the tin tub was resting on its side in a corner. I was bewildered and apprehensive. Señora García glanced at me for a second, gave me a hurried smile, turned to her husband, and they went on with their conversation in low voices.
I left the house and made my way past the cane-filled freight cars, the chapel, the mill, to the stone portico of the big house. I rarely entered the house by the front doors. A dozen rocking chairs were lined up along the portico, empty, seeming to wait. I went down a corridor to the kitchen and found the servants sitting at a big table, their heads bent, talking to each other in alarmed voices. I waved at Emilio, who looked at me without seeing me. Then he started. “Ay! Paulita!”
I knew an event was forming itself as black clouds form in a menacing sky. When my grandmother came to bed that night, I asked her what was happening. She answered by saying that we were all returning to Havana in a day or so.
* * *
Dr. Babito, my grandmother, and I stayed with Tía Luisa at the Hotel Nacional in Havana. The servants were quartered in smaller hotels in the city and had to rise early in the morning to get to the hotel before my ancient cousin waked.
My grandmother was always with her, while I wandered along the corridors and the huge lobby. I was under the illusion that the hotel staff were now my caretakers, and that the permission of the bell captain was required before I could use the swimming pool in the gardens.
“May I use the pool today?” I would ask him. He would close his eyes, appear to ponder, then arrive at a decision. “Yes, but only this morning,” he would answer, in a tone of reluctant judiciousness.
There were American tourists staying at the hotel, and one descended in the elevator with me. He leaned against the elevator paneling, cushioning himself with both hands.
“You have such honest gray eyes,” he commented.
“My eyes are blue,” I replied, not cheekily, only to set the record straight.
He bent forward to look at me more closely. “So they are,” he said.
When the elevator reached the lobby and the two of us walked out of it, several hotel employees sprang forward.
“Meester Keaton!” they exclaimed in unison. The bell captain whispered to me, “El Señor Buster Keaton,” but the name meant nothing to me.
“Can I swim today?” I asked him.
He nodded, his attention on Meester Keaton. I changed into my bathing suit in a small house beside the pool, a blue oblong of glittering water. I dog-paddled about.
On a morning a few days later, the bell captain said a resounding “No!” to my usual question.
I was startled and disappointed. He must have noticed because he added, more softly, “The revolution began today.”
The afternoon of the same day, young men came to the Hotel Nacional and hurled stones at some of the windows. I heard sporadic shooting. A day or so later, we embarked on a ship bound for Florida.
When we arrived in New York City, Tía Luisa, in the care of Dr. Babito and Prince, was driven to the Plaza Hotel, where she kept a suite, using it two weeks of the year. That same week my grandmother said that the president of Cuba, Gerardo Machado, had been overthrown. It was 1933. I was ten years old.
New York City
My grandmother and I boarded a Long Island train and were back in Kew Gardens after an absence of more than sixteen months.
Our suitcases on the floor beside our feet, we stared into the one-room apartment we had returned to, and for which my grandmother had paid rent for so many months. Dust covered everything. There was a stale smell in the air.
I began to choke. In a strangled voice, I managed to say, “It’s so small.…”
She took a step into the room. A high counter divided the living-sleeping area from the kitchen and dinette. We unpacked and put our things away in silence.
* * *
A few weeks later, my Uncle Fermin’s wife, Elpidia, came to stay for several days. She took my place
I left the house and made my way past the cane-filled freight cars, the chapel, the mill, to the stone portico of the big house. I rarely entered the house by the front doors. A dozen rocking chairs were lined up along the portico, empty, seeming to wait. I went down a corridor to the kitchen and found the servants sitting at a big table, their heads bent, talking to each other in alarmed voices. I waved at Emilio, who looked at me without seeing me. Then he started. “Ay! Paulita!”
I knew an event was forming itself as black clouds form in a menacing sky. When my grandmother came to bed that night, I asked her what was happening. She answered by saying that we were all returning to Havana in a day or so.
* * *
Dr. Babito, my grandmother, and I stayed with Tía Luisa at the Hotel Nacional in Havana. The servants were quartered in smaller hotels in the city and had to rise early in the morning to get to the hotel before my ancient cousin waked.
My grandmother was always with her, while I wandered along the corridors and the huge lobby. I was under the illusion that the hotel staff were now my caretakers, and that the permission of the bell captain was required before I could use the swimming pool in the gardens.
“May I use the pool today?” I would ask him. He would close his eyes, appear to ponder, then arrive at a decision. “Yes, but only this morning,” he would answer, in a tone of reluctant judiciousness.
There were American tourists staying at the hotel, and one descended in the elevator with me. He leaned against the elevator paneling, cushioning himself with both hands.
“You have such honest gray eyes,” he commented.
“My eyes are blue,” I replied, not cheekily, only to set the record straight.
He bent forward to look at me more closely. “So they are,” he said.
When the elevator reached the lobby and the two of us walked out of it, several hotel employees sprang forward.
“Meester Keaton!” they exclaimed in unison. The bell captain whispered to me, “El Señor Buster Keaton,” but the name meant nothing to me.
“Can I swim today?” I asked him.
He nodded, his attention on Meester Keaton. I changed into my bathing suit in a small house beside the pool, a blue oblong of glittering water. I dog-paddled about.
On a morning a few days later, the bell captain said a resounding “No!” to my usual question.
I was startled and disappointed. He must have noticed because he added, more softly, “The revolution began today.”
The afternoon of the same day, young men came to the Hotel Nacional and hurled stones at some of the windows. I heard sporadic shooting. A day or so later, we embarked on a ship bound for Florida.
When we arrived in New York City, Tía Luisa, in the care of Dr. Babito and Prince, was driven to the Plaza Hotel, where she kept a suite, using it two weeks of the year. That same week my grandmother said that the president of Cuba, Gerardo Machado, had been overthrown. It was 1933. I was ten years old.
New York City
My grandmother and I boarded a Long Island train and were back in Kew Gardens after an absence of more than sixteen months.
Our suitcases on the floor beside our feet, we stared into the one-room apartment we had returned to, and for which my grandmother had paid rent for so many months. Dust covered everything. There was a stale smell in the air.
I began to choke. In a strangled voice, I managed to say, “It’s so small.…”
She took a step into the room. A high counter divided the living-sleeping area from the kitchen and dinette. We unpacked and put our things away in silence.
* * *
A few weeks later, my Uncle Fermin’s wife, Elpidia, came to stay for several days. She took my place
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