Broken Paradise

by Cecilia Samartin

  “She looks like Alicia,” Mami said nonchalantly. She hadn’t brought up Alicia since her outburst, too long ago to think about anymore. “Alicia was a beautiful girl. I’d say she was even blonder than Lisa.” The unspoken question hung in the air like a black cloud, but nobody dared say anything lest it burst and soak us all. I knew they were wondering if I’d heard from her and how she was doing. And what of her blind racially mixed daughter who Abuelo had believed to be one of the most amazingly beautiful children he’d ever laid eyes on?

  Jeremy brought in a tray of Greek hummus with neatly sliced wedges of pita bread on the side. He winked at me when he set the tray down, then made himself comfortable at my feet, his head on my knee. “Nora received a letter from Alicia just a few months ago. It was a long one wasn’t it, honey?”

  I felt my back bristle and was immediately annoyed with Jeremy for bringing it up even though I knew he wasn’t being thoughtless, but very deliberate. I coughed and reached for the pita, flicking Jeremy’s head as I did so. “It was a very long letter.”

  Mami reached for some pita and hummus as well. “This looks so interesting, Jeremy. I always want to try it when I see it at the store, but I’m afraid I’ll bring it home and nobody will like it.” She popped it in her mouth and nodded approvingly. Papi opened another bottle of wine and poured himself a glass, swishing it around and holding it up to the light.

  “How is she doing?” Mami asked as she fished around for another pita wedge.

  “Who?”

  She looked up from the tray, her face flushed and anxious. “Alicia, of course.”

  “Not so well. There are problems.”

  Mami sat back in her chair with a huff. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. They’re finding rafters every day trying to escape. They say the prisons are full of people who try to leave illegally. The very same people who supported the revolution are now being thrown in jail for trying to get out.”

  Jeremy squeezed my ankle. He wanted me to speak, but I stayed silent. He sat up and away from me. “Alicia and Tony have renounced the party. Tony’s in jail for taking part in a demonstration against the government. Nobody knows when or if he’ll get out.”

  Mami gasped and dropped her pita and humus on the ground. “Oh, dear God.” Now she was full of questions, and I began to answer them as she began to cry. Papi tried to calm her down, but she continued to grow more nervous, and trembled as she spoke. “We must send her money, José,” she kept saying over and over again.

  Dear Nora,

  I light a candle at the church for Abuelo every day, may he rest in peace. And as I watch the flame flicker in the darkness I thank God he died in freedom, near you and the family. I pray the years he lived in abundance and joy, erased the years of hunger and fear he knew here.

  I must extend my gratitude to you and your family. You don’t know what a difference your generosity has made for us. Tony is still in jail, and I use most of the American dollars you send to bribe the guards into allowing me to bring him food. There is one guard with kind eyes who tells me he delivers my packages to him personally, and I have no choice but to believe him.

  It was necessary for us to move out of the apartment Tony found and into a smaller one on the first floor. At least we’re still close to the malecón, and Berta has moved in. She was with a horrible man who beat her black and blue almost daily. When he came around looking for her I told him she moved to Russia with a soldier. I even supplied the name of one of Tony’s old friends who I knew had recently gone in case he bothered to check. Berta was very grateful and she’s turned out to be a marvelous friend and very resourceful as well. We’ve been able to eat regular meals and find meat at least once a week since we met her. She works in tourism at the hotels and promised to find me a job soon. I now wish that I’d taken my English classes more seriously, but Berta assures me I don’t need to know English and that working in tourism is the surest way to leave Cuba. I won’t go without Tony, but I need to have a plan ready so we can leave as soon as he’s out. Ricardo, the guard who gives things to Tony, tells me he’s been hearing rumors about Tony’s release and I want to believe him because when I do, I feel I have two hearts pumping bravely inside my chest instead of one squeezing out its weak existence.

  Time is running out for many reasons. Lucinda’s been out of school for so long, I’m afraid soon they’ll come looking for her and force her to attend the educational camps as they do to all the children. She’d be away from me for weeks at a time, and they’d program her mind and her soul to give up our hope for freedom and build tolerance for the unrelenting frustration we live with.

  I wonder sometimes if I shouldn’t leave with Lucinda as soon as I can. When I think of how I’d suffer if my daughter were taken from me, ninety miles in a raft doesn’t seem like such a risk. I hear that if you leave at the right time when the currents are flowing south and the wind is behind you, you can make it in two days. Two days to freedom Nora, what a beautiful thought.

  I must bring this letter to a close, as I’ve run out of paper. One last thing, you wrote that Abuelo’s last words to you before he died were of me, but you didn’t tell me what they were. I would like to know when you get a chance to write back, and I’ll write again soon. I feel so much better when I do.

  Alicia

  I awoke with the image clear in my mind. Two white and wavering faces, ghostlike and tranquil, emerging from the sea. They walk hand in hand across the ocean bottom to reach the shores of freedom. They pass through the horror of a thousand deaths to reach me, and I’m waiting on the shore when the tops of their heads emerge from the water like two rising moons. Their bodies glisten with the ocean, but there’s a brittleness about their souls, a dried-up misery that calls to me more poignantly than any cry or complaint. Their bare feet sink into the sand as they stand on the water’s edge.

  Lucinda walks towards me, takes my hand and calls me Tía Nora. She tells me I look beautiful just as she knew I would, and she blinks every time I pass my hand over her eyes. I turn to see if Alicia is amazed by her daughter’s miraculous recovery, but she is well accustomed to miracles and I decide to leave this one to its own enchantment.

  I take them home to my house that is right on the beach, so close that the waves wash over the threshold of my front door. We eat fruit growing on trees that lean into my windows with such familiarity that I need not even get up from my chair to pick ripe sweet apples and oranges. We chew more than we talk. And when we do speak it is only to say that the weather is good and that the fruit is sweet and that the water in these parts is far too murky for swimming.

  21

  Dear Nora,

  Ricardo tells me Tony will not be released as soon as he thought. I didn’t want to believe him when he first told me. I preferred to think he’d become confused with somebody else or that he’d been drinking, but then he gave me the note from Tony himself. It was very brief, but I wept with joy at the sight of his lovely writing that still looks like that of a little boy. He wrote that although prison life is harsh, there are a few guards who make his imprisonment tolerable and that Ricardo is one of them.

  I realized I had to do something to thank Ricardo for his kindness and to ensure he continued taking care of my love. I began bringing him food I buy with the dollars you send. One afternoon I brought him a fresh mango. It was so ripe and sweet I could smell its perfume in the bag. There was one for him and one for Tony. He took the bag from me and stared at me as he never had before. To be honest, Nora, it’s been such a long time since anyone’s looked at me that way that at first I wondered if I might have something stuck in my teeth.

  I’m not such a fool as I used to be. I didn’t for one minute believe Ricardo had fallen in love with me, but I understood that how I responded to his declarations had everything to do with whether or not Tony ever tasted the mango that hung between us.

  Did I mention that Ricardo’s face is rough and scarred and that with his hairy fingers make his hands look like two gia
nt spiders? The kindness in his eyes grew into a glare, and I soothed him with a light stroke over his spidery hands. That was enough for the moment, but the next week I allowed him to touch my hair and whisper silly things in my ear while he peeked down my blouse. On that day I brought Tony a loaf of fresh bread that Berta had taken from the hotel.

  Ricardo informed me that Tony was being moved to another section of the prison and it would be difficult for him to keep taking food to him, but if I allowed him to slip his hands under my blouse, he’d arrange for a transfer.

  I’ve been paying the ultimate price for my peace of mind for months now. Once a week at eleven after Ricardo’s shift we meet at the north end of the malecón. He tells me not to be late because his wife is very ugly and very jealous, and if he’s late she’ll wonder where he is and probably eat his rice and beans because she’s fat too. He tells me that having me is worth going hungry for one night, but if he can have me and a plate of food, why not?

  I wrote before that desperation changes people. Hunger, like alcohol, has a way of lowering inhibitions so that what was once impossible to do suddenly becomes not only possible, but likely. I know now that I’m capable of doing anything to protect Lucinda and Tony. The problem is that there are fewer and fewer desperate acts to choose from and we’re left with nothing, but the most common degradations.

  I consider the offer you made me so long ago, to apply for visas and that Juan would help in whatever way he could. Then I believed I’d die if I left Cuba, but today I’d leave on a floating tree trunk if I knew Tony would be safe. I’m a prisoner with him, and the only peace I get these days is from knowing that Lucinda is with me and not in the educational camps. I received word just last week that she’s excused for now, but I don’t know how long this reprieve will last.

  I will leave this place. I promise you with all the love and strength I have in my heart that, even if my daughter never knows what it is to look upon the royal palms or the beauty of her own face, she will know freedom.

  Alicia

  Jeremy held me as I cried.

  “You must go to her,” he said with a firm grip on my shoulders. “Maybe you can convince her to stop what she’s doing to herself.”

  “All she cares about is keeping Tony safe. It doesn’t matter if I’m there.”

  Jeremy and I never quarreled. If I had a tendency to raise my voice to the altered Cuban pitch I was accustomed to in my home, his steady rational responses always smoothed my ruffled feathers.

  This time he was the one heating up. “Other Cubans go visit their relatives, why can’t you? Just tell your parents you’re a grown woman, and you’ve made up your mind.”

  I turned away from him and felt the numbness creep over me as it always did when I thought about going. I saw my mother’s face twisted in agony when Castro declared Cuba a Socialist state. I saw my father curled up like a baby on the bed, sobbing when he learned of Tío Carlos’s death. “It’s not that easy,” I said.

  “It is, but you make it difficult.”

  I turned to face him. “You don’t understand because you never stepped out of your life like you were stepping out of a pair of comfortable shoes only to find yourself banging around in heavy boots that don’t fit and never will.”

  Jeremy cocked his head to one side. “You’re right, I don’t understand, Nora. I don’t think I ever will.”

  We first heard news of the balseros on TV. Desperate Cuban men, women and children flinging themselves into the sea hoping that the tires and scraps of wood they tied together with rope would transport them to freedom. We talked about it during Sunday dinner and as usual, Mami was leading the conversation.

  “Nobody here cares about what happens to those wretched souls,” she insisted. “The Americans have forgotten about Cuba. What is it after all? Just a little island in the middle of the ocean that makes no difference to anyone. It matters to us, but nobody else.”

  Papi, Marta, and I had learned over the years to keep our mouths shut whenever Mami went on in this way. There was no convincing her of anything that was even slightly hopeful when it came to Cuba and Cubans. She was hopelessly pessimistic and became offended if one attempted to offer a slightly sunnier view. Eddie caught on years ago, but Jeremy either didn’t know or didn’t care.

  “I think there are some Americans who care. I do,” he said while dismembering the roasted chicken before him.

  “Of course you do, you married a Cuban woman,” Mami said as she waved a fork in his direction, but he wasn’t finished.

  “I cared even before I married Nora.” Jeremy placed his fork down and cleaned his hands on his napkin, considering his words carefully. “I wish Cubans could experience the freedom of democracy, Regina. I’m just not sure that the way to bring it about is to keep distancing ourselves from Castro.”

  If I’d been close enough to pinch Jeremy’s knee I would have. As it was, I wanted to dive under the table for cover.

  Mami’s rage was red and profuse, and it traveled up from her belly making itself seen as flames peeking up over her blouse, engulfing her neck, her ears, until finally her whole face was ablaze. “Distancing ourselves? Did you say distancing? They’ve been inviting that murderous criminal to European summits and South American meetings all over the place. Meetings attended by American politicians, including our president. Meetings in which that man is officially acknowledged as the president of Cuba. Have you ever heard of anything so stupid in all your life?” She spit the words out this time like venom.

  “President. As if he were elected, as if they had more than one name on the ballot during the circus they called an election. Did you know that people who didn’t go out and vote were denied their ration books for God knows how long. Did you know that?” Mami pushed herself away from the table. She was still steaming. “This government has taken a hard stand against communism everywhere in the world, but right next door it does nothing. Cubans have died alongside Americans in Vietnam because of this country’s hatred of communism. But can they go next door and get rid of that raving lunatic that uses Cuba for his personal playground?”

  Her eyes were bulging at Jeremy who stood silent and unflinching. Only I could see the shadow of disappointment on his face. And I alone knew that his disappointment was directed at himself and his own insensitivity.

  I cleared my throat. “Don’t get so upset, Mami. There are lots of ways to look at it…”

  Jeremy interrupted me. “That’s OK. You don’t need to defend me. Your mother’s right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” she huffed, not easily swayed into a truce.

  “Please forgive my rudeness.” Jeremy directed his apology to both Mami and Papi. Papi nodded although he hadn’t said a word.

  Mami looked around at all the faces sitting at the table obviously relieved that the explosion had passed without any fatal casualties. She turned somber eyes back toward Jeremy. “Of course, you’re allowed to have your own opinion, Jeremy. I’m just telling you what I think. It’s not like we’re in Cuba, you know. You can think what you want.”

  Jeremy nodded and Mami smiled as she went into to the kitchen. She returned in less than a minute carrying a beautiful golden flan, dripping with caramel sauce. She placed it in front of Jeremy, knowing that flan was his favorite and cut him a huge piece. Then she kissed him on the top of his head and left to start on the dishes without cutting pieces for anybody else.

  Jeremy held me close and whispered in my ear and the base of my neck until I was giggling like a child. We made love by the moonlight that glowed through the open window. Sometimes the ocean breeze found our little house through the maze of neighborhoods and houses between us. We breathed in the cool freshness and allowed it to dry the perspiration on our skin.

  Jeremy fell asleep with his arms wrapped around me, and suddenly we were floating out in the middle of the sea in a small sturdy raft. The ocean was rolling pleasantly while the mist sprayed over the sides caressing us. I saw the stars blinking overhead. This
was the most beautiful night of my life. My fortune was determined by the strength of my faith and my dreams. It was the wind in my sails, the circular force of the currents, the beating of my heart. What an amazing feeling to risk all that I was and all I believed in for this sense of hope. The growing pitch of the sea didn’t bother me. It would calm soon and the sun would rise out of the sea as it always had. We’re on our way to a better life.

  I woke Jeremy so we could see the rising sun together. It started as a tremulous light that spread in soft ribbons against the dark of the passing night. The ocean glowed deep and warm as it smiled up at the sky. Another day had begun.

  “We’re part of this now, Jeremy,” I said and his face was golden with the sun. He held my hand with loving delicacy, as if it were a flower. A sliver of land floated on the mist beyond. It would be difficult to see if not for the hint of brown contour immovable against the flow of the sea. We were headed right for it and as we got closer the mist burnt away to reveal the solid hills, the swaying palms, the broad calm harbor that destined the land for greatness in the new world. Once again I gazed upon the beauty of my beloved Cuba.

  22

  Dear Nora,

  I’m proud to say that I now have a job at the Hotel Nacional. They’ve renovated it beautifully, and as I walk on the marbled floor and smell the rich food coming from the restaurant, I can pretend everything is as it used to be. But I can’t pretend for long because the hotel is full of tourists from many countries like Canada and Germany. Nobody speaks Spanish, but thankfully, my job doesn’t require that I say much. I just smile politely and show them the way to the lobby and sometimes take them to their rooms. I wear a lovely uniform. It’s blue with gold trim on the sleeves and the bottom of the skirt and I have matching shoes too.

  Lucinda stays home by herself when I work. I don’t know what else to do. She is young, but she’s very mature for her age and knows where everything is. During blackouts, that come very often these days, I rely on her to find things in the dark. I don’t want to waste the few candles we have, so we sit for hours in the dark, and I tell her about you and your life. She knows all about Jeremy, and she wants to learn how to speak English to impress you. I’ve begun to teach her the few words I know, like “Hello, my name is Lucinda,” and “Can you tell me the time?” She’s very good at remembering these phrases, but I’m afraid her accent is terrible, even worse than mine.