For Love or Money

by Britney Beck

  The sunlight sparkling on the calm surface of the water offered a familiar sense of soothing to Anita's nerves. She especially loved the Malecon and would go there whenever she was in the city. The village she lived in was small, but not far from Havana. The Malecon, a huge expanse of sea wall in Centro Habana was built by the habaneros to protect their city from flooding. While this barricade kept a natural disaster at bay, it also served as a reminder to its citizens that their lives were enclosed. Any place away for Cuba was considered a picture of absolute freedom. No wonder many of the villagers would risk their lives in the Florida Straits, trying to escape the island. Her cousin Miguel had set sail in a patched up inner tire tube. The family members awaited word from him. After receiving no communication in over three years, they all feared the worst. Anita shuddered at the thought of her cousin’s demise. She vowed never to leave her patria. As bad as things were, she refused to focus on the negative. She believed that she was blessed to be born in an island such as Cuba. Despite the day to day difficulties, there was so much to be thankful for. Every day, she would read in the papers about murders in other countries, but in her limited existence, that was something foreign. Despite the sporadic robberies that took place in the capital, Anita felt quite safe. She could walk the city undisturbed during the wee hours of the morning.

  From childhood, she had been taught in school to feel pride in being a Cubana. Some might have said that it was indoctrination, but to Anita, it formed part of a holistic education system and it was a lesson that she would never forget. While she could not relate to the revolutionary stories, she certainly appreciated the struggle that the fallen heroes, such as Marti, Cienfuegos and El Che, had gone through in order to make the nation what it was. As she grew older, she fell more and more in love with the splendid neo-classical architecture in Havana Vieja, the picturesque, virgin landscape of the countryside and the vibrant dinamismo of the Cuban people. La cubanía was etched in her soul and ruled her senses. She savored the complex scents of the spiced foods that would waft from the open windows of restaurants, cafes and roadside stalls. The vendors selling pizza con queso, perro caliente and cajita beaconed to her. To Anita, there was no greater place than her homeland.

  As she sat on the Malecon, looking at her reflection in the water, her hair blew in the wind. Some strands stuck to her face. She brushed them aside and noticed that they were wet. However, the moisture was not due to the sea water, but rather to her tears. She had been coming here since she was a small child, to find some peace. But at the moment, any semblance of peace could only exist far, far away from the land she called home.

  She loved her family but they were forcing her to make a difficult choice. She was one of several daughters. Since the day she was born, she had been hearing just how beautiful she was.

  "How stunning," people would comment when they saw her toddling along with her dark hair and big hazel eyes. She was a bit of a novelty in her otherwise brown eyed family. In Cuba, being beautiful was a great asset, as it meant you might find a wealthy husband. Anita grew up ignorant of this fact, until one day, she overheard her parents speaking about her.

  “Jose, what purpose does it serve her to be born so beautiful if she can’t make the most out of it?” remarked her mother. Mrs Garcia was busy in the kitchen preparing arroz congri, a typical dish of rice and peas. Actually that was the same dish that the family had been eating twice daily, for seventeen years. On occasions, meat and eggs would appear on the table after they had received their monthly rations from the State, which was just enough to keep the family away from the brink of starvation. As the most attractive child, her destiny was sealed from birth. The oldest was in the army, as was almost eleven percent of the entire population of the country. She was away from home and her meager earnings of twelve dollars a month did nothing to help out the family situation. Anita was getting prepared to celebrate her quinze. This was a sort of ‘coming of age’ Latin American tradition that fifteen year old girls passed through. The family had been saving up for several years in order to afford all the pomp and pageantry that the occasion called for. It was more about impressing the neighbors than making a young girl feel happy and special. So the family would go without basic items so that the mother could save a peso here and there for the great event.

  Never a day passed when Mr Garcia lamented his misfortune. All men felt a certain amount of pride when they were able to provide for their family. His inability to do so made him feel less of a man. The revolutionary government, headed by Fidel Castro, took over the island in 1959 and his property had been confiscated without compensation. Once wealthy, he was now forced to make a living selling mani on the main streets of Old Havana. He saw his friends, who were once prosperous professionals and businesspeople, leave the island with their capital and their talents. It irked him on a daily basis when he thought of what his island had been like and of what it had become. He had contemplated suicide on many occasions as the only escape to the barren existence that he had been thrust into. It was that same feeling of despair that gave Cuba the highest suicide rate in the Western Hemisphere. It was only due to concern over the future of his wife and off springs that made him persevere in quiet resolution. He loved his wife and daughters and he was feeling quite apprehensive about Anita’s future. On the one hand, he wanted her to escape the desolate island that held no future for its citizens, even for someone as beautiful as his darling Anita. Obtaining a passport and visa to leave the country was as easy as climbing Mount Everest. The only escape for young girls such as his daughter, and young men as well, was to trap a yuma, get married, obtain a passport and visa and move on to greener pastures.

  Eventually Anita became a little more conscious of her pre-ordained fate. She had seen many young girls in her village marry and never return. They would go into town in tight fitting clothes and bright lipsticks. A few months later, there would be a wedding and a fat, old European husband. The parents of the girl would boast that their daughter was going to live in the extranjero. Everyone would rejoice at the wedding, which was paid for in Euros. Shortly after, the girl would disappear from the village and the members of her family would be spotted with trendier clothing and the latest gadgets. No one ever bothered to enquire if the girl was happy or if her husband was treating her well. None of them ever returned so it was not possible for Anita to make the judgment herself.

  She was by far the most beautiful of the girls in the village. Soon it would be time for her to wear lipstick and tight fitting clothes as well. Therefore, what was meant as a blessing to Anita, became a curse.

  However, not every girl got married to a foreigner. The less attractive ones weren’t as lucky, therefore they were relegated to the role of jinetera. A jinetera was a sort of prostitute whose services were reserved for foreigners. Only the putas offered their services to the locals. With no hope of ever receiving an offer of marriage, the jineteras were willing to become paid escorts to men, in exchange for cash, trinkets and promises. Some of them were rather well kept and would receive a visit from their love interest a few times a year, if he was serious. He would usually be a businessman who had investments or interests in Cuba or a married man who was looking for a distraction. The jineteras were some of the most attractive women in the world and best of all, they were cheap and plentiful. In order to find them, the foreigners would flock to the clubs. The best clubs to go to for dancing were those in the nice hotels that populated Havana.

  Here many of Anita’s friends and her sisters would spend much of their time. Most had the goal of landing a husband, particularly a yuma who was looking for something more exotic than a statue to take home with him. Anita understood their desire. If you were not wealthy in her village, then you were poor. Being po
or meant struggling to put food on the table for usually fairly large families. But Anita had a different kind of dream.

  "One day you will marry a very rich man," her mother promised her one warm afternoon as she hung laundry on the clothesline. "With your raven hair, and your eyes like the sky, you have a great future ahead of you."

  Anita peered up at her mother, who she thought was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, with her waves of dark hair and her tanned skin. Her cinnamon eyes were a source of comfort and inspiration to Anita.

  "But Mama," she asked in her childish voice. “What if I don't love him?"

  When her mother heard these words, she laughed. "Oh Anita, love is not so important. It is just a feeling. It can’t fill your belly with food. It can’t build the walls of your home. It can only make you happy for a little while."

  Anita knew better than to argue with her mother, but she didn’t agree with her.

  “But Mama, why did you marry Papa? Why didn’t you marry a yuma instead. I am sure that you were as pretty as I was when you were my age,” reasoned Anita.

  Her mother was about to hang a shirt when her daughter spoke. She dropped it into the basket, along with the clothes pins. She looked at Anita, a fleeting look of grief in her eyes.

  “I was in love with your father,” she replied quietly. Anita did not have to ask her for further details. She understood where her mother was coming from. She, herself, had a deep desire inside of her. She wanted that one perfect companion. A soul mate, she would explain to her friends. Most would tease her for it, but Anita knew, without a doubt, that there could be love like that.

  “Well, Mama, don’t you want me to marry for love as well,” she asked.

  “When I married your father, things were different,” explained her mother. “We weren’t as poor as we are now.”

  “I don’t mind marrying a poor man once I am in love with him.”

  “You say that now, mi hijita. But I am telling you, once that gas leaves your stomach and enters your ears, all thoughts of love go flying through the window. That love would turn to hate.”

  “Do you hate Papa then?”

  “Some days I do.”

  Mrs Garcia left Anita to her thoughts while she continued with her task. Maybe her mother was right. Money was more important that love. Then again, she could be wrong. She anxiously awaited what the future had in store for her.

  At sixteen, when Anita was old enough to begin dating, she had a line of men waiting to ask her father's permission to do so. However, he was a very traditional and spirited man. He valued Anita above all else, and though he did want her to marry someone wealthy, he would never allow her to be treated poorly. He turned down several of the men who had reputations for being drunks, or had been known to be violent. The few men that he did give permission to were nice enough, but Anita did not feel any yearning to be with them. She stalled her parents by insisting that the men did not have as much money as they claimed, or some other excuse for why they were not suitable. In fact, she was waiting. She was hoping. And contrary to the opinion of other girls around her, her dream guy didn’t have to be a yuma. But if he was, then that was just a welcomed bonus. If she had to choose between love and money, true love would be her priority.

  At age nineteen, Anita was finally faced with making that decision. She had gone out to Hotel Saratoga, one of the most charming hotels in Old Havana, with her sisters, to spend a night out dancing, when the heel on her shoe broke in the lobby. The pair of black lace pumps was a hand-me-down from her mother and about two sizes bigger than her feet. She had expected that it would have slipped out on the dance floor, but she had not anticipated a broken heel. That would certainly hinder her plans for having a good time. She stumbled while trying to balance herself and reached for her sister's hand, but before she could grasp it, her fingers curled over a strong forearm. She looked up from the exquisite material of the suit jacket beneath her fingertips, to the concerned expression of one of the most handsome men she had ever laid eyes on.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, his light green eyes searching hers. She took a slight step backwards and managed to smile.

  "Yes, but my shoe, I fear, is lost." She laughed weakly. Her sisters took the hint and found other things to be interested in. The man continued to study her.

  "You have to be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he said incredulously. Anita blushed. She was used to being complimented. She had been all of her life, but when he spoke, his words held something more than admiration. She could sense his desire for her.

  "Thank you," she murmured softly.

  "My name is Kevin," he said as he felt her hand slipping from his arm.

  "Anita," she replied in a sweetened tone. Even though he was being so kind, Anita felt a small pang inside of her which was hard for her to define. She wondered if he could become more to her than just a random stranger

  "Were you headed inside?" he asked hopefully. She chuckled as he self-consciously patted his straight, light brown hair.

  "Yes," she said. "But, my shoe…" she reminded him and laughed.

  "Will you dance with me?" he asked, his cheeks reddening.

  "I could send someone to get you a new pair," he suggested.

  "Don't worry about it." A grin broke out on Anita’s face. She took off her other shoe and sashayed into the club, with nothing on her polished toes. Kevin followed closely after her. They spent the rest of the night dancing more than speaking. As a result their bodies seemed to be getting to know each other a lot faster than their minds. When they said goodnight, she could see that he wanted to kiss her. But she knew better than to allow that. She was not sure if he was one of those foreign men who would come to the island, have a brief and intense love affair with a local and then leave the girl heartbroken. She was not planning on finding herself in that unpleasant situation.

  "Your accent," she said softly as she studied him. "Where is that from?"

  He smirked proudly. "Italy," he replied. "The country of lovers!"

  "Oh?" she laughed. He was soon laughing as well. "Then are you leaving soon?" she inquired as they walked along the sidewalk outside of the club.

  "Not until you agree to join me," he replied.

  She turned to face him, her eyes wide. She wondered if he was joking. He stared back at her, his gaze intense and unyielding.

  Anita wasn’t sure what to say, but her heart was pounding with an un-tethered sensation.

  "Tomorrow then?" she finally asked.

  "Tomorrow," he replied with certainty.

  He then turned on his heel and re-entered the hotel. Anita watched him go. She knew the hotel was one of the most exclusive in Havana. If he was staying there, he had to be very wealthy.

  As she continued down the sidewalk, her sisters caught up with her.

  "So? Spill!" one of them chirped.

  "He's from Italy," Anita responded, trying to hide a grin.

  "Italy!" All the girls crooned and moaned as if they were jealous.

  “Yeah, the country of lovers,” she said, placing special emphasis on the word “lovers”.

  "And?” they all question in anticipation

  “And he thinks that I am a fabulous dancer!” she responded playfully. Her sisters nearly fell down laughing.

  Though it was not the answer that they were looking for, the ride in guagua on the way home was filled with animated chatter from the group. Her sisters had already begun to plan the wedding, even though no proposal had been made. They discuss bridesmaid dresses, locations and cuisine.

  Anita wanted to feel as excited as they were. But that pang was still there, and the stronger it became, the less she believed that Kevin was the one.

  The next morning, her mother picked up from where her sisters had left off.

  "Oh we have to start picking out your dress," her mother gushed over breakfast. "Italy? Can you imagine?" she laughed and shook her head. "I can't wait to visit!"

  "Mama!" Anita groaned. "I haven’
t married him yet. Gosh, we have only met once and it was just a simple dance. He hasn’t even proposed."

  "But he will," her mother said with confidence. "I just know it."

  Anita frowned as she looked down at her breakfast. She did not want to disappoint her family, and she knew that any wealth she married into would be shared with them. If she married Kevin, they would finally find some relief from poverty. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Kevin, but not the thoughts she had wished for. When she thought of him, the way his eyes flashed so possessively, the way he had gazed so longingly at her body, she felt more like an object to carry away, a souvenir that he could take home with him and put on a shelf. She didn’t want to be a souvenir. She wanted a man to love her so deeply that he could scarcely breathe because of the feeling. She had read about this kind of love, seen movies about this kind of love. It was all she had ever dreamed of.

  "None of that," her mother warned when she saw the familiar glimmer in Anita' eyes. "You must make a good decision for yourself, for your future," she reminded her daughter.

  "Yes, Mama," Anita nodded a little and finished her pan con frijoles.

  As she walked out of the house, the morning sunlight was etching its reflection across the stone walls of the other buildings in the village. She always admired the images it created. She wondered if Italy would be the same. She had seen pictures of it of course. It was beautiful. But it was not her home.

  "Maybe one day it will be," she murmured to herself.

  "What will be?" a voice inquired from around a corner of the building. Anita was startled that someone else was there. She had expected to be alone. She peeked around the corner of the building, and saw a young man with a crate of avocadoes in his arms. He was loading them onto a cart to take to the local market.

  "Do you always listen in on a woman's conversation?" she asked with a little irritation.

  "Do you always have conversations with yourself?" he countered, lifting his rich chocolate eyes to hers. The instant their eyes met, Anita felt her breath flee from her lungs, as if it had been sucked away. The only other time she had experienced such a sensation was when she was thrown from the back of a horse and had landed flat on her back. She didn’t recall ever seeing the young man before. He was handsome in a comely way, with dark hair that fell forward into his eyes, and perfect olive skin that wrapped snugly along his rounded jaw line. He looked to be about her same age, which made it even stranger that she had not met him before.