Before I close, I must let you know how proud I am of you for breaking things off with Gregorio. It took courage that your mother doesn’t understand. Your heart will guide you to your destiny, and you must write me soon and tell me where it leads.
Alicia
I found a job teaching first graders in East L.A. who were just learning English. I loved the children and kept myself busy with work and school and spending as much time with my niece as I could. Time passed quickly with barely a thought about men or dating. I forced myself to accept a couple of dinner invitations, including one from a friend of Eddie who Marta insisted was a match made in heaven just for me, but I declined second invitations from them both.
Marta and Mami warned me that I shouldn’t be so picky, but I didn’t feel I was being picky at all. I was simply waiting for what felt right. Waiting for hope to find me as I always had. Once again my thoughts turned to Sister Margarita’s invitation so long ago. Perhaps she possessed the wisdom to look into my future and see the romantic calamities I might avoid if I only followed her holy example. Perhaps Sister Margarita had been right all along.
My academic efforts had always proven successful, and by the fall I was beginning my preparations for graduate school. It was necessary for me to return to the University on a few occasions to gather documents in order to complete my application. I was surprised by how good it felt to be back, and I was even more surprised to find myself standing outside of Jeremy’s office door one afternoon, holding two cups of steaming coffee. I could hear him on the phone, his calm voice trying to reassure one of his students who was obviously unhappy with his grade. I didn’t wait for him to finish his call before knocking and peeking in. He seemed surprised to see me and stumbled a bit as he found a way to end the call. I placed the coffees on his desk, and sat down next to him. We gazed at each other smiling and not speaking for almost one full minute.
“How’s it been going?” he finally asked.
“Fine. And you?”
“Good, good.”
We smiled a while longer and then he shook himself and began to rearrange some papers on his desk. “Let me guess,” he said. “You came by to personally invite me to your wedding.”
I laughed, strangely delighted that he should say such a thing. “What makes you think that?”
“I got the distinct impression you were involved with somebody and on your way to blissful matrimony last time I saw you. How long has it been?”
“Almost two years…I think.”
“A lot can happen in two years,” he said still fussing with his papers and hardly looking at me.
“Yes, well…I’m definitely not getting married. I may never get married.”
Jeremy folded his arms and nodded slowly, but his dimples flickered as though he was trying not to laugh. He sat back in his chair, still studying me.
“What’s so funny?”
He shook his head. “You sound so American when you say that.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, it’s not bad,” he said still smiling.
The glow had begun in my middle again, and I was feeling a bit delirious. “What’s been happening in your life?”
Jeremy uncrossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Nothing much.” Then his fingers floated up to his face, and he began to stroke his chin as he did in high school when he was working out his translation. His eyes wandered about the ceiling and then landed resolutely back on my face. “That’s not really true…Jane and I got separated a while back. The divorce should be final any day. I thought of calling to let you know, but it just didn’t seem…” He stopped himself short and leaned forward to place his hand over mine that were folded on my lap. This time it was no accident. His voice was gentle and clear as he spoke to me. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t tell you now, and I may not get another chance.” He squeezed my hands as though to gather courage before going on. “Ever since the first day I saw you all those years ago with your ponytail and knee-high socks I…I loved you, Nora. I looked for you when I got back from Peru, but you’d moved and I figured you’d gone back to Cuba like you said you would. Then I met Jane and I thought it best to get on with my life, but when I ran into you again, I knew I’d made a mistake.”
Tears floated to my eyes so that his image became blurred and dream-like.
“I didn’t mean to upset you…”
My heart pounded harder than it ever had in my life, and I felt I might faint if I didn’t concentrate on inhaling and exhaling one breath after the other. “Years ago I told you that when you lose hope it’s worse than hunger because you have to wait for hope to find you, remember?”
“I remember.”
“I was wrong, Jeremy. I was so wrong. I wasn’t supposed to wait for hope to find me, I was supposed to go out and find it for myself. And Sister Margarita was wrong too.”
“Who’s Sister Margarita?”
“Didn’t I tell you about her?”
“No, but I’m listening.”
I began to tell him about Sister Margarita, but my words were a jumble, and every time I looked at him, smiling so tenderly, it became impossible to make any sense at all. Still trembling, I reached for the coffee, hoping that it might calm me, but Jeremy took the cup from my hand and placed it back on the desk. He scooted his chair forward so that both our knees were touching, and leaned forward, his eyes awash in peaceful longing.
“I’ve always wanted to ask you something,” he said.
“Of course.”
He inched closer still. “How do you say, ‘May I kiss you?’ in Spanish.”
“You know how,” I responded, blushing like a high school girl.
“But I like how you say it. Won’t you say it for me?”
He was so close, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. “¿Te puedo besar?” I said.
He touched my cheek and repeated in perfect Spanish. “Nora, ¿Te puedo besar?”
“Yes, Jeremy,” I said. “For you the answer will always be yes.”
I wrote Alicia of the good news about Jeremy and me immediately, but months passed without another word, and I was frantic that something might have happened to her and Lucinda and Tony. As Juan had pointed out, Alicia was the last one of the family left in Cuba so there was no one to call or write to find out. The only way to calm my fears was to tell myself that if she were in serious trouble I’d know it. We’d always been able to guess what the other was thinking and somehow I’d feel the truth underneath everything in the same way I knew in my heart of hearts she’d survived her father’s death years ago.
I convinced myself she was well and pictured her digesting my letters like little snacks of my life that kept her going in the midst of her difficulties. But the letters were more for me than for her. They reminded me of who I was. They were my psychological trip home, and I felt incomplete without them. And so I wrote again and again even if she didn’t write back.
Dear Alicia
Jeremy and I bought a little house in Santa Monica Beach. It’s not on the ocean like Abuelo and Abuela’s house in Varadero, but if I stand on the toilet in the bathroom on tiptoes I can just catch a glimpse of it over the rooftops. We take frequent walks regardless of the season as Jeremy believes the ocean is beautiful in any kind of weather. He’s convinced me to take a few months off while I get my teaching credential, so we’ve had more time to spend together.
Mami’s teaching me how to cook too. Most mornings after Jeremy leaves for the university, I drive to her house for a lesson. So far I’ve learned how to make arroz con pollo, picadillo, quimbombó, plátanos fritos, leg of pork with mojo sauce, and flan. I remember spending hours in the kitchen helping Beba cut onions, and tomatoes and garlic until we reeked of the stuff, but we never talked about cooking. Beba liked to talk about the spirits that lived out in the forests and evil that befell foolish people who didn’t respect them as they should. Mami pretty much acts the same way, so I have to pay careful attention to what she does while she
gossips about Eddie’s sister who’s on her second marriage.
I know now how you felt years ago when you wrote that if your life didn’t change from that moment on, you’d die happy. Every day is a perfect flower that begins with Jeremy in my arms and ends the same way.
I don’t know if you felt this way as well, but I’m a little scared to feel this happy. I’m afraid that one day I’ll wake up and find that I’ve lost Jeremy and our little house and our afternoon walks and everything. I tried to explain this to Jeremy, but he doesn’t understand. He just says, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
I lay awake at night long after Jeremy’s fallen asleep and worry anyway. I realize how silly I’m being. Jeremy hasn’t given me any reason to doubt him. He’s as kind and thoughtful a husband as he was a friend, even more so. But my worrying has nothing to do with Jeremy, it’s a part of who I am and it doesn’t fade away like my accent did.
One day Mami asked me about my tense expression, and I told her about my crazy fears and how childish I was being. She told me what I guess I knew all along. “That’s not childishness,” she said, as certain as if I was showing her a mango mistaken for a banana. “When your father got his first job over here, I was sure he’d lose it in a week. And when we bought the house, I constantly scanned the street expecting to see some American man in a dark suit walking up the drive to tell us there’d been some mistake and we’d have to give it back. When you lose everything once in your life, chances are it will never happen again, but it’s impossible to forget and it’s natural to worry.”
So now that I have permission to worry, let me tell you again how worried I am about not receiving a letter from you in so long. I’m certain you must have my new address by now. Perhaps you moved again and forgot to forward your mail? Please know that no matter how much time goes by, I always keep you and Lucinda and Tony in my prayers.
Nora
Dear Nora,
Forgive me for taking so long to write you back. I’ve read every one of your letters over and over. I wept with joy when I read about your marriage to Jeremy, and I’m so happy to know of your wonderful life together. It is as I always knew it would be.
I don’t know where to begin or where I left off in my last letter. My life is like a complicated recipe where you can’t remember if you already added the sugar or the salt, and just go ahead because it doesn’t matter, it’s ruined anyway.
You see, Tony is once again gone from my side. It’s not his love for the revolution, but his growing hate for it that is the culprit this time. He didn’t change one day to the next. His enchantment began to erode as his anger grew steadily across time like the undying beat of a drum that grew louder and louder until he was screaming with agony as it tormented him with a string of broken promises. That hopeful light that always danced in my man’s eyes was replaced with a black rage, seething and unpredictable.
Tony had been going to the eye clinic every week to inquire about the list and to make sure that Lucinda was still on it. He was always told the same thing; that Lucinda’s appointment would be scheduled as soon as possible and that a notice would be sent to our home. One day he was told that Lucinda’s name was no longer on the list, and he had to be dragged away from the clinic by two police officers. He would’ve been arrested if one of the officers hadn’t been an old friend of his from Angola.
Tony was a different man after that. He sat for hours at a time staring out the window at nothing. He reminded me of myself after Papi was killed, except I couldn’t reach him the way he reached me. Only Lucinda was able to bring a faint smile to his lips and then only sometimes.
Then his policeman friend returned and told Tony that a neighbor had seen me going to church with Lucinda and that this was the reason her name had been removed from the list. You may ask how ten or fifteen minutes a day spent in an empty church can ruin your life, but in the Communist party, religious inclinations of any kind are considered a weakness that violates the integrity of communism and threatens the revolution. We tried to go on with our lives as usual, but our desperation grew. Lucinda sensed it too and she cried for the little things.
One night, Tony slipped into bed and whispered in my ear. He was out of breath and his voice trembled as he spoke. He said he couldn’t wait around and watch the world fall apart as the life drained out of Lucinda and me. We made love with such passion that night, as if it were the first time—as if it would be the last.
Tony was arrested a few weeks later along with other demonstrators and journalists at the Plaza José Martí. It’s been over six months and nobody can tell me if he’s dead or alive or if I’ll ever see him again. I go to church in the day now and I don’t care who’s watching. Lucinda comes with me and she sits very still in the light of the windows and prays with me. She prays for her father and for her country out loud in a voice as sweet as an angel’s.
This may sound strange to you, but even with all that’s happened, I’m hopeful again. Although Tony and I are physically apart, our hearts and minds are more united now than they were during these past months when we were within arm’s reach of each other.
I was allowed to take Lucinda out of school because she is still too young to go to the government school for the blind. I’m teaching her myself with the help of a new friend, Berta. She works in a hotel and is very funny. It is more important now than ever to laugh when we can.
I promise to write more often, for both our sakes.
Alicia
Christmas was approaching, and we scrambled, as we did every year, to find a place that would sell us a whole pig for roasting. Jeremy was fascinated with this holiday tradition, and it could’ve been our most joyous Christmas in a long time if Abuelo hadn’t started to experience heart trouble, requiring his third hospitalization in six months.
I visited him daily, and we spent time watching his favorite Spanish soaps and he laughed and complained about the outlandish behavior of the actors as if they were his neighbors and friends. As soon as the programs were over his somber mood returned. He told me this time he wouldn’t be leaving the hospital, and I reminded him that he said the same thing during his previous hospitalization. He shook his head and sunk deeper into his pillow. His strong frame was slowly decomposing like the beams of a sturdy pier giving way to the constant barrage of the ocean. As I looked upon him I remembered Abuelo’s strength in the water, the best swimmer in the world. He laughed in the face of the most serious arguments, and his presence added reverence to everything we did, even if it was just drinking a Coke together.
I was getting ready to head for home and start dinner when he asked, “Have you heard from Alicia?”
We hadn’t spoken about Alicia for some time, but he asked me to update him, and he made it clear he wanted me to spare no details. When I was finished relating the contents of her latest letter, he nodded slowly. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to send her more money.”
He nodded again. “What else?”
“I don’t know what else I can do, Abuelo.”
“You can go to her, can’t you? She needs your help.” His words stung me, and I squirmed under the heat of his glare.
Abuelo had heard the arguments and Mami’s outbursts at home. He didn’t like conflict, and it wasn’t like him to make a suggestion that could create more of it. “But Mami and Papi, you know how they feel about it…”
“You and Alicia are as close as sisters. She’s alone again, and I worry about this new friend that works in the hotels.” He sighed and reached for my hand. It felt as fragile as paper. “You haven’t changed, Norita. You think too much when you would just do better to dive in and do what you know you must.”
I smiled and held his hand in both of my own. “Last time I followed that advice, I almost found myself on a permanent vacation at the bottom of the sea.”
“I was right there, Norita.” His eyes were round and serious. “I never would’ve let you drown, and you know it.”
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“I never doubted you, not for a second, Abuelo. I knew I was safe.”
He closed his eyes. “And I’ll be there with you next time. Just dive in. You’re a wonderful swimmer.”
On the tenth day of his hospitalization, soon after he’d finished watching his favorite soap, Abuelo took his usual nap and never woke up.
I like to think that he was dreaming of the warm blue seas of home, and relishing the way he slipped into the water and propelled himself through it, so smooth and perfect—the best swimmer in all of Cuba.
20
SUNDAYS BEGAN TO REMIND ME OF SUNDAYS IN CUBA SO MANY years ago.
Marta and I were married and settled into our lives with our American husbands. Mami and Papi were able to count their brood on more than one hand and set the table using almost all their good china. The meal began at around noon. Marta was pregnant again and liked to sit outside on the deck under the tree in Abuelo’s favorite spot, while Eddie chased after Lisa who was quite fond of picking the fresh buds off of flowers and handing them to Papi who was not quite so delighted. We nibbled on Cuban delicacies mixed with our growing fondness for American upscale cuisine. Jeremy had taken to cooking a bit himself on the weekends and thoroughly enjoyed surprising my family with some new dish out of an obscure ethnic cookbook he’d found during one of his travels.
We drank wine and beer into the afternoon. We listened to Benny Moré and Celia Cruz, alternating with new age elevator music, the opium of the yuppie generation, Jeremy liked to say, although he owned and listened to quite a bit of it himself.
Mami and Papi marveled at their grandchild and how fair she was. “Who’d think she had any Cuban blood in her at all,” Mami said smiling, obviously quite pleased at the fact.
“You know who she looks like, don’t you?” Marta said gazing lovingly at her daughter who was scrunching her nose at the olive she tasted.
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