My Lost Cuba

by Celso Gonzalez-Falla

  He let his mind wander. He was driving a new Cadillac. It was red, the seats made of soft red leather. The radio was on. It drowned the sounds of the road with bolero, the sexy voice of the female singer urging her lover to come closer.

  Ven, ven aquí, sé mío.

  Come, come here, and be mine.

  No tenemos tanto tiempo.

  We do not have much time.

  Sólo quiero besar tu boca,

  I just want to kiss your mouth.

  Sentir tu abrazo.

  Feel your arms around me.

  Una vez más.

  One more time.

  He saw Elena standing next to him, looking like a celestial apparition wearing a flowing, delicate white dress. He leaned over and extended his hand to touch her—a sudden, sharp bark jolted him back. The dog Mitzi had followed him into the shed. Reminded of why he had come, he sat erect on the seat and pressed the starter. The engine fired at the third try. Now what? He moved the accelerator lever. The engine increased its revolutions. He felt for the pedals and pushed two down, one with each foot. He put his right hand on the transmission stick and moved it.

  Suddenly, the tractor backed out of the shed faster than he expected. Mitzi ran, barking after Paulino as he held the steering wheel with both hands, twisting his body around in the seat, praying out loud as the tractor raced toward the milking shed. Fernando saw the racing tractor and Paulino bobbing on its seat, floundering for a way to stop it.

  “Cut it back, cut it back! You’re going to hit the shed!” Fernando shouted as he ran to help Paulino.

  “How, how?”

  “The accelerator, you idiot, move it toward you!”

  Paulino was afraid to take a hand off the wheel, but the milking shed was getting closer, and with a trembling left hand, he yanked the lever toward him. The tractor shuddered and almost stopped. Fernando ran up to the tractor, leaped onto its seat, and turned the wheel just before it hit the shed.

  Manuel and Chirra came running from the barn to see what had happened. Fernando shut the tractor off and began to laugh uncontrollably. Chirra joined in. Manuel, shaking with anger, snapped, “Paulino, what the hell are you doing on my tractor? Get down! You could have caused serious damage.”

  Paulino, still trembling, meekly obeyed. Chirra climbed into the driver’s seat and with extreme care, guided the tractor back into the machinery shed.

  Manuel looked at Paulino, Fernando, and the tractor. He knew he should report it to Mike, but it would be tricky, since Paulino was Don Miguel’s favorite. The tractor had not been damaged. Paulino was visibly shaken, and Fernando was not going to go to Havana, especially after his last trip. So, who was left, Chirra?

  Fernando was still trying to catch his breath after laughing so hard. “I tell you what,” he said, “you have to be in love to be doing something so idiotic. What were you thinking? Replace Ricardo on the tractors? Or do you want to cut the pastures like Nandito or Martinito?”

  Paulino just shook his head and walked back to the house. Fernando followed him. “Look, Paulino, if you want to learn to drive, talk to me. I can help you.”

  Paulino was too humiliated to respond.

  That night at the employees’ table they joked about the tractor ride, even as Paulino passed plates overflowing with rice, beans, and beef. Ricardo laughingly called him the new Fangio. Only Manuel, who sat at the head of the table, did not join the ribbing. When Paulino spilled the coffee he had just brewed, Manuel asked Paulino why he was in such a hurry. He muttered, “I want to see Elena.”

  “Don’t worry. I can drive the jeep. We’ll go together.”

  MANUEL’S CAREFULLY COMBED hair reeked of lilac tonic, and he had shaving nicks on his face. He wore a white western shirt, stiff with starch, and highly polished black western dress boots. Paulino sat next to him in the red jeep, clad in a long-sleeved pale blue shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders and his old tennis shoes. The grass in the pastures shone in the light of a descending sun, the cattle had formed into small groups, and the land exuded the laziness of late afternoon with its muted colors, soft tones, and birds flying back to their roost.

  Paulino kept up a brisk monologue as they drove down the Central Highway toward the Gomez sisters’ plantation.

  A bed of well-kept elephant ears flanked by a pair of large tinajones with green malangas overflowing from their wide mouths greeted them at the gate. Well-kept potted geraniums surrounded the porch. The flowerbeds proudly displayed roses and camellias. Lime, grapefruit, and papaya trees grew against the side of the house. A mutt barked as Manuel pulled the jeep to the edge of the driveway. Julieta heard the commotion and opened the door. When she saw Manuel and Paulino, she hurriedly called Elena and Cristina.

  Paulino was the first to get out of the car. “Oh, hello, ladies, Manuel wanted to drive me here. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. Welcome. Come in!” Julieta answered. The sitting room furniture was rich and simple, mahogany with yellow cane backs. Elena excused herself to brew coffee. On the walls hung colored photographs of the sisters’ parents. In one corner of the room was a small altar with a statue of the Virgin of El Cobre. Manuel held his Stetson in his hand, which he nervously spun. Cristina ushered them in and showed Manuel and Paulino to their seats as the four waited for Elena. Julieta, having observed Paulino smirking at Manuel’s discomfort, turned to Manuel and asked him about his job. He looked around and shifted his position on the love seat until his shoulders were square, like a military cadet at mess hall.

  “I’m in charge of all the purebred operations at the farm. I select the show animals, and I decide which bulls we breed to which cows. I price calves and heifers for the exportation market. I break colts and train them for the show string . . .”

  As Manuel recited a litany of duties and responsibilities, Paulino became increasingly astonished. Did Don Miguel and Manolo not exist in this version? As he talked, Manuel relaxed his shoulders and crossed his legs, holding a boot with his hand. As he elaborated further, he began to vary his previous monotone. He made eye contact with Julieta, who encouraged him with a smile.

  Paulino stood up when Elena entered the room with demitasse cups of coffee and a small porcelain sugar bowl on a tray. Manuel tried to stand, but fumbled and lost his balance. He bumped into a table covered with porcelain figurines, sending two of the pieces crashing to the floor. Paulino and Elena struggled to control their laughter. Cristina knelt to pick up the pieces of the broken figurines as Julieta helped Manuel straighten up. Julieta then turned to Paulino and gave him a deadly look.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I’ll replace them . . .” Manuel stammered.

  “Don’t worry. They’re just small figurines. This house is full of them. Don’t worry,” Julieta assured him in a convincingly unconcerned manner. Then she cast another surreptitious glare in Paulino’s direction.

  As time passed, Paulino grew quieter and Manuel bolder. His accounts of his importance to the farm grew grander. He could see that the sisters enjoyed his stories. Paulino finally swallowed what was left of his coffee and summoned up his energy. He interrupted Manuel and described his friend in elaborate terms, as a modern knight undaunted by harrowing tasks like pacifying even the most vicious, recalcitrant bull. Manuel knew Paulino had to be up to something. Manuel became quiet and nervous, starting to spin his hat again.

  Having achieved his objective, Paulino began to talk about his business plans for the next baseball game. The sisters promised to attend and were excited about another outing. Julieta asked Manuel if he planned to go. Manuel coughed and said he wasn’t sure. “I have so much work to do. I’m always needed at the batey.”

  Paulino shot a threatening look at Manuel.

  Julieta pleaded in a sweet tone, “Don Manuel, I know you’re a very busy man, but you have to take some time off. I know if you wanted to be at the game, you could. Would you try this time?”

  Manuel could not turn down an invitation like this. He bowed his head. �
�Your wish is my command. I’ll go to the game.”

  Paulino tried to steer Elena onto the porch to sneak a kiss and an embrace, but she knew what he wanted and resisted being alone with him. At the end of the visit, everyone shook hands at the door, promising future visits. Paulino tried to kiss Elena on her cheek, but she turned her face sharply.

  On the trip back, Paulino turned to Manuel and said, “What kind of a friend are you? You made me feel like a no one in there, while you portrayed yourself as the farm’s big honcho. I don’t even know if El Viejo exists in that story you spun. You were something else.”

  Manuel muttered, “I don’t think I told a lie.”

  “I tell you, you made me feel like a nobody. It was just I, I, and I—I wish Mike or El Viejo could have heard you.”

  “You shouldn’t have laughed at me,” Manuel said.

  “Well, you fell on the floor holding your boot. It was funny, you idiot!”

  “I’m clumsy. I’m afraid I made a fool of myself in front of Julieta. She’s so pretty.”

  “She’s a very attractive girl,” Paulino allowed. “She got pissed at me because I laughed at you. I’ve never seen a look like the one she gave me tonight. Phew!”

  “Don’t worry. The ladies are very nice. I know that Elena likes you very much.”

  Manuel’s attempt to placate him did not hit the mark. “Unfortunately, I spent most of my night watching you make a fool of yourself and not much time with her.”

  “You will,” Manuel assured him.

  Paulino nodded. “Yes, and you know why? I don’t make a fool of myself.”

  — 15 —

  Back to the Farm

  MIKE OPENED THE door to the library and found his father sitting in his leather chair, reading the Prensa Libre, his favorite tabloid.

  “Father, I have to talk to you.”

  “How was your day at the office? What did Lustre think about our meeting?”

  “He was happy that we had it, because his job will be easier. But I came in to talk to you about another matter. Ricardo called. He told me that Manolo hasn’t followed my orders. I left a memo to all the employees, so there would be no confusion or misunderstanding. For instance, Manolo pulled Ricardo out of the Ceiba pasture and told him not to buy the Guinea grass seed you told him to order.”

  Don Miguel was very displeased about this news. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to go back and check on what’s happening there.”

  “Do you think that Ricardo told you the truth?”

  Mike didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I believe him.”

  “Do you think he has an ulterior motive?”

  Mike paused. He had grown up with Ricardo, and he knew his shortcomings. He seemed more like a distant uncle or cousin, though, and if he couldn’t believe in him, whom could he trust?

  “No, I believe Ricardo. Manolo is out of line. If we give an order, it has to be followed.”

  “So, are you ready to go back and tell Manolo he has to follow your orders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, before you go I need to know your long-range plans.”

  “What plans? I like working with you, but I still have do go back and complete all my work on my degree.”

  “I need to know if you’re going to stay.” Don Miguel shifted forward in his chair. “I want to tell you something. I didn’t want to bring you back here. I don’t want you to work at the farm unless you love it. I won’t allow it. The truth is Lustre was nervous about my health and my behavior. He’d never seen me as I was, and frankly, he panicked. He thought that I’d withdrawn so much since the death of your mother that my mental well-being and the farm’s future were at risk. ”

  “Yes, Father, I know how much Mother . . . how much she meant to you,” Mike gently replied.

  His father nodded. “Of course, I’m fine now and the farm will survive, but the truth is life in Havana became empty for me. Life is easier on the farm. I don’t have to laugh if I don’t feel like it, or dress up, or even shave. Your sisters were worried, too. They wanted me to go out in society after the first anniversary of your mother’s death. They tried hard, but I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to. Of course, all of you adored her. But your sisters, well, they have their families. You went to the US to study, which was the right thing to do. I was left alone.”

  Mike had never heard his father speak so frankly. He moved restlessly in his chair, and after a few silent moments, his father asked, “Were you as angry as I was? Did you look at God and ask him, ‘Why her?’ Why someone so good? Then I thought, perhaps, that was the reason. Maybe she was just too good for this world. The Church tried to help me. I prayed, but I remained angry. Lustre worried that I was becoming mean and absentminded, that I had abandoned my friends and family. He was scared and brought you back on his own.”

  “Why?” Mike asked. “Did you need me? Do you need me now?”

  Don Miguel answered nervously, “Yes, maybe.”

  “You’ve always told me how important a good education is.”

  “Yes, it’s true, especially these days! I don’t want to interrupt your studies. In my time, things were different. Your grandfather trained me his way. I didn’t go to college. I worked at his bank. Maybe I wanted to do the same with you. I was jealous of the American professors who teach you. I felt that you went away, hiding from us, abandoning your family, your country, to learn another culture, another way of life.”

  “That’s not true! I’ve missed you, my family, and my country. But I wanted this education and I couldn’t get it here.”

  “I worried that you would pick up values that are different from ours. I worried that you would return as a stranger to your homeland.”

  Mike felt a deep sadness sweep over him. He wondered if he had changed. If so, how much? Was change so wrong?

  “I see things from a new perspective, but I’m the same, ” Mike said hesitantly.

  “Well, maybe you want to teach at your university, or get a job in a business firm on Wall Street, and not return. Learning business and economics is not the same as running your own business. You need experience. I will always help you if you stay. Running a business takes time, and you make mistakes, and you need ability and luck to survive them. I will allow you to make the small mistakes. That’s how you learn. That’s how your grandfather trained me.”

  “Thanks, I know you want the best for me. I love working at the farm. I just don’t know if I’m ready now, or if I start, if I can do it forever.”

  “Farm life isn’t easy. The nightlights of Havana don’t shine in the middle of a pasture.”

  “I can handle that.”

  “I don’t want you to be a Floridita rancher, dress like a rich Texano, and go to the bar and talk about how many head you sold last week. I’ve worked very hard for what we have.”

  “I know that very well, Father.”

  “If you aren’t ready to spend the time and make the sacrifices it takes to run the farm, then go back to the States. I’ll go back and fix the problem with Manolo. Then we, with your sisters, will decide what to do with the farm.”

  “But, Father—”

  “I know I’m getting older, but I’m not retiring. I’m too young for that. I see friends who’ve retired, who play dominoes and keep young girls. They think they’re loved! I don’t want that life. I never have.”

  “Father, you are not that old!”

  “Bah, that’s your opinion. Look, Son, you have to decide which life is best for you. It’s your decision.” He walked to the bar and mixed himself another drink.

  “I do like Havana, but the farm is more important to me,” Mike said. “I’ve had enough formal education to run the farm. I can do it, and do it well. But I need the authority to change things. I’ll consult with you, consider your advice, but I must have the final say. It’s the only way.”

  His father nodded, very pleased with his son’s decision. “I know we’ll work together well. Now, how are you going to
handle Manolo?”

  They talked for hours. They became exhausted but too excited to sleep. Just before sunrise, father and son shook hands, embraced, and retired into their rooms.

  That morning, Mike called Maria Alicia and arranged to meet her at eight that night at her home. They went to the softly lit patio and sat close together, surrounded by the delicate rustling of trees in a gentle breeze. Maria Alicia quietly nodded as Mike revealed his new life plans. She listened patiently and, at times, held his hand. Mike was relieved to have made up his mind. At eleven o’clock, they heard Maria Alicia’s mother calling for her. She kept quiet, held onto Mike’s hand, and leaned forward. Her hair brushed his face, his lips touched her cheeks, her mouth found his. The tropical night engulfed them.

  BEFORE MIKE LEFT for the farm, Estrella handed him a box filled with sandwiches.

  “Don’t stop at any of those roadside stands,” she urged. “I’ve packed good food for you.”

  Mike patiently placed the box on the backseat, next to his new guayaberas. As he pulled out of the driveway, he recalled when, as a child, they left Havana to visit the farm. Their old chauffeur drove below the speed limit and often made stops so that his sisters could relieve themselves, making believe that they were searching for wildflowers, as their mother nervously watched the road for upcoming vehicles.

  Gigantic trees lined the long, monotonous road, forming an arch that often looked to Mike like the nave of a leafy church. He loved the silence and ease of the road trip, and before reaching Matanzas, he drove past a hill shaped like a sleeping woman, a Taino girl waiting for her lover to come and wake her. The land was rich with sugarcane plants on both sides of the road. Two hours later, the plains started and the vegetation was poorer. Sugarcane fields changed into pastures, and then he drove through another set of hills until he reached Santi Spiritus. His goal was to drive to the farm without stopping. He didn’t mind making the six-hour trip during the heat of the day if that meant he could arrive at the farm just before sundown. On long stretches of road, he could drive more than eighty-five kilometers per hour, sometimes a little faster. After Ciego de Ávila, it was a straight road to the entrance to the farm. The drive was so boring as to be dangerous.