by Jose Latour
Plan B, thought Marina, and braced herself for a lengthy session of simultaneous translation.
“Sure. What can I do for you?” the teacher said, nestling into her seat.
“Let me explain first. We have a Cuban friend in the United States. He’s fifty-four years old and has developed an extremely serious heart condition following many years of chain-smoking. He needs a heart-and-lung transplant that costs $350,000 and he doesn’t have a penny to pay for it.”
“$350,000?” repeated Elena, in disbelief.
“I know it sounds outrageous.”
“Here, a heart-and-lung transplant costs you nothing.”
“I know that. But he can’t travel here. He left in 1959 with his parents, he’s an American citizen.”
“Nobody gets to enjoy the best of two worlds.”
“You have a point. Now, this man’s father died three years ago. On his deathbed he told his son something he had kept to himself all his life. He claimed he had stashed away a considerable fortune in precious stones at his Havana home, a place he built in 1956. This guy, my friend’s father, had been a political appointee of President Batista and he feared that if he came back to retrieve the stones he might be arrested, sentenced to prison, so he waited patiently for a change of government. But … well, you know.”
Elena was totally engrossed.
“My friend didn’t do anything, either. Initially he assumed his father could have been hallucinating, making it up. His memory had been worsening in the last few months. Then he figured it was too risky to fly over and give it a try, being the son of a batistiano and all that, so he just pushed the whole thing to the back of his mind. But nearly a year ago, when he was diagnosed with this condition and learned the cost of the operation, he realized his only chance lay in this real or imaginary treasure. He confided in us, then asked us to help him save his life.”
Elena was beginning to get the picture.
“It’s very difficult to say no to that kind of request, Elena. We didn’t want any part of it, but I’ve been his friend for many years now and Marina, well, Marina has a soft spot for him too and said we ought to do something. To cut a long story short, we told him we would come to Havana, check if this place still stood, see if there were people living there, and go back and report to him. That’s what we did in May.”
Sean paused. Elena nodded, then shifted her eyes to Marina. “And this is the place?” she said with a look of reproach.
“Yes,” Marina admitted with a forced grin before interpreting.
Elena smiled sadly. “So, what you did in May was a ruse.”
Marina translated.
“Of course it was a ruse, Elena,” Sean acknowledged. “It had to be a ruse. There was no other way. Two complete strangers couldn’t knock on your front door and tell you all this. We didn’t know what kind of people lived here, couldn’t risk that they would turn us in.”
“Why are you so sure I won’t turn you in now?”
“You are not that kind of person.”
“Are you two really married?”
“Of course we are,” Marina chuckled. Then she translated for Sean, who also chuckled. Elena was almost sure they were lying. If asked, she would have been unable to say why. “Okay, so what do you want from me?”
Sean cleared his throat. “We flew to New York in June – he lives there, you know – and explained our findings to our friend –”
“What’s his name?” Elena interrupted.
“Carlos, Carlos Consuegra,” Sean said without the slightest hesitation.
“Go on.”
“Well, according to his father, the diamonds hidden here cost one million dollars in 1958. Back then, a carat was worth one-tenth of what it’s worth today, so, if this fantastic story is true, there may be ten million dollars hidden in this apartment.”
Elena tried unsuccessfully to control herself, then bent forward, hands gripping the arms of her seat, and laughed. Sean and Marina exchanged a surprised glance and giggled. If this was how she was going to take it, all the better. The Cuban finally controlled herself, wiped tears from her face, leaned back. “Oh, my God, I haven’t laughed like this in years,” she said.
“You find it funny?” Marina asked, a smile on her lips.
“It’s just that I can’t believe this is happening to me. Not to me, no.”
Marina translated her question and Elena’s reply.
“It’s happening to you, Elena,” Sean said. “We are real, we are here, what might not be true is that there’s a fortune hidden here. Maybe the old man made it up.”
“Why would he?” Elena asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Why would he deceive his son?”
“Maybe he went off the deep end.”
“That’s a possibility. Oh, well. So, let me guess. You want my permission to search here, right?”
Sean raised his hand. “We’ll get there, Elena. Let me first explain a few things to you. We don’t want to jeopardize your future in any way. First of all, if the diamonds are here, we’ll cut you in. My friend agreed to split the lot three ways: one for him, one for the people living here, and one for us. The problem we see with this is that you might not be able to convert your stones into cash – and even if you are successful, you could get into trouble if all of a sudden you become rich. Neighbours might inform on you, police might want to know where the money came from, then you’d be in big trouble, right?”
“Right.”
“Show her, Marina.”
Marina opened her purse, produced two Canadian passports, and handed them to the teacher.
“What’s this?”
“Take a look.”
Elena opened the first passport. She was startled when a photograph of her deceased brother smiled at her. “The snapshot you took at the paladar!” she blurted, eyeing her visitors. Sean and Marina nodded but remained silent.
The teacher focused on the passport again and noticed that it had been issued to one Matthew González.
“Check the other one,” Marina instructed.
The second passport had her photograph and belonged to Christine Abernathy. “Coño,” she said.
“Those are real passports, not fakes,” Sean went on. “They have all the right visas, stamps, and seals, including the Cuban ones. Perfect forgeries of those stamped on our passports, when we first came, and identical to the ones stamped on this trip too. We also have two plane tickets under the names on those two passports. We had no idea Pablo had died, and we really are sorry, but his death simplifies things in the sense it makes it easier to take you back with us, assuming the diamonds are here and you want to leave, of course.”
Elena closed her eyes, took a deep breath, tilted her head back. “This is madness,” she said.
Sean shot a glance at Marina, blinked slowly, gave a slight nod. “Now, Elena, there are a few things you should know. You are a clever woman, I don’t need to spell it out for you.”
Elena opened her eyes and stared at Sean. She had never befriended foreigners and never been attracted to one, but all of a sudden this man had developed an aura of mystery and danger that unnerved her. Lust stirred in its dark corner and she felt guilty about it. In front of his wife! She returned the passports to Marina.
“We can’t wait more than twenty-four hours for your decision,” Sean carried on. “You say yes, we’ll search for the diamonds; you say no, we’ll go back and tell our friend. He accepted the risk, knows you might refuse, so he’ll understand. It would be perfect if you could make a decision now, but we realize you need some time. In case you don’t want to go along with it, we implore you not to tell anyone until we leave. We don’t want to be sent to a Cuban jail and I understand that local law orders Cubans to hand over to the government any treasure found anywhere. And the last thing: we won’t tell you where the diamonds are unless you agree to the deal; it’s not our property and a man’s life depends on them, but I assure you that you could search here for years and still not f
ind it.”
It was the end of Sean’s pitch and he stared at the teacher. Elena stood up, sauntered over to the French windows, and, pursing her lips, gazed at the Parque de la Quinta through the shutters. She felt reluctance and avarice struggle inside her. For the second time Sean nodded encouragingly to Marina. Elena felt utterly disturbed at having been deceived by these two. And their story was beyond the bounds of credibility, yet … it could be true. What should she do? She realized she had to be alone to put the whole thing in perspective and make a decision.
She turned around and spoke in a plaintive tone. “Listen, I know you’ll understand. I need to be alone for a while.”
Marina got to her feet in one swift motion. “We understand. C’mon, Sean, let’s go back to the hotel.”
The man stood hesitatingly and seized his cane. “Sure. Take your time. Would it be okay if we take you to dinner somewhere tonight?”
Marina interpreted.
“I don’t know, Sean. I don’t know. I’ll call you as soon as I reach a decision.”
“C’mon, Sean,” said Marina, approaching the door.
“Hold it.”
Suddenly, Sean’s tone was commanding. He faced the teacher. “Elena, do we have your word you won’t talk to anyone about this until you let us know your decision?”
“You have my word.”
“Okay. We’ll be waiting for your call at the hotel. We’ll stay in our room, have our meals there, won’t move until we hear from you. If by noon tomorrow you haven’t called, we’ll come and visit you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Marina was the first to take a warm shower. It was one of the things she did when nervous, anxious, unable to relax. Wearing a plastic shower cap, she closed her eyes under the showerhead and for a couple of minutes became totally oblivious of her surroundings. She soaped herself sensuously, every single inch of her body, as if she were planning on meeting the most uninhibited of lovers. Then just as voluptuously she rinsed and dried herself, brushed her teeth, applied deodorant, and slipped into a nightgown. She came out, pulled back the bedspread, and collapsed onto the bed.
Sean left his own bed, grabbed a pair of fresh boxer shorts from a dresser drawer, and went into the bathroom. He was equally thorough, but quicker, in the shower. Seven minutes later he plopped onto his bed.
“Sean?”
He turned his head.
“We’ve got to talk.” She conscientiously mouthed the words with raised eyebrows.
Sean shook his head and returned his gaze to the ceiling.
Marina decided she had to share her misgivings. She got up and forced herself into his bed, then pressed her lips against his left ear. “I don’t like it,” she whispered.
Sean twisted his head and stared at her. “So what?” he mouthed, then stared at the bank of white clouds that could be seen through the balcony’s sliding glass door. Her thighs pressed against his own, her breasts touching his left arm.
“What do you mean ‘so what’? She could double-cross us.” Her breath produced a tickling sensation on his ear and neck.
He turned and pressed his lips to her ear. “There’s nothing we can do. Not in this fucking country where a local can’t rent a room at a hotel. Who could have thought of that? I found nothing on the Internet about it. You tell me, who the fuck could have foreseen that?”
Yeah, it was true. She had asked the desk clerk before going up, casually, smiling in disbelief, as if it were an outrageous lie somebody had told them. But the man confirmed the prohibition. In Sean’s tense body Marina detected anger and powerlessness; he had a clean smell; his hair was damp. It was so satisfying to witness the fucking iceman melting with fury.
They conferred in whispers for a few minutes and resolved that the only thing they could do was wait for Elena’s call.
“It’s nobody’s fault. But suppose she squeals on us?” Marina asked.
Should the police come for them, Sean said, they would deny everything; Elena Miranda was crazy. They knew nothing about hidden gems. Playing the part of the vulnerable woman seeking protection, she clung closer to Sean, slid her left thigh over his, rested her cheek on his chest, glided her fingers over his right arm. Sex was an invisible mist seeping into the room.
Sean turned his head a little, searching for her ear to allay her fears. He would have to change position, didn’t feel like it. The back of his left hand rested on her crotch. He saw it coming and his penis awoke. She was difficult and irascible, not his type at all, but it would help him relax, for God’s sake! It seemed as if she shared his thoughts.
Marina lifted her head a little. “I’m scared, Sean. You’re worried,” she whispered before nibbling his earlobe. “Having sex would do us a lot of good.”
Sean slowly turned; their lips joined. He was delicate, unhurried, almost detached. His observation two months earlier at the Nacional, You never know, came to her mind. The tip of his tongue briefly slid over her gums, retreated, then glided over the edge of her lips as his free hand began caressing her back. Why am I doing this? Marina asked herself. The back of his left hand slid over the cloth covering her pubic hair. Her fingernails began moving along his spine, down to the waistband of his boxer shorts, under it to the crack of his buttocks, then returning to his neck to continue the caress. To fuck an iceman, is why. I never have.
With his free hand, Sean slid the nightgown up to her waist and fondled the back of her thigh and buttocks. Having completed the exploratory stage, they devoured each other with their lips, like well-mannered adversaries who admit the necessity of a fight prior to according a truce over a cold drink. Suddenly, Marina knelt on the mattress, pulled the gown off, and threw it on her bed. Sagging tits; cellulite; tiny varicose veins, was Sean’s evaluation, but he stared in feigned admiration before taking his boxer shorts off. Nothing new under the sun, Marina confirmed as she bit her lower lip to simulate unbridled passion. She began kissing his chest, progressed down a straight line of hair that bisected his abdomen, further to his pelvis, where her tongue started playing with the base of his penis.
She stopped for a second to retrieve one of his hairs from her teeth. Sean took advantage of the pause to make her kneel on his face, thighs spread apart, and began exploring with his tongue. He knew what he was doing, she admitted to herself. Progressing from the least to the most sensitive areas of her pussy, kissing, licking, trying to find out by himself whether she felt more pleasure to the left, right, or at the centre of her clitoris. The dispassionate perfection of loveless sex. She liked that, but it made her miss the clumsiness of uncontrolled desire. Knowing she was in expert hands, Marina doubled over, rested her forearms on the mattress, and proceeded with relaxed fellatio.
Haste was not a factor. Several minutes later Sean spoke. “Concentrate on yourself. Just lie down, spread your legs, and forget I’m here.” Curiosity made her follow his directions. Laying prone, he began alternating kisses all around her folds with licks on the upper part of her vulva. After a while, the tip of his tongue focused on the left side of her clitoris. His right hand caressed her nipples. She remembered that Carlos had found her exact spot the first time they made love, and smiled. No wonder they were such good buddies. Two of the chosen few. She closed her eyes to enjoy it better. She felt like a worshipped goddess and was getting close, very close, when he lifted his head and smiled from above a wet chin.
“Don’t stop.”
“You in a hurry?”
“Don’t stop, please, honey. Don’t stop.”
Paying no heed, he lay beside her, slipped his arm under her neck, and started rubbing her clitoris lightly with his forefinger. Soon, Marina turned her head away.
“You stop now I’m gonna kill you, you sonofabitch.”
His hand froze.
“No, no!”
“Ask politely.”
“Don’t stop, Sean. Please.”
The hand thawed.
“Pero, ché, sos un torturador vos. Por favor!”
He relax
ed the pressure a bit, slowed down a little, to prolong her orgasm. She ranted in Spanish for nearly a minute. Just when pleasure was beginning to turn into anguish, Sean withdrew his hand. Marina kept her eyes closed, catching her breath. Great, but Sean was second fiddle to Carlos: she missed the blind man’s tenderness and romanticism, his words of love.
“Oh, Sean, it was so nice.”
“Glad you liked it.”
“You have a condom?”
“No.”
She took him in her mouth, but, feeling vengeful, she made him come with her hand. As soon as he got his breath back, Sean took a second shower. She was already in her bed when he re-entered the room.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Marina said with a smile.
He knelt on the floor, by her bed, and murmured in her ear, “Right now I would give a thousand dollars for her thoughts.”
Fucking iceman.
5
Elena Miranda realized that while she was as confused as this, she would be unable to make an intelligent decision. Okay, okay, calm down. Take a bath, she muttered to herself. She hurried to her room, picked clean clothing from a dresser, and went into the bathroom. She lifted the bucket of water from beside the sink and put it into the bathtub, took a disposable razor from the medicine chest, undressed, grabbed the empty tomato-paste can, stepped into the bathtub, filled the can from the bucket, and poured water down her face. She repeated this several times, until her whole body was dripping, then reached for the soap and turned it in her hands to work up a lather.
Soaping herself she began to meditate. The stuff from which movies are made. But it was perfectly possible. According to neighbourhood lore the apartment building belonged to an embezzler of government funds. And, yes, the surname Consuegra rang a bell. This was the apartment the man had reserved for himself and his family; the furniture was his, as well.
In the early 1990s her brother had fretted over it. Following the collapse of Communism in Europe, the local media alleged that many wealthy Cuban-Americans were boasting that as soon as the Castro regime crumbled, they would reclaim their confiscated properties. Would they be evicted? But since the government managed to hang on, their misgiving faded away and the issue was never raised again.