Shortly after departure dinner was served, and as people were finishing up I made sure to introduce Amada to anyone she already didn’t know. She was especially pleased to meet feisty Jessica, Sal’s new girlfriend, who made a beeline for me to let me know how grateful her mother was to find the communion veil. As upsetting as it had been for her mother to lose it, she said nothing compared to the shock of finding out it had been stolen by her best friend out of jealousy. The best friend, who had been living with Jessica’s family since she’d graduated high school, had been asked to leave after the discovery of the veil along with a number of other assorted family treasures. Lacking a stable family of her own, the girl had both loved and hated Jessica’s, and as a result had taken to stealing things of sentimental value. Once the veil had been discovered in her possession, the girl admitted everything, and the friendship was over. Jessica’s mother wanted me to know that because of me, her daughter and household was much safer, a gift she wouldn’t soon forget.
During the cocktail hour Amada and I worked the room separately. Amada, Lidia and Raquel greeted all the women while Sal, Carlos, Oscar, Alex, Esteban and I made our way around the second level until everyone had an opportunity to catch up. When I saw Julie Ramos I made sure to give her my sincerest thanks for her part in finding Amada so quickly. In return Julie said she’d be sending some people over soon to install a state of the art network at Madrina’s that would not only improve our business communications, but would also provide more secure lines for our more private operations. Piraña, in attendance with his partner Raymond, told Amada he had a surprise for us later, which we assumed could only be our finished painting.
Our meal was indeed a feast, featuring all of the dishes I’d brought back to the house for Amada to try, followed by a three tier Cuban cake to be served out on the top deck after dinner. The custom-made confection featured layers of guava-filled, brandy-soaked vanilla sponge that would be served with flutes of champagne infused with flower petals I knew to be conducive to communications with the spirits. Out on display in the dining room, the cake was so pretty that more than one guest eyed it with suspicion, asking if there would be a surprise wedding tonight as well. As beautiful as the evening had turned out, I had to explain that a wedding for the living could never be mixed with a party for the dead.
After dinner and coffee, I ushered everyone up to the open-air star deck, where Tony had set up for his performance. Earlier in the week I hadn’t been sure what kind of music to incorporate into the ritual, as Delfina had ceased hosting visitas long before we met, and I hadn’t thought to ask her before she unexpectedly passed away. At her advanced age it wouldn’t have been wise, as the opening of oneself to the dead and to the Orishas would be certainly be draining and possibly hard on the body, especially the heart. Sandro had suggested simple drums, the way it would have been done in Cuba, but I had attended a few myself in Playa Larga as a child and remember feeling disconnected from the archaic rhythms. My intuition told me it would have to be something else, and as I hadn’t a single musical bone in my body, I turned to Tony.
“Hey, I have a question for you,” I’d said the last time I saw him. “I need some advice.” Once again, he’d come to the club with his complete entourage, including Nura, who immediately came over to say hello.
“I made a mistake,” she said in English, licking her glossy lips. “I should have taken you home.”
“I told you, I’m married,” I said. Though it was no fault of Nura, I’d been propositioned quite enough lately to last a while, and my irritation must have showed.
“Don’t be mad because I said no the first time. Anyway, I don’t see a ring.” Nura pointed at my hand took a step closer, but Tony rolled his eyes and gave her a playful shove in the opposite direction.
“Girl, give him a break,” he said, speaking to her like an older brother. “Every other man in this place wants you. Go get someone else. Why you always want what you can’t have?”
“I think I will,” she said, turning on her heel, bouncing to the beat of the music. “Later.”
After the usual pleasantries, Tony and I went back to my office where we talked about the kind of music that would work for our event. As a former client of Delfina’s, he was quite accustomed to the ways of our group, though I wasn’t sure he’d ever participated in a visita.
“I dated a Cuban girl a long time ago,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “I went to something like that with her once, but I remember not liking the music. It was just too primitive. We don’t live in the countryside any more, you know. This is Miami.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” I settled back in my chair and let him think. Most people considered him just a flashy reggaeton entertainer, costumed in heavy gold chains and jewel encrusted glasses, but from our conversations I knew he was a talented musician as well, a published songwriter who could also play several instruments.
“The other day I was on a road trip across the island from San Juan to Ponce, and I started listening to Moonlight Sonata—Beethoven—but I had to take it off because I was scared of falling asleep at the wheel. You know it, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I said, certain that Amada would.
“Let me see if I have it,” he said, scrolling through his phone. “Here it is.” Tony turned up the volume and placed it on the desk near me. We listened together for a minute, and I understood what he meant by getting lost in the music. With each note, my mind was already opening up and going other places.
“It’s perfect, but I want live music for the party,” I said.
“I can play it,” he said.
“You play piano?” As I listed to the complexity of the piece, it occurred to me that Tony must have been classically trained.
“Yeah, don’t let it get out, but I went to Bard. It might be bad for my reggaeton image.” He laughed and put his sunglasses up on his head. “Depending on how long it goes, I can play other pieces. Debussy, Satie, maybe something original, too. I wrote a few Caribbean and island-themed pieces last year when I had a broken leg. You know, I’ll just go with the mood if you trust me. It’s my contribution.”
Stunned by his level of talent as well as his generosity, I accepted his offer. “Thank you, Tony. Our guests are exceptionally lucky to attend such a special performance. I hope I remember it.”
“Do you think people will be disappointed that it’s not the old school African drums?” he asked apprehensively. “Nothing worse than an unhappy audience.”
“No,” I said, “quite the contrary. Everyone knows I’m a patron of the arts, and I don’t need any kind of music to do what I need to do. Frankly, the persistent notion that Cubans or any Latin Americans can’t appreciate European art is as offensive to me as Europeans who look down on the Americas. We’re proud of our culture, but we’re also quite capable of appreciating other cultures as well. It’s hardly above our heads. Our education should include literature, art, music, dance, and even gastronomy, and we should be no less sophisticated than anyone else. My wife knows Paradise Lost and Gabriel García Márquez. You know reggaeton and Beethoven. I can make black beans, but I can also prepare coq au vin. That’s how it should be. We belong on a world stage, not just our own little corner of the map, and that can’t happen until we’re considered equal in all things, beginning with a classical education. Technology has its advantages, and so does law and medicine, but the arts are the key to civilization and our place in it. To confine ourselves only to practical vocations for money is not playing the long game, as they say. We must have thinkers and leaders among us, writers and film makers, not just followers who chase after the degree du jour and work in a little office their whole lives, never giving back to the community, never moving us forward, and encouraging their children to do the same.” I leaned forward. “Think what would happen if each generation could learn literature and art and history from the one before it? If each one started with that advantage, with people in their families who had con
tributed to our advancement in some way, and then built on it? There’s no limit to what we could do or the heights we could reach. Tony, do you realize I have no idea who is in my family tree before my grandparents, yet there are people who can trace their ancestors back to the middle ages? That has to change for us.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” said Tony. “The other day one of my show business friends pulled out a photo of his great-grandparents with Winston Churchill. How could that guy not have succeeded in life with three generations before him who had already done so much? I was jealous. My great-grandparents and their ancestors were probably living in a bohío somewhere, with dirt floors and no electricity, like yours, while his were rubbing elbows with people who ran the world. I wouldn’t know, because probably no one cared enough to record my ancestors’ births and their deaths for the last four hundred years. You’re right, that does have to change.”
“Tony, let me mention your musical degree when I introduce you. You should be proud of it, and it might inspire others to go beyond science and math toward more creative disciplines. We must have our own globally respected canon if we’re to flourish. Most importantly, it is essential to create great minds so that we produce world-class leaders, not just criminals who strap on a gun and demand an entire nation call them presidente while they steal what little their people have.” Tony listened intently, transfixed on my words.
“Rafa, I had no idea you were so political,” he said.
“I’m not,” I laughed. “It’s just something I think about sometimes, and I like to contribute however I can. Please start with the Beethoven, because you should be proud of your studies. But after that, perform your original pieces. In fact, I’d like you to write more, and then allow me to put up the money for a tour that will showcase your art.”
Now, on the top level of the Blue Moon, guests made their way upstairs from the second level to the open-air star deck, which true to its name had just anchored under the clearest, starriest patch of sky I’d seen in a long time, the wind so still we could have lit candles on deck. I’d instructed the captain to find a quiet area off one of the more remote Florida Keys and he’d suggested the calm, crystal waters near Islamorada. As we each came up the stairs and took in the view, it was as if the Heavens had opened up and turned on the lights just for us. Some of the more scientifically inclined guests like Julie Ramos began to point out the constellations, easily seen with the naked eye but even more pronounced through the lens of the ship’s telescope. Our guests came up slowly, one by one, each shrugging off the concerns of daily life as they ascended, literally and figuratively, from below.
As each guest found a place to sit, waiters passed out cake and champagne and then set out the assortment of foods I’d chosen as offerings. Earlier I’d asked Esteban what his mother, Alex’s grandmother, had liked to eat, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Alex and Esteban hug when they came upon the corn tamales, Joaquina’s favorite, moved by strong memories of her making them at every holiday. Along with other very specific requests from Santuario members for their own loved ones, I’d made sure to order Doña Delfina’s favorite food, ropa vieja, and William’s macaroni and cheese. The guests milled about the food gifts happily, pointing out each of their relative’s favorite dishes and sharing their stories until a deckhand made the mistake of taking a strawberry from the buffet. Every set of eyes on deck went to him until another waiter quietly explained why he had to put it back, then sent him down below to eat food meant for the living.
In spite of my numerous responsibilities, it did not escape my attention that Amada was in her element, the consummate hostess, charming everyone with her beauty and intelligence. I let her set the timetable, and when she sat down near the back with Lidia and Raquel, it was her way of indicating to me it was time to begin. Stepping toward the center of the deck, I waited until the conversation subsided to address the crowd.
“My dearest friends and family, thank you for your presence tonight. As I look around, I see love in every direction. First, in the eyes of my fiancé, who will very soon become my beautiful wife.” The group clapped and whistled, and contrary to what I would have expected, Amada returned my gaze without the least bit of embarrassment, her heart only full of pride and affection for me.
“There’s love in your marriages, your relationship with your parents and your children, among your treasured friendships, and in your love of country and culture, which is what joins us. This is a special night simply because we’re together, enjoying each other’s company with good food, good wine, out in the open air of the ocean where we can breathe and be free of worldly concerns. It’s a quiet moment in which we can reflect on the past, appreciate one another, and look toward the future.” I held up my champagne flute, and as each person followed suit and raised their own glass, I scanned the crowd and located Tony leaning up against the rail not far from Amada. Dressed in a dark suit like mine, I almost didn’t recognize him without his gold chains and casual clothes.
“I’d like to express my sincerest gratitude to our friend Antonio Vega, also known by his stage name Bombax, who has graciously agreed to entertain us on the piano tonight. Most of you will be surprised to know that Tony is a classically trained pianist with multiple degrees from The Bard College Conservatory of Music, and quite recently Tony has graciously accepted my offer to sponsor a world tour in which he will debut his catalog of original compositions. Tonight, after he plays some familiar pieces, he’ll share his newest opus titled Ascención al mar. To you, Tony, and to all of you, in honor of our alliance.” The crowd toasted as he approached the grand piano, and unlike his stage persona, tonight Tony was humble and brooding, an artist in his element. He sat at the piano and waited for me to finish.
“I’m going to do everything I can to open myself up so that your loved ones may come to me if they wish. As you can see, all the foods enjoyed by loved ones no longer with us have been set out as offerings. Enjoy the performance, visit among yourselves, and you’ll know when it’s time. This won’t be like any other gathering you’ve attended in the past. As you know, I do things differently.”
After a standing ovation for me, the crowd settled in to enjoy their cake and champagne while Tony sat on the piano bench and began to play. As the lights dimmed, I made my way to Amada, who was already stargazing by the aft rail.
“What a gorgeous night,” she said, slipping her arm into mine. “I can’t believe we never did this together on the ship.”
“We were busy with other things,” I said. She put her head on my shoulder as the music washed over us, bewitching everyone within earshot. The conversation mostly stopped as everyone gathered closer to the piano to watch Tony go into his own artistic world, oblivious to everything around him. “Is this Beethoven?”
“It’s called Gnossienne No. 3 by Erik Satie,” said Amanda. “He was French.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I used to study to classical music. I listened to it every day for years.”
“Of course.” I took a sip of champagne. “Where was Beethoven from?”
“I believe he was German,” she said.
“Is there anything you don’t know?” I asked, marveling at how lovely she was in the light under the stars.
“What kind of question is that?” She laughed, her pretty face colored by a slight flush. I stepped behind her and embraced her as the piano notes went from high to low in seconds, a sophisticated scale symbolic of the highs and lows of life itself.
“I’m not sure what’s going to happen tonight, but if I go somewhere else for a while, and other people talk through me, make sure I’m safe. You can let people hold my hand, but that’s it. Everyone here is trustworthy, but it’s my first time. I have no idea what to expect, but keep in mind I probably won’t remember any of it, including your conversation with William.”
“Are you going to sound like yourself or someone else?” She was becoming anxious, imagining all the scary things she’
d seen in movies.
“Of course I’ll sound like myself. It’s not a demonic possession, Amada, just muertos who want to communicate with their families.” I rubbed her shoulders and decided to put her at ease by looking for William first. “Let’s sit over here.” I found a lounger for us to sit on and pulled her in to me. “He’s more likely to come if you’re close.”
A few people noticed that I’d begun but kept about their own business, understanding that disturbing me would only make it more difficult. The last thing I remember was the dry lighting snapping across the night sky and Amada’s voice, telling me that Tony had begun playing Beethoven. “It’s called Moonlight Son—”
***
Before she was finished, I found myself on a moonlit street in Playa Larga, in the front yard of my childhood home. The lights in my grandfather’s little house were on as were the ones in Anselmo’s tiny hut, but my mother’s house was dark. The whole street was dark as it always had been, electricity a precious commodity no one could afford to waste. The strong wind and the smell in the air told me the sky was getting ready to open up in a torrential downpour, the kind that took its toll on the people. Still, it was warm as usual. My mother wouldn’t possibly understand why I was here, so instead I decided to go to Anselmo’s house first.
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