umbrellas, also pitch-black, droned by.
“Dad!” Goyo felt two sharp slaps against his cheeks. His head felt like a pile of broken bricks. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open to find his daughter’s large-pored face hovering uncomfortably close to his own.
----
1. People got violently ill from that Chinese soy. One of my neighbors even went blind! Only the dogs seemed to like the stuff, but the dogs here will eat anything. If it says HECHO EN CHINA , I don’t touch it. Punto final.
—Héctor López, meat inspector
2. What a joke! We’ve never not been in a Special Period!
—H.L.
3. I come to Cuba to be a man. In France, I cannot afford to keep mistresses, or live like a king. Here I have two women. My Margarita is black and simple and she knows how to please me. She smells like fresh, clean earth. My other woman is more beautiful and light-skinned but she hustles me for this and that. Each dip in her boyito has its price. Margarita takes what I give her with dignity and gratitude. I don’t love her, but I should.
—Michel Durand, tire salesman
7.
Prime Time
Havana
Fernando strode into El Comandante’s room without knocking. He was in full military uniform after his meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The lot of them had been ordering an immoderate number of cut-rate tanks and artillery from North Korea. With 10 percent of the island’s population employed by the armed forces, Fernando considered these purchases a necessary bulwark against unrest. His goal: to keep the Revolution rebellion-proof by achieving the perfect ratio of military personnel to civilians. Unfortunately, he was less interested in other aspects of running the country. The economy was in a shambles, the hospitals had no aspirin, and nobody got what their ration books promised except for their monthly quotas of sugar and rum.
“You had an accident?” Fernando asked tentatively.
“¡Que tonto! You think I deliberately set myself on fire?”
“Cálmate, hermano. Who did this to you?”
“Have you seen the news?” Reports of the conflagration had been immediately broadcast on the Miami exiles’ news stations.
“Same old lies.” Fernando smoothed his mustache.
“How did they know about this in ten fucking seconds?”
“I’ll look into it right away.”
“I want everyone investigated.” The tyrant felt the stirrings of another conspiracy afoot, and he wanted it quashed before it got out of hand.
Fernando’s back was ramrod straight. He was a veritable fountain of youth next to his ailing older brother. By nightfall, he would find out who was behind the news leak and have them arrested.
“How the hell am I supposed to relax when their spies are watching me take a crap and smoke my last cigar?”
Fernando’s eyes drifted to the wall clock.
“I want to talk to the people tonight. Clear out all other programming.”
“Do you think that’s advisable?”
It was Thursday, and there’d be complaints over the cancellation of the wildly popular telenovela from Argentina. The lead actress, a callipygian hellion from the Pampas, played a nymphomaniac chef who wielded a meat cleaver like a martial artist.
“What excuse can you give me, Fernando? That our people would rather watch Gaucho Love than listen to me?”
“I don’t like seeing you so agitated. You need to rest.”
“I’ll be fucking resting for eternity!”
Fernando had suffered countless of his brother’s tantrums over the years. To say anything else at this point would only invite more abuse.
“The people need to know that the Revolution must go on, with or without me.” El Comandante pulled at his beard. “Thosegusanos will undo everything, change the street names, tear apart our history.”
“That won’t happen, I promise you—”
“Who’ll take over once we’re gone, Fernando? When we die, so will the Revolution.”
“The Revolution will never die. The people will—”
“The people will sell us out for a bar of soap!” the despot
“Dad!” Goyo felt two sharp slaps against his cheeks. His head felt like a pile of broken bricks. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open to find his daughter’s large-pored face hovering uncomfortably close to his own.
----
1. People got violently ill from that Chinese soy. One of my neighbors even went blind! Only the dogs seemed to like the stuff, but the dogs here will eat anything. If it says HECHO EN CHINA , I don’t touch it. Punto final.
—Héctor López, meat inspector
2. What a joke! We’ve never not been in a Special Period!
—H.L.
3. I come to Cuba to be a man. In France, I cannot afford to keep mistresses, or live like a king. Here I have two women. My Margarita is black and simple and she knows how to please me. She smells like fresh, clean earth. My other woman is more beautiful and light-skinned but she hustles me for this and that. Each dip in her boyito has its price. Margarita takes what I give her with dignity and gratitude. I don’t love her, but I should.
—Michel Durand, tire salesman
7.
Prime Time
Havana
Fernando strode into El Comandante’s room without knocking. He was in full military uniform after his meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The lot of them had been ordering an immoderate number of cut-rate tanks and artillery from North Korea. With 10 percent of the island’s population employed by the armed forces, Fernando considered these purchases a necessary bulwark against unrest. His goal: to keep the Revolution rebellion-proof by achieving the perfect ratio of military personnel to civilians. Unfortunately, he was less interested in other aspects of running the country. The economy was in a shambles, the hospitals had no aspirin, and nobody got what their ration books promised except for their monthly quotas of sugar and rum.
“You had an accident?” Fernando asked tentatively.
“¡Que tonto! You think I deliberately set myself on fire?”
“Cálmate, hermano. Who did this to you?”
“Have you seen the news?” Reports of the conflagration had been immediately broadcast on the Miami exiles’ news stations.
“Same old lies.” Fernando smoothed his mustache.
“How did they know about this in ten fucking seconds?”
“I’ll look into it right away.”
“I want everyone investigated.” The tyrant felt the stirrings of another conspiracy afoot, and he wanted it quashed before it got out of hand.
Fernando’s back was ramrod straight. He was a veritable fountain of youth next to his ailing older brother. By nightfall, he would find out who was behind the news leak and have them arrested.
“How the hell am I supposed to relax when their spies are watching me take a crap and smoke my last cigar?”
Fernando’s eyes drifted to the wall clock.
“I want to talk to the people tonight. Clear out all other programming.”
“Do you think that’s advisable?”
It was Thursday, and there’d be complaints over the cancellation of the wildly popular telenovela from Argentina. The lead actress, a callipygian hellion from the Pampas, played a nymphomaniac chef who wielded a meat cleaver like a martial artist.
“What excuse can you give me, Fernando? That our people would rather watch Gaucho Love than listen to me?”
“I don’t like seeing you so agitated. You need to rest.”
“I’ll be fucking resting for eternity!”
Fernando had suffered countless of his brother’s tantrums over the years. To say anything else at this point would only invite more abuse.
“The people need to know that the Revolution must go on, with or without me.” El Comandante pulled at his beard. “Thosegusanos will undo everything, change the street names, tear apart our history.”
“That won’t happen, I promise you—”
“Who’ll take over once we’re gone, Fernando? When we die, so will the Revolution.”
“The Revolution will never die. The people will—”
“The people will sell us out for a bar of soap!” the despot
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