Broken Paradise

by Cecilia Samartin

  Although we haven’t slept in each other’s arms for years, I can’t close my eyes without whispering my good night to you and remembering that nothing, not even the sinking of this beautiful island, can destroy our love for each other.

  Nora is still here with us. She hasn’t gone home as I mentioned in my last letter she would. Everything is better with her here. Lucinda smiles more, and sometimes behaves as a young girl should and not like a middle-aged woman with a thousand worries. What should I do, my love? How should I talk with her? Can I tell her that her Papi will soon be home to take care of her…

  Ricardo eyed the wheelbarrow with a frown as he stuffed the letter Alicia held out to him in his pocket and took the plastic bag from me.

  He shoved his face into it without a word and sniffed loudly, sweat dripping into his eyes. “Something wrong with your legs?”

  “I’ve been tired and Nora found this wagon to help me get around.”

  He took a step back. “Are you sick?”

  Alicia laughed dryly and even attempted to swing her legs out of the cart, but she was only successful at propping herself up straighter on her elbows. “Not to worry, Ricardo. Anything I have I got long after you and I decided to be…friends.”

  Ricardo relaxed and dropped his hand from his holster. He took a more studied look inside the bag. “Tony likes fresh fruit. I don’t see any fresh fruit here.”

  “It was impossible to find this week, but maybe next week.”

  Ricardo grunted and began to saunter back toward his post.

  “I’ll pay you good money when Tony gets out,” Alicia said abruptly.

  Ricardo turned slowly and squinted in the heat. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been saving money for when Tony gets out so we can leave this place.”

  He nodded pensively, while chewing the inside of his cheek. “I’ll let you know when the time gets close.”

  “Don’t you have a letter for me?” Alicia asked.

  He didn’t turn around when he answered, “Not this week.”

  “Why not? Is something wrong with Tony? Is he sick?”

  Ricardo stomped his feet, creating a cloud of brown dust about him. It was obviously taxing him to get up the hill, and he resented having to turn around again. “There’s nothing wrong with him that a doctor can do anything about.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look, woman. Have you ever been locked up?”

  “No…”

  “Have you?” he asked pointing a hairy finger at me. I shook my head.

  “It changes a man. They can go dead inside after a while.”

  “My Tony would never go dead inside. Tell him I expect a letter next week.”

  Ricardo turned on his heels and kept walking as he waved us away with one hand. “Bring some fresh fruit and maybe he’ll feel like writing. Some cigarettes wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “My Tony doesn’t smoke.”

  “Your Tony’s been smoking for years.”

  Alicia worried about Lucinda all the way home. We had planned a surprise trip to the beach and a picnic as well, but when Lucinda heard that her Papi hadn’t written, she was very disappointed. It was only at the suggestion that Beba join us that she brightened a bit.

  Beba was happy to come when we appeared at her door, and Lucinda insisted on holding her hand on the short walk to the public beach. Nevertheless, her head hung low and she stumbled more than once.

  “I should’ve written a letter myself and pretended it was from her Papi,” Alicia whispered.

  “She’ll be fine when we get to the beach, you’ll see.”

  I was right. Once Lucinda was able to dig her toes into the sand and feel the course heat sliding between her toes and the cool dampness beneath the surface, she raised her head toward the ocean and walked confidently toward the sound of the waves. Beba wasn’t able to keep up with her and had to let go of her hand or risk falling face first in the sand. Lucinda walked on, and Beba helped to maneuver the wheelbarrow toward a shady spot beneath a squat palm tree. We spread out a blanket and assisted Alicia out of the wheelbarrow and on to the sand where she settled in comfortably.

  Her eyes were on her daughter, and they glittered with love and fear. “Anyone who saw her right now would think she was a beautiful young lady spending time with her dreams, her whole life ahead of her.”

  “That’s exactly what she is,” Beba retorted as she fluffed the pillows behind Alicia and covered her feet that were always cold.

  “She doesn’t have girlish dreams, Beba,” Alicia said with a quiver in her voice. “She has adult worries. She worries about me and her Papi and about being taken away.”

  “Nobody’s going to take her away,” I reminded her.

  Alicia’s eyes were grateful. “I know you’ll do everything you can to see that that doesn’t happen, but you’ve only been here a short while. Soon it’ll wear on you as it does on all of us. The power this government has to stop your throat and steal every breath you have is something you haven’t experienced yet and I’m afraid that when you do…”

  “I won’t let them take her away,” I repeated.

  “And what about Jeremy? What about your husband who’s missing you every minute you’re here with us?”

  “He understands.”

  Alicia scowled as she did when she thought I wasn’t being honest. “If I knew my Tony was waiting for me somewhere, what I wouldn’t do to go to him! A man who really loves you is a blessing you shouldn’t play with. What if he gets tired of waiting?”

  “If he really loves me, he won’t get tired of waiting.”

  Alicia rolled her eyes and coughed. “He’s angry with you now, I know he is.”

  Beba was listening to us while keeping an eye out for Lucinda who was walking along the water’s edge, carefully feeling her way with her toes. Beba placed a hand on Alicia’s knee. “Rest now, child. Nora knows her man better than you do, and you can believe what she tells you about Lucinda. Beba’s going to see to it that nobody ever takes her anywhere she doesn’t want to go.”

  This was enough assurance to calm Alicia, and allow her to doze under the shade of the palm.

  This was the third attempt I’d made to contact Jeremy. The voice on the message machine I listened to was mine, but it didn’t sound like me anymore. The woman requesting I leave my name and number reflected a light hearted innocence that came from too few worries and an overabundance of solutions. The voice of the woman leaving the message was heavy and restless and brimming with the kind of anxiety that weighs on your heart and mind so heavy that your feet ache to their soles.

  Again there was no answer and I calculated the hours quickly. In Los Angeles it was eleven in the evening. Where was he? He wasn’t one to stay out late. I contemplated calling my parents. Surely they’d be over their anger by now and able to speak to me in a reasonable manner. I thought about this with my hand on the receiver of the public phone.

  Thank God for the light of the moon that illuminated the streets after the lights had long gone out. It was a dangerous time to be out. Crime was increasing, especially in Havana, and theft was not as uncommon as it used to be. Tourists were told to be particularly careful, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that I didn’t look like a tourist anymore. I’d given away most of my clothes and was saving one good dress for my return home. I now wore stretchy shorts, a long T-shirt of Jeremy’s, and plastic flip-flops on my feet. This was the uniform of the Cuban woman who’d resigned herself to the fact that there was no reason to be elegant anymore. She wasn’t going to be invited to the parties she heard bouncing off the malecón, and glittering like a distant universe.

  Everyone was sleeping comfortably when I arrived home. It was the first night we hadn’t needed a fan in a week. I heard the dripping of the faucet in the kitchen, and reminded myself that we were lucky to have running water in the house, that there were many who lived in apartments where the plumbing had corroded after years of neglect, a
nd where inhabitants relied on public water mains in the street. Did I really have a dishwasher in my kitchen that I rarely used because it was just the two of us? Was it true that I’d been known to take two showers a day? Since I’d arrived, I’d managed to wash myself every two or three days with cold water while standing in the tub.

  I pulled back the thin sheet of my cot and lay down quietly so as not to disturb the soft cadence of sleep in the room. The next day I’d get up early and heat water on the stove for a proper warm bath. Then I’d do the same for Alicia and Lucinda. We’d be fresh and ready to go wherever the day dictated.

  30

  IT TOOK FOREVER FOR THE WATER TO BOIL, BUT ONLY THREE large kettles converted the tub of cold water into a pleasant and frothy warmth in which I submerged myself with incredible delight.

  “Why are you doing that, Tía,” Lucinda asked, a curious expression on her golden face. Her eyes still reflected the soft swelling of a peaceful night’s sleep.

  “It feels good to have a hot bath. When I’m done I’ll make one for you.”

  She giggled and shook her tangled head of curls. “Mami says she used to give me a bath when I was a baby, but not lately.”

  “You’ll love it. Is your Mami still sleeping?”

  “She just woke up, and I made her some breakfast. Do you want some?”

  “In a little while.”

  Lucinda closed the door behind her, and I soaked for a while longer. The peeling paint in the bathroom curled down in long moldy ribbons that reminded me of the moss that hung from the trees on the way to Tía Panchita’s house. Perhaps that would be an interesting trip to take on this day. I’d ask Berta, who’d been home for the last couple of days, to give me the name of the person who lent her the car. We’d stop by the tourist market on the way out, and I’d pack a picnic. I hoped that Alicia was feeling up to the trip. The fact that she was eating breakfast was a good sign.

  Lucinda soaked in the tub even longer than I did. She held on to the sides for a long time as she experienced the soft silky feeling of the bubble bath I’d brought with me from the States for the first time in her life. She smiled with wonder at the sensation and her turquoise eyes flashed with life. It was still hard to believe that eyes so beautiful couldn’t behold the world around her.

  “Tía, this water is even warmer than the ocean.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  I gently placed my hand on the top of her head so she knew I was near. “Now tilt your head back a little and I’ll wash your hair.”

  Lucinda did as she was told and shut her eyes tight. Washing her thick curly hair was a formidable job, and my knees were aching by the time I was finished rinsing. I imagined that Lucinda’s neck was also sore, but she never complained.

  Alicia was feeling better and allowed me to help her into the bath and wash her hair as well. I tried not to shudder as her golden locks slid down the drain. She had half the hair she used to, and I twisted it into a tight and fashionable knot at the back of her head so it would be less noticeable.

  We were all dressed and ready to go when Berta emerged from her room, her thick black hair grizzled into a mane of unbelievable proportions. She blinked and propped her hands on her generous hips. “What’s this? Are we all ready for Catechism?” she chuckled to herself as she sauntered to the bathroom.

  “Berta, we want to rent a car for the day. The car you used to pick me up at the airport would do well. Could you tell me how to find it?”

  Berta looked momentarily confused. She tried to remember as she examined her cuticles. “It’s this guy who lives down at the end of the street. I had to pay him…You know…not with cash.”

  I blushed. “I understand, but I imagine he’ll take cash.”

  “Probably. It’s the house with the blue door,” Berta said and she disappeared inside the bathroom where she would undoubtedly remain for most of the morning.

  Lucinda and Alicia waited for me while I ventured out to find the house with the blue door. It was easy to find and as I knocked I realized I hadn’t asked Berta for the name of the car’s owner. After a few seconds the door was opened by a tired looking woman in her mid to late thirties missing a tooth in the very front of her smile. Eyeing me suspiciously, she shrugged her thin shoulders. “Carlos went out last night and he hasn’t been home. He’s probably drunk as a skunk and sleeping it off somewhere. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “Can you help me?”

  The woman waved me into the house and beckoned me to follow her through dingy rooms, cluttered with broken furniture and tools, out to the small backyard. Without looking to see if I was following or not, she kicked open the back gate to reveal the shiny blue Chevrolet that had transported us all from the airport on my first day here. It looked freshly polished and the chrome shone in the morning light making it look like a bright cartoon in the middle of an old black and white photo.

  “This car is my husband’s heaven and my hell. If you want to take it and drive it into the ocean, I couldn’t care less.”

  “Actually, I just wanted it for the day to go to Güines. I’ll have it back before nightfall.”

  “I don’t care,” she said.

  “I’ll pay you for the use of it.”

  “I said I don’t care.” She walked back into the house with me following close behind and rummaged through a drawer before producing a set of keys and tossed them at me. “Finding gas is a lot harder than finding a car, you know.”

  I looked down at my plastic flip-flops, almost identical to hers and my stretchy shorts and tank top. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and I wasn’t wearing a drop of makeup. “How did you know I was visiting?” I asked.

  The woman smiled for the first time. She’d once been lovely, and I imagined her, elegant in her matching shoes and purse, sauntering down the avenues as men craned their necks to catch a glimpse. Carlos had no doubt been one of them and had pursued her with a vengeance.

  “I can always tell the Cubans that come back,” she told me. “First of all, they always have cash to spend on things like a car or prepared food. A Cuban would offer me soap for the car or a bag of onions, or…” She sniffed the air with a sour expression, “other things too. But how I can really tell is by your hands. May I?” She took my hand and held it next to hers. “I don’t think I’m much older than you, but see?” The difference was dramatic. Hers were swollen and cracked, with thick knuckles and nails that were gray and moldy near the base. “It’s from using cold water and bleach to wash the clothes and dishes. When I run out of soap I have to use bleach or nothing at all. The only women who don’t have hands like this are visitors and prostitutes.”

  The woman told me her name was Lourdes, and we talked for a bit about her two children who were away at school and came home only one weekend a month. She wanted to know about the United States and said she had friends who had escaped on a raft several months ago. “I don’t know if they made it.”

  I was ready to leave with keys dangling from my fingers like a prize. All I had to do now was find gas. How hard could that be? “Will Carlos be mad if he comes home and finds the car missing?”

  Lourdes threw both hands up in the air. “His anger doesn’t scare me. Besides, he didn’t remember he was supposed to show up for his construction job at the hotel this morning. Why should he remember he has a car?”

  Lourdes told me of some people in the neighborhood who might have gas for sale and suggested I find it before taking the car as I could easily waste the quarter tank left trying to find it. I agreed and set out on my quest. Immediately I discovered that Lourdes was not exaggerating. The first two men promptly informed me they wouldn’t have gas until the middle of next week, but if I paid them in advance, they’d give me a discount. I declined their offer and continued down the list toward my next lead. It was almost noon when I resigned myself to the fact that our plans would have to wait until next week, and I considered returning to the one person who seemed the most decent and least likel
y to cheat me if I paid in advance. I could ask Lourdes if this was customary.

  I decided to drop by the house first and inform Alicia and Lucinda of the situation, but I was surprised to find nobody home. Even Berta was nowhere to be found although the door to her room had been left open and her radio was blaring. In the kitchen I noted the dishes had not been washed. Lucinda always washed the dishes before leaving for fear that ants would find their way in.

  I walked outside and spotted Pepe sitting on his front stoop, squinting out into the perpetual haze of endless summers while smoking a cigarette stub. He barely glanced at me as I approached, already knowing what I was going to ask.

  “They went down the street that way,” he said flicking his free hand in the general direction. “Right after a man I never saw before was knocking on doors asking about a blind girl. I sent him that way.” He pointed the opposite direction to the apartment. “And then I told them it would be a good time to go for a walk.”

  My heart constricted with fear. Had they come looking for Lucinda? Or perhaps Ricardo had informed the authorities that Alicia was ill, and they’d come to take her away. I was almost choking, my throat was so dry. “Did he look official?”

  At this question Pedro looked somewhat dazed. “Official? He had good shoes and a clean shirt.”

  My worst fears confirmed, I dashed down the street in the direction Pepe indicated they’d gone. I peered down narrow alleys piled high with garbage, almost tripping on my flip-flops in the process. I imagined how frightened Lucinda must feel, how desperate and confusing this must be for Alicia. Berta was probably doing her best to help, but she didn’t know how to deal with people like this. She was probably making matters worse by offering sexual favors to set them free. I was in a near hysteria when I reached the malecón.