enough to process it didn’t matter. Each would take the story, chew it up good, then practice how they would tell it later, adding little bits and pieces to their individual versions, each according to his need.
That night when he got home, Usnavy found his worried wife out in the courtyard on Tejadillo, pacing among the tenement’s gossips and hustlers. It had taken him awhile longer than usual to arrive, not because he was walking instead of riding now, but because, first, he’d strolled over to the Malecón to replay the clapping that had scared off the tourists, to think through what he’d found out about Diosdado and Reynaldo, and then what Frank had done.
At the Malecón, he’d seen young girls Nena’s age strut as if on a runway for the benefit of the foreign men who drove by in rented cars. The girls were brazen: As if dipped in Lycra, their clothes accented every crevice of their young bodies, every slope and incline of their new breasts. They yelled out “Spain!” or “Italy!” to the cars, all loaded with men Usnavy’s age who looked as if they couldn’t believe they’d stumbled onto this paradise, their expressions of joy so exaggerated that even the most benign grandfather among them seemed maniacal.
As he neared the water, Usnavy had found himself particularly struck by the full figure strolling in front of him, flabby hips swinging wildly, almost like a bell. He thought he could hear it striking, a loud and forceful tone that paralyzed him. But when the womanly shape turned, she startled Usnavy—wasn’t there something a bit off in her face? Wasn’t her nose too bulbous, her mouth too cavernous and labrose, her laugh too robust?
At the water’s edge, Usnavy had leaned forward and inhaled the sea, letting the spray cover him. The waves climbed and curled, then crashed among themselves. Maybe the salt would crystallize and he’d be like the sparkly man, giving off light wherever he went. It had been such a long day.
“Lidia, are you all right?” Usnavy asked when he saw his wife in the courtyard at Tejadillo, her house dress wrapped tightly around her timid body, her feet tucked sloppily into plastic sandals. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to worry you. I went for a walk after the game. You won’t believe what happened.”
Lidia grabbed at his sleeve, not to reproach him but for refuge. “Usnavy …”
“What? What’s going on?” he asked, taking her softly by the shoulders.
“It’s Nena …”
“Nena!” He’d forgotten to go to the hospital to get her papers for the new ID! Nena was wandering Havana like an undocumented alien, like those desperate Haitians who tried to pass as Orientales but whose French and Creole accents always gave them away.
“Yes, the police …”
Usnavy thought his heart stopped for an instant. Whatever trouble she’d gotten into was no doubt his fault for being so irresponsible, so focused on other things beside his daughter. He shook his head in dismay.
“They brought her home,” Lidia sputtered.
“What …?” Usnavy asked, jerking back, suddenly out of breath.
“She’s okay, she’s fine,” Lidia said, patting him on the chest. “But—”
“What happened?” he asked, pulling Lidia into the shadows between their water barrel and the door, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors that, Usnavy thought, all suddenly seemed as large and portentous as the feline pupils floating in their room. Rosita, the woman who made sandwiches from blankets, ambled by and winked at him knowingly. She was brazenly carrying a couple of pieces of cloth across her arm.
“Nena went to see the Campos family,” Lidia explained while pushing back a lock of hair.
Usnavy had to think: The Campos …
“For god’s sake, Usnavy—the Campos—the people who used to live down the street, who gave her that poster of the American singer when they moved to Miami!” a frustrated Lidia said, her eyes moist and red.
He couldn’t remember the last time
That night when he got home, Usnavy found his worried wife out in the courtyard on Tejadillo, pacing among the tenement’s gossips and hustlers. It had taken him awhile longer than usual to arrive, not because he was walking instead of riding now, but because, first, he’d strolled over to the Malecón to replay the clapping that had scared off the tourists, to think through what he’d found out about Diosdado and Reynaldo, and then what Frank had done.
At the Malecón, he’d seen young girls Nena’s age strut as if on a runway for the benefit of the foreign men who drove by in rented cars. The girls were brazen: As if dipped in Lycra, their clothes accented every crevice of their young bodies, every slope and incline of their new breasts. They yelled out “Spain!” or “Italy!” to the cars, all loaded with men Usnavy’s age who looked as if they couldn’t believe they’d stumbled onto this paradise, their expressions of joy so exaggerated that even the most benign grandfather among them seemed maniacal.
As he neared the water, Usnavy had found himself particularly struck by the full figure strolling in front of him, flabby hips swinging wildly, almost like a bell. He thought he could hear it striking, a loud and forceful tone that paralyzed him. But when the womanly shape turned, she startled Usnavy—wasn’t there something a bit off in her face? Wasn’t her nose too bulbous, her mouth too cavernous and labrose, her laugh too robust?
At the water’s edge, Usnavy had leaned forward and inhaled the sea, letting the spray cover him. The waves climbed and curled, then crashed among themselves. Maybe the salt would crystallize and he’d be like the sparkly man, giving off light wherever he went. It had been such a long day.
“Lidia, are you all right?” Usnavy asked when he saw his wife in the courtyard at Tejadillo, her house dress wrapped tightly around her timid body, her feet tucked sloppily into plastic sandals. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to worry you. I went for a walk after the game. You won’t believe what happened.”
Lidia grabbed at his sleeve, not to reproach him but for refuge. “Usnavy …”
“What? What’s going on?” he asked, taking her softly by the shoulders.
“It’s Nena …”
“Nena!” He’d forgotten to go to the hospital to get her papers for the new ID! Nena was wandering Havana like an undocumented alien, like those desperate Haitians who tried to pass as Orientales but whose French and Creole accents always gave them away.
“Yes, the police …”
Usnavy thought his heart stopped for an instant. Whatever trouble she’d gotten into was no doubt his fault for being so irresponsible, so focused on other things beside his daughter. He shook his head in dismay.
“They brought her home,” Lidia sputtered.
“What …?” Usnavy asked, jerking back, suddenly out of breath.
“She’s okay, she’s fine,” Lidia said, patting him on the chest. “But—”
“What happened?” he asked, pulling Lidia into the shadows between their water barrel and the door, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors that, Usnavy thought, all suddenly seemed as large and portentous as the feline pupils floating in their room. Rosita, the woman who made sandwiches from blankets, ambled by and winked at him knowingly. She was brazenly carrying a couple of pieces of cloth across her arm.
“Nena went to see the Campos family,” Lidia explained while pushing back a lock of hair.
Usnavy had to think: The Campos …
“For god’s sake, Usnavy—the Campos—the people who used to live down the street, who gave her that poster of the American singer when they moved to Miami!” a frustrated Lidia said, her eyes moist and red.
He couldn’t remember the last time
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