall effect was very flattering and I told her so.

  “You’re not just saying that?”

  “You look great. Papi will love it.”

  For some time now, Papi had been able to budget for the occasional dinner out at a restaurant, and they’d been looking forward to this date all week while reminiscing about how it was in Cuba before the revolution. Their plans to try a small Italian place in town could hardly compare to the opulent night clubs and seaside resorts they’d frequented, but they weren’t complaining.

  “Do you ever think of going back?” I asked Mami as she stepped into her new red shoes. She wavered a bit and reached out toward the bed for support.

  “Going back where?”

  “Home, of course. To Cuba. I hear a lot of people are visiting now.”

  She turned to me, her eyes more fiery than her crimson dress. She kicked off her shoes and padded across the thick carpet in her stocking feet. “Cuba isn’t home anymore, Nora. And those fools who go back to visit forget they were called traitors and gusanos when they left. They forget everything to set foot on their homeland again before they die.” Her eyes spun in their sockets. “They want to look upon their green island and pretend they never left.” She turned around. “I will never go back while that man is there. Do you understand me?”

  “Alicia says it’s not so bad. That good things are happening too.”

  Mami spun around again. “Alicia? What does she know?”

  “She lives there. She sees it all with her own eyes.”

  “I’ll tell you about Alicia. She’s taken up with that black boy. And if that weren’t bad enough, he’s a Communist. He’s brainwashing her to think the way he thinks and to do the things he does. Next thing you know, he’ll turn her into a Santera. He probably already has.”

  “How do you know about Tony?”

  “Alicia’s not the only one writing letters. Your Abuela wrote all about the disgrace Alicia’s made out of her life, and she and Abuelo can’t wait to leave. Just pray their visas come up soon.” Mami continued to mutter as she looked for a pair of earrings in her drawer. “The only person who’s seen that girl lately is Tía Panchita. But everyone knows she’s a little crazy and doesn’t understand the problem between black and white people. Black people don’t believe in interracial marriage either, let me tell you.”

  There was no use arguing with Mami when she got on to certain subjects and racial relations was certainly one of them. I dared not tell her that Alicia and Tony were married and expecting a baby for fear of invigorating her arsenal of criticisms.

  “Is Abuelo coming too?”

  “They’re both planning to get out of Cuba as soon as their visas are ready.”

  My heart jumped at the thought of seeing Abuelo again. I pictured him with his soft smiling eyes staring out at the sea, studying the rolling surf and undercurrents to determine if it was a good day for swimming. We’d walk into the warm clear water side by side and swim with an easy pace to
the platform. We’d pull ourselves up and wait until the sea has dried like flat crystals on our skin before we dive in again and head for shore. I’d hear him next to me, breathing steadily, his arms arcing in perfect smooth circles that slip in and out of the water without so much as a ripple. We’d walk back on the shore, and I’d marvel at his youthful physique. He’s almost seventy, but his back is as straight as a board and his chestnut hair, barely frosting at the temples, falls full and thick on his forehead.

  “That was a good swim, Abuelo.”

  He’d turn to me and smile with a warmth that outshines the tropical sun beating down upon our shoulders. “Yes, the water was fresh and smooth today. It was a good swim.” I’d follow him back to the house where Abuela is waiting with our afternoon meal.

  Just a splinter of this memory fills me with a quiet joy for what was, and a deep sadness for what will never be again.

  In a crazy way, even Mami’s outdated and glaring racism touches me in a tender way. I don’t agree with it, but the fact that I remember her expounding those same views while standing out on our balcony in Havana with friends and family, not at all concerned that Beba was in and out freshening drinks and emptying ashtrays, makes me love it a little bit. Beba often agreed with her on the subject.

  “Black folk get along better with black folk,” she’d say with a swaying nod of her turbaned head. “Nobody can argue that. I don’t see any reason why it should be different with white folk.”

  Mami applied the hairspray with quick bursts about her head. “I always thought Alicia was a little crazy,” she said, her mouth taut across her face, her eyes squinting against the fumes. “She’s crazier now than ever, I think.” She applied her lipstick in one tidy sweep across her lips. “Keep your head on straight, Nora.”

  Dear Nora,

  Everything you heard about childbirth is a lie. It’s much worse than they say. I felt my body ripping open from the inside out and all of my parts falling out of place. After the baby was born I asked Tony to look and see if my legs were still attached, and if my navel was where it had been before, because I was sure I looked like a rag doll pulled apart by an angry gorilla. Tony laughed so hard he cried huge tears as he held Lucinda in his arms for me to see for the first time.

  Isn’t Lucinda a beautiful name? I think of the soft light that reflects off of the ocean when I say it. Tony says she looks like me, but there’s no doubt that Lucinda is his daughter. I prayed our baby would have her father’s eyes, and my prayers were answered.

  Today is the kind of day I’m sure you treasure in your heart. The breeze is lifting the trees and carries a fragrant warmth you can taste, like honey and mint. The sun sparkles off every particle of dust, and the stillness reminds us that days like this should never change. We’ve come to stay with Tía and Lola, and sometimes I sit on the corner of the porch where I first met Tony and pretend nothing has changed. But it has, Nora.

  Six families have come to live with Tía and Lola. They had to share the kitchen and the bathroom and don’t even have one of the bedrooms to themselves. They lived in the little pantry room off the kitchen where Tía stored sacks of sugar before. There’s just enough room for a cot and an old mattress beside it. Thank God there’s a window, but the screen is broken and Tía and Lola’s legs and arms were covered with mosquito bites. I couldn’t stop crying when I saw them.

  In less than an hour after we arrived, Tony selected two of the least dilapidated slave shacks behind the fields and was out there with an ax, a hammer, and a huge broom that he used to kill the rats before he could get to any sweeping. He said there were hundreds of them as big as little dogs, not to mention scorpions and spiders of every size. Every time he talked about it Tía and Lola gave out little screams that made him laugh like a schoolboy. I laughed too. Living in the jungle has cured me of these girly fears.

  In a week, we moved into our new houses. Tía and Lola’s house is right next to ours. They’re simple, but clean and a definite improvement over where Tony and I spent our first year of marriage. All the windows have little shutters we can close at night to keep out most of the pests, and when I look outside I see Lola and Tía on their new porch, rocking away in their chairs.

  The family that took over the pantry was so grateful for the extra space that they gave us a mattress they weren’t using. Tony placed it right under the window, so when we lay together at night we can still see the stars like we did in the jungle. Tía found a roll of mosquito netting, and we fixed up our little bed so that it’s actually quite pleasant. We enjoy quite a bit of privacy because the sugar cane stalks block the view from the main house and hardly anyone bothers to cross the field unless they need to go to the river, which isn’t very often.

  This is where I gave birth to my beautiful Lucinda and where Tony and I spent the first few weeks of our life together as a family. She slept between us as we watched the stars and with each one that appeared we whispered a new blessing for our daughter and fell asleep with such love in our hearts.

  But the dream is over, Nora, at least for a while. Tony’s been gone for weeks, and I don’t know how much longer it’ll be before he returns. I could say I miss him, but that’s like saying I can live on a single breath for the whole day. Tony has taken my soul with him to Angola. It is somewhere in Africa, sailing out of his back pocket like a handkerchief forever moist with my tears. I spend most of my day praying for him and imagining what expression is playing on his face at that moment. Mostly, I imagine the look in his eyes when he wants to make love to me. His eyes caress me first with such longing that my heart flutters and my knees go weak. Then he smiles so slightly that I can’t be sure it wasn’t just a shadow brushing his cheeks. That’s all he needs to do and I’m his, however and whenever he wants me.

  I try to stay strong by reminding myself of the process of change, that with a revolution challenging the philosophy of a whole country, things always get worse before they get better. There are great agricultural plans in the works. Rivers are being damned all around the island to harness power and soon they tell us there will be prosperity for all, not just for a few like before.

  There’s a place for Tony and Lucinda and me in this future. We’ll be together again and live in a house right on the shores of Varadero. I dream that someday you’ll come visit us, and we’ll sit on the sand under the palms for hours and watch our children play.

  Alicia

  We rarely ate dinner as a family anymore. Papi frequently arrived late from the office and sometimes I didn’t get home from the university until well past seven, depending on traffic, and Marta always had something going on. I wasn’t surprised, therefore, to find Mami sitting alone at the kitchen table eating left over stew from the previous night.

  I took a plate from the cupboard, served myself, and sat next to her. She was moving the chunks of meat around on her plate without eating.

  “I talked to Marta today,” she said not looking up from her plate. “Or rather, she talked to me.”

  I began the painstaking task of separating the raisins from the rest of the meal and waited. Mami often complained to me about Marta. She’d describe her latest antics in colorful detail and defame her latest boyfriend who was always unworthy of her. Her latest concern was that Marta wasn’t interested in continuing her education after high school at all. “Can you imagine?” Mami had said. “What’s she going to do? Flip hamburgers for a living?”

  I looked up at her from my plate, and I noticed her redrimmed eyes. “What is it?”

  Her tears flowed. “I don’t know what your father’s going to do. Marta says she’s getting married to that boy—that boy with no education, and no way to support a family. She hardly knows him, for God’s sake. How long have they been seeing each other? Six months?”

  “I believe it’s been three years, on and off.”

  Mami grabbed her napkin and blew her nose loudly. “Anyway, she’s still a child. I don’t care if the law says an eighteen-year-old is an adult. Everyone who kno
ws Marta knows she’s still a child.”

  “I thought you and Papi liked Eddie better than the others.”

  “We do. It’s not that he’s a bad boy, but he’s a boy,” Mami said leaning toward me on her elbows.

  “And didn’t he get accepted at USC?”

  “Yes. But does he have a job? No, he doesn’t. You know what Marta says? Just listen to this.” Mami waved her napkin in the air. “She says that she’ll support Eddie while he studies and then he’ll support her when he’s finished. Have you ever heard of anything so preposterous?”

  “That sounds kind of nice to me.”

  “I can just see Marta working her fingers to the bone. Once he’s got his degree hanging safely on the wall, he’ll find somebody else, and leave her planted.”

  Mami wanted nothing less for us than the fairy tale of her own courtship and marriage. Tucked in for the night behind a cloud of mosquito netting, we’d beg her to tell us the story.

  “Again?” she’d ask, laughing with pleasure. “I’ve told you that story three times this week.”

  “We want to hear it again,” we’d wail.

  She’d be a cameo silhouetted in the moonlight as she spoke. “I was very young when your father and I met, no more than nineteen and I was tiny, but I had a very nice shape!” We’d laugh and giggle our approval as ritual demands. “Your Abuelo made arrangements for a grand party to be held in the honor of your Tía Griselda, who’d just returned from Europe. There were tables set on the sand and boleros sung by a trio and bright flowers everywhere. Of course, I was excited to see Tía Griselda and hear about her trip, but I was especially excited to meet the young man I heard so much about from my cousins. This young man, who’s name you already know,” (more giggles) “was the good friend of my cousin Alberto. He came from a well-established family in Havana. They had a beautiful house in Varadero and if that wasn’t enough, he was already a rising star in the National Bank. You better believe all my cousins and I were carefully selecting what to wear that day.”