years earlier, while in the army. Buses were out of the question. It was a matter of image, the Italian partner explained.
Gradually, as Fonseca used up his generous allowance for incidental expenses taking clients – executives from seemingly private companies that are actually government-owned – to restaurants, clubs, and bars, as he handed out Christmas gifts, as he got accustomed to the bonuses, the two trips a year to Milan, the posh office, the much younger and tremendously attractive secretary-lover, he discovered a fresh perspective on life, vastly different from the one viewed through the periscope of a Russian tank.
What the Cuban authorities were unaware of, what Marco Ferrero and even Carmelo Fonseca himself hadn’t known, was his knack for making deals and cutting corners. He knew things nouniversity teaches: how to entice, persuade, reward, and punish. He was a quick learner. He was good at categorizing people. And, unacknowledged even by him, he was ambitious. His one serious flaw was having too much self-confidence.
For five years, Fonseca managed to please both Ferrero and his Cuban handlers, and was rewarded with a promotion to general manager. Ferrero visited the island three or four times a year, spent from a week to ten days each time overseeing and giving orders by day, and cultivating and extending his circle of bisexual, gay, and lesbian acquaintances by night. On his return flights to Milan, comfortably sipping champagne in his first-class seat, the Italian congratulated himself for having what Graham Greene had in mind when he came up with the title for his world-famous novel. EuroAmerican Trading had a man in Havana.
“First of all,” Pena said, to break the ice, “did you notice any change in Pablo’s behaviour in the last few weeks? Did he look unnerved, anxious, anything like that?”
Fonseca shook his head slowly and curved his lips downward. “No, Major. Pablo was … the same as always.”
“How was his work ethic?”
Eyes locked on the ceiling, chair slightly reclined, in an effort to impress upon the cops that he was very seriously pondering his response, Fonseca said, “I wouldn’t say he was a workhorse, or entirely devoted to the company, but he performed his duties with diligence and responsibility.”
“You know if he had a relationship with some woman working here?”
A straight-faced Fonseca shook his head vigorously, then checked himself. “Well, as you comrades can understand, one can never be sure about that sort of thing, but as far as I can ascertain,no employee or executive of this firm is sexually involved with another member of staff.”
“What about women in general?” Trujillo asked. “Would you say he was what they call a skirt-chaser?”
“Pablo? Are you joking?” Fonseca had a half-smile of incredulity on his lips. He found it difficult to keep a straight face. “That short, bald, skinny guy? I doubt that many women would feel attracted to him.”
“Maybe he could pay for sex.”
“Well, yes, that’s a possibility.”
“How much did he make here?”
“I’d have to check the records. It was something like 325 or 340 pesos a month.”
“No, no,” Trujillo said knowingly, “that’s what he made at ACOREC. I mean here. How much did he make here?”
Trujillo was referring to one of the Cuban employment agencies that hire out personnel to foreign companies and joint ventures. They all charge in dollars, and pay their Cuban workforce in pesos. Their employees agree to this because foreign managers make under-the-table payoffs in dollars to spur productivity.
“Well, the Italian party has insisted on giving bonuses and incentives to our staff,” Fonseca began. “It’s something all firms do.”
“Something that’s against the law,” Pena said.
“Technically, yes,” Fonseca agreed. “But since –”
“Don’t worry, Comrade Fonseca,” said Pena, smiling away his interruption. “Everybody in Cuba knows how it works.
Gradually, as Fonseca used up his generous allowance for incidental expenses taking clients – executives from seemingly private companies that are actually government-owned – to restaurants, clubs, and bars, as he handed out Christmas gifts, as he got accustomed to the bonuses, the two trips a year to Milan, the posh office, the much younger and tremendously attractive secretary-lover, he discovered a fresh perspective on life, vastly different from the one viewed through the periscope of a Russian tank.
What the Cuban authorities were unaware of, what Marco Ferrero and even Carmelo Fonseca himself hadn’t known, was his knack for making deals and cutting corners. He knew things nouniversity teaches: how to entice, persuade, reward, and punish. He was a quick learner. He was good at categorizing people. And, unacknowledged even by him, he was ambitious. His one serious flaw was having too much self-confidence.
For five years, Fonseca managed to please both Ferrero and his Cuban handlers, and was rewarded with a promotion to general manager. Ferrero visited the island three or four times a year, spent from a week to ten days each time overseeing and giving orders by day, and cultivating and extending his circle of bisexual, gay, and lesbian acquaintances by night. On his return flights to Milan, comfortably sipping champagne in his first-class seat, the Italian congratulated himself for having what Graham Greene had in mind when he came up with the title for his world-famous novel. EuroAmerican Trading had a man in Havana.
“First of all,” Pena said, to break the ice, “did you notice any change in Pablo’s behaviour in the last few weeks? Did he look unnerved, anxious, anything like that?”
Fonseca shook his head slowly and curved his lips downward. “No, Major. Pablo was … the same as always.”
“How was his work ethic?”
Eyes locked on the ceiling, chair slightly reclined, in an effort to impress upon the cops that he was very seriously pondering his response, Fonseca said, “I wouldn’t say he was a workhorse, or entirely devoted to the company, but he performed his duties with diligence and responsibility.”
“You know if he had a relationship with some woman working here?”
A straight-faced Fonseca shook his head vigorously, then checked himself. “Well, as you comrades can understand, one can never be sure about that sort of thing, but as far as I can ascertain,no employee or executive of this firm is sexually involved with another member of staff.”
“What about women in general?” Trujillo asked. “Would you say he was what they call a skirt-chaser?”
“Pablo? Are you joking?” Fonseca had a half-smile of incredulity on his lips. He found it difficult to keep a straight face. “That short, bald, skinny guy? I doubt that many women would feel attracted to him.”
“Maybe he could pay for sex.”
“Well, yes, that’s a possibility.”
“How much did he make here?”
“I’d have to check the records. It was something like 325 or 340 pesos a month.”
“No, no,” Trujillo said knowingly, “that’s what he made at ACOREC. I mean here. How much did he make here?”
Trujillo was referring to one of the Cuban employment agencies that hire out personnel to foreign companies and joint ventures. They all charge in dollars, and pay their Cuban workforce in pesos. Their employees agree to this because foreign managers make under-the-table payoffs in dollars to spur productivity.
“Well, the Italian party has insisted on giving bonuses and incentives to our staff,” Fonseca began. “It’s something all firms do.”
“Something that’s against the law,” Pena said.
“Technically, yes,” Fonseca agreed. “But since –”
“Don’t worry, Comrade Fonseca,” said Pena, smiling away his interruption. “Everybody in Cuba knows how it works.
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