Alone with her dirty laundry and troubling thoughts, Charlene’s resolve began to unravel. The urge to cry had her covering her eyes with her hands, and a sob caught in her throat.
She’d never felt so alone in her life. Even her heartbeat sounded hollow in her ears.
But she couldn’t give up.
Not now. Not after risking everything to come this far. She had to get answers, if not to clear Peter’s name, then certainly to put clarity and sanity back into her life. She already knew her life would never be the same, but until she got answers, she was destined to live in a spiral of hostile thoughts and impossible questions.
She sucked in a shaky breath, wiped her eyes, unzipped her suitcase and placed the tin of money and her sodden handbag aside.
By the time she finished rinsing the saltwater from her clothes, her back was killing her, her hunger pangs were getting angry, and the sun was a blazing fireball in the sky. The heat coming off it, and the steady breeze drifting up from the creek below, would ensure her clothes would be dry in an hour.
Deciding to leave her suitcase there, she reached for the tin containing the rolls of money and shoved as much cash as she could into her handbag. All the remaining rolls stayed in the tin. With her handbag slung over her shoulder and the tin in one hand and the cane in the other, she headed back into the house.
Her first couple of steps through the door were met with silence. The bedlam from this morning was replaced with domestic calm. Yelena was sewing a patch on a pair of jeans. Aleyna was scrubbing dirt off a mountain of potatoes, and Rusian was weaving a few loose threads into a fishing net.
“How did you do?” Aleyna’s grin confirmed she was enjoying Charlene’s welcome to Cuba.
“All done.”
“Good.” Aleyna returned her attention to the potatoes, and Charlene wondered what she should do now.
“Is there anyone who can take me into town?”
“No.” Her answer was abrupt.
“Is it far to walk?”
Aleyna burst out laughing. “Esta mujer tonta quiere caminar a la ciudad.”
When both Aleyna’s mother and father started laughing too, Charlene assumed her question had been a stupid one.
Charlene felt like a fool as she waited for their laughter to die down. “Would you like some help with those?” Charlene hoped her offer would alleviate the negative vibes coming off Aleyna.
“No, thanks.”
Apparently not. Charlene had met her share of unfriendly people, Aleyna was up there as one of the most blatantly obvious ones. She slipped onto a stool at the kitchen bench and shared her gaze between the potato scrubbing and handcrafts.
Soon utter exhaustion took hold, and her eyes began to droop. When she glanced at the clock, she did a mental calculation to confirm that she hadn’t slept in twenty-seven hours. And even that had been a disjointed sleep while sitting up on the bus that had transported her from her relative safety in New Orleans to the vast unknown in Key West.
Once her head bounced a few times, she knew she couldn’t fight the fatigue a moment more. Much to her surprise, the sweat-stained sheets were actually appealing.
“Sorry, Aleyna, but I need to sleep. Is it still possible to use one of the bunk beds?”
“Yeah, sure.” Without taking her hands from the dirty water, Aleyna pointed down the hall with her chin. “No need to lock the door; the lock doesn’t work anyway.”
Charlene’s body seemed to crumble beneath her as she inched toward the bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door and turned to the beds. They were all made now, but the smell in the room was that of a male locker room after a football game. She’d know too; she once had the job of cleaning the locker room for the Jaguars college football team in southern Alabama. It had taken days to get that stench out of her nostrils, and by then, she’d be due to go back in again anyway. So if she survived that, she told herself, this would be a breeze in comparison.
She took a top bunk, figuring it would be the safest. Crawling up there was a challenge, though; her arms were still like jelly, and the clothes washing hadn’t helped her recover. The mattress was rock hard and so narrow she had no idea how any of those men slept on it. Deciding to remain on top of the covers, she shoved her precious tin and handbag under the pillow and pulled her cane in behind her. She’d never been more proud of her decision to keep the cane than she was now. And she wouldn’t hesitate to whack it across someone’s head, if required.
The extent of her loneliness ached in her chest, and sorrow hung in her belly like a wet, knotted towel. Trying to ignore her growling hunger pains was like trying to ignore a snake in a bathtub. She rolled to her side, curled her hand around the silver owl, and squeezed her eyes closed.
The wise old owl always knows.
Charlene woke with a jolt, and it was a couple of thumping heartbeats before she realized where she was. Pins and needles in her fingers confirmed she’d barely moved, which wasn’t surprising given how exhausted she’d been. The room was a strange sepia color, and when she glanced out the window between the bunks, her heart leapt to her throat. The sun was setting.
She bolted upright and slammed her head into the ceiling. Wincing, she rubbed her head, and her next thought went to her money. She rammed her hand beneath the pillow.
It was there.
Ignoring the new throb above her eye, she climbed down, put her handbag across her chest, and clutched her tin and her cane as she headed toward the lively music coming from the other end of the house.
It seemed the entire family was on the back patio, creating their own music. Aleyna and one of her brothers were dancing to the steady beat provided by a variety of instruments played by the rest of the family. A young girl who Charlene assumed was Aleyna’s daughter was singing.
Music was the key that connected the family, and their obvious joy in sharing it was another nail in Charlene’s loneliness coffin. It seemed that every day she was shown another example of how unusual her upbringing had been. And it only served to increase the anger brewing inside her.
When Aleyna spied Charlene, she separated from her brother, but he continued to dance, and the music continued to play as she skipped over to Charlene. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Charlene hissed through clenched teeth.
Aleyna waggled her head. “Do I look like your mother?”
Charlene was seconds from letting her fury rip when she caught herself. Like it or not, she needed Aleyna. “We need to get going.”
“Yes. But we’re not leaving till you get changed.” Aleyna ran her eyes up Charlene’s body. She was still wearing Marshall’s shirt and shorts. Charlene wanted to kick herself as she realized that her dress choice might have been the reason for some of Aleyna’s spite.
“Hurry up.” Aleyna pointed at Charlene’s suitcase, which was on the floor by the table. The lid was up, and all her clothes had been folded back inside.
Charlene palmed her chest in surprise. This was the last thing she’d expected. “Thank you.”
“Not me. It was Mamá.”
“Please, thank her for me.”
Aleyna turned to the jovial crowd. “Ella dice gracias, Mamá.”
Yelena held a battered tambourine above her head and banged it with her palm.
“We go in three minutes,” Aleyna said. “Oh, and dress pretty.” The Cuban woman skipped back to her brother, and they fell straight into a dance like the move had been professionally choreographed.
Charlene tossed her tin of money into her case and ran with it back to the bunk-filled room. She desperately wanted a shower. She’d even be happy for a quick wash. But there was no time. A mental summary of her clothes confirmed that she didn’t have anything pretty. Pretty wasn’t Charlene’s thing. If Aleyna’s fancy flowing dress with layers of frills was anything to go by, then Charlene had no hope of meeting Aleyna’s expectations of pretty. She was more of a practical girl.
The one and
only dress she did own was a simple red frock that came in at her waist and flared out into a flowing skirt that fell to her knees. The stretchy polyester traveled well and never needed ironing, and its simple design made it easy to dress up or down. She changed into it, dabbed on deodorant, pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, and put on flat sandals.
That was the extent of her pretty.
When she zipped up her case, she realized she had a new problem. What to do with her assets: the cane, the cash, and the case. She couldn’t take all of them with her. Leaving them here wasn’t an ideal option, but it was all she had. With a bit of luck, they’d still be here when she returned.
She put a wad of cash into her bra, then took several bundles out of her handbag, placed them with the remaining rolls in her suitcase along with the tin, and zipped it back up. Then, with nothing else to do, she slipped her handbag over her neck so that it sat diagonally across her body, grabbed her cane, and strode out the door.
Aleyna was waiting for her in the kitchen, and when she cast her eyes over Charlene’s outfit, a look of disgust twitched at her lip. Charlene ignored it. “Ready.”
The Cuban woman huffed, then spun on her heel and strode away. Charlene followed her outside to a car that looked like it belonged on the set of a classic movie. It was a long red convertible with shiny chrome trim and white leather seats. She’d only ever seen cars like this on the big screen.
The man behind the car wore a big white cowboy hat, and his western-themed pink shirt was complete with fancy embroidery over the lapels. He tipped his hat when he saw the ladies approach and smiled a very broad smile.
“Oh, wow, this car is lovely,” Charlene said as the driver opened the passenger door and tilted the seat forward for her to climb into the back.
“It’s a 1960 Buick.” Aleyna answered for him. “This my husband, José.”
Charlene held her hand forward. “Nice to meet you, José.”
“Hola, welcome to Havana.” His Cuban accent was strong yet easy to understand.
“Thank you.” Charlene slipped into the back seat, and after José pushed the seat back, Aleyna moved into the front passenger seat.
José took his place behind the wheel, put the car into gear, and they drove off. Despite its age, the car was in immaculate condition. The leather seats showed little sign of wear, and the dashboard too looked to be in original condition. “Is this your car, José?”
“No. We not so lucky.” Aleyna spoke for him. “It his boss’s car. José is driver, and he takes tourists around Havana.”
The road shifted from gravel to potholed asphalt, and the landscape quickly changed from the occasional shack nestled among dense foliage to rows and rows of houses. Some were dilapidated homes verging on collapse, while some were mansions. Some of those mansions were pristine; some, however, were in dire need of attention. The disparity between the conditions of the homes was incredible.
Soon the streets shifted from houses to more diverse architecture. Peter had taught her to appreciate architecture, and it had been nothing for them to spend a whole day in a new city spotting gargoyles and admiring elaborate wrought-iron decorations.
Cuba, it seemed, was a mixture of all the architectural classics. She recognized Spanish influences, and Italian, Roman, and Greek styles. Some of the buildings, however, were derelict and had plants growing out of the windows and creeping down from the rooftops. Many had collapsed altogether, leaving elaborate marble staircases to mark their existence.
People were everywhere. Spilling into the streets were young lovers strolling hand in hand, families that looked to consist of several generations, couples with children.
The thing that struck Charlene the most was that despite the abundant rundown buildings, indicating poverty, everybody seemed happy.
Dancing and music were everywhere. Every street corner had small groups putting on what seemed to be an impromptu show that had tourists filming and locals clapping along. It was easy to get swept up in the fun. But Charlene wasn’t here for fun; she was here for answers. So if Aleyna wasn’t going to be helpful, she decided to try José.
She leaned forward, easing between the two front seats. “José, what can you tell me about Legendarios del Guajirito?”
“Ahh, sí.” He shot a glance at her that showed off his crooked white teeth. “Legendarios del Guajirito is most famous of all dance show in Havana. They do beautiful dancing and singing. Here all the tourists go.”
“Yes, I know. Can you tell me about the singers?”
He wobbled his head. “Only little. They are legends in all of Cuba. Everybody dance.”
Charlene attempted a few more pointed questions, but it quickly became apparent that the extent of his knowledge of the show was that it was a major tourist draw and that he could get tickets at a special price.
About forty minutes after they left Aleyna’s place, José pulled the car alongside a small park centered among four roads. All the other cars in the street were as old and as impressive as José’s Buick. It was like stepping back in time.
José came around and opened the door for Aleyna and Charlene. Aleyna kissed José on his cheek and said something in Spanish that had his eyes darting to Charlene. “We here.” She turned her back to Charlene and crossed the road toward a grand building plastered with posters of the dance show.
Charlene nodded at José. “Thank you.” Then she clutched the strap of her handbag, gripped the cane, and raced after Aleyna. A large crowd was lining up along the side of the building, but Aleyna avoided the line and went inside to climb the internal stairs. The crowd’s excited din bounced off the narrow, marble-lined stairway. At the top of the stairs, she said something to a man blocking the door and then turned to Charlene.
“You need to pay him.”
“Oh, umm, how much?”
“One hundred.”
Charlene hoped she meant American dollars, because that’s all she had. She adjusted her positioning so neither Aleyna nor the man could see her pluck the money from the inside pocket of her bag. She closed the zipper before she handed the cash to the man. He frowned at the note for a nanosecond before his eyes lit up. With a grin lighting his face, he slotted the note into his pants pocket and then shoved the door open. His confusing reaction had Charlene making a mental note to check with Aleyna once they were settled. They entered into a saloon-type bar with dark wood and circular bar tables dotted about. People were everywhere, and the noise of the crowd was triple that of the stairway.
Aleyna pushed through, leading Charlene to another passage. Along the way, Aleyna paused briefly to chat with several barmaids who were dressed in low-cut, white cowgirl uniforms and matching cowboy hats. She didn’t bother translating anything, and Charlene began to wonder if anyone spoke English.
Through another doorway, Charlene was led into a room that echoed the sets of a bad 1970s western film. Giant wagon wheels hung from the ceiling, with bare light bulbs dangling below them, and the mustard-colored walls were dotted with horseshoes and cow horns. The tables were set up in long rows leading from the back of the room to the front stage. Directly in front of the stage was a bar, with several young women already busy making colorful cocktails. The stage was T-shaped; a large extension extended down the dining room, separating the tables.
Aleyna led Charlene to the front of the room, to the seat wedged in the very corner between both the front stage and the central stage. It was probably the best seat in the house. She indicated to a simple wooden chair at the very front.
Charlene adjusted her bag to her hip, nestled her cane against the stage, then sat down and pulled her chair aside for Aleyna to sit too.
“Okay, I wait for you out front at end of show.”
Charlene blinked up at her. “You’re not staying.”
“No.” She waggled her head like Charlene was nuts.
“Does anyone speak English?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Charlene’s glimmer of
hope was yanked out from beneath her. Her eyes darted from the empty stage to the young waitresses running around with trays full of drinks and wondered how any of this was going to give her answers.
A heavy cloak of hopelessness smothered her.
“They look after you.” Aleyna flicked her hand toward the waitresses, then without so much as a good-bye, she was gone. Charlene followed her stride through the crowd spilling into the showroom, and then Aleyna disappeared altogether.
Once again, Charlene was all alone.
“You want drink?” Charlene jumped at the voice. A waitress appeared at Charlene’s side.
“Oh, you do speak English.”
“Yes. You want drink? Here is drink list. There is food list. I make order.” The waitress pointed at a laminated menu on the table that had all four of its corners curling up.
Charlene’s dark cloud of despair petered out at both the waitress’s ability to speak English and at the mention of food. She hadn’t eaten anything since the toasted sandwich with Marshall. As the pretty waitress loudly chewed gum, Charlene ordered a water and her preferences from the three courses on the menu.
Alone again, she scanned her surroundings. It was vaguely familiar, and it should be, given that she’d watched video footage of this stage about twenty times. It looked like it hadn’t been renovated in those twenty or so years. Or if it had, they’d kept its original appearance.
Both her drink and entrée arrived before any of the people who were sharing her table were seated. She devoured the cold starter within minutes and was sipping her water when guests began filling up the chairs around her. They made polite conversation, and she did the same, relieved to be speaking English.
Her main meal of spicy chicken stew and something called moors and Christians arrived; she was relieved to discover that the moors were black beans and the Christians simply brown rice. A few bites later, the music ramped up, the curtain lifted, and a woman who had to be in her late sixties belted out a tune and strutted her stuff better than many women half her age could have done.
Zero Escape Page 15