Nelson DeMille - The Cuban Affair

I assured her, “There’ll be many more opportunities.” I suggested, “Make it a surprise.”

Neville frowned, so to have a happy lunch, I said to him, “I’ve read a few of your books.”

Well, you’d have thought I just handed him a carton of cigarettes and a Pulitzer Prize.

“I hope you liked them.”

Of course you do. “Of course I did.”

Frozen daiquiris were part of the package, and everyone got one put in front of them. Antonio proposed a table toast. “To a great novelist — Ernest Hemingway — a true Cuban soul and a beautiful writer of the people.”

Neville’s face got frostier than his daiquiri.

The menus came, and Antonio made a few suggestions to the Nevilles, who looked like Hamburger Helper people, so Antonio ordered family-style for all of us.

Cindy asked Sara and me, “Where are you from?”

“Miami.”

“Key West.”

“Oh... are you...?”

I said, “We just met.” I further explained, “We’re discovering that we have a lot in common.” We’re both horny.

“That’s nice.” She said to Sara, “You mentioned at the welcome dinner that you are Cuban.”

“Cuban American.”

“So this trip must be very special for you.”

“It is. And why have you come here?”

Cindy replied, “Richard wants to set his next novel in Cuba.”

Antonio said to Neville, “Please put me in your book — as the hero.”

Neville was definitely thinking: Not after that toast, asshole .

Cindy continued, “He’s gotten a lot of material already.”

I couldn’t resist saying, “Don’t ask too many questions in Cuba.”

Cindy confided to us, “Richard says if he gets arrested, that will be good publicity.”

Antonio assured her, “That can be arranged.”

We all got a good laugh at that. This was fun. Like making jokes about blood while you’re dining with a vampire. I was feeling reckless and said to the Nevilles, “Be careful of the chivatos.”

“Who?”

“Ask Antonio.”

Antonio looked at me, then at the Nevilles. “This is a... derogatory term... for the citizens who volunteer for the revolutionary watch committees. In America you would call them neighborhood watch groups. They assist the police in combating crime.” He added, “They have nothing to do with foreigners.”

Sara asked Antonio, “So if a chivato sees a foreigner who appears suspicious, they won’t call the police?”

“Well... like any good citizen, they would, of course.” He thought of something and said, “In America, where you have terrorism, the police say, ‘If you see something, say something.’ It is no different here.”

Sara replied, “In America we don’t report our neighbors to the police because of their political views.”

Well, they used to in Maine.

Cindy changed the subject and said to me, “So you’re a fisherman.”

“I am.”

“Will you go meet the fishermen coming in for this tournament?”

“I don’t know them.”

Richard remarked, “I’d like to go to the terminal and take pictures of the fleet’s arrival.” He looked at Antonio.

Antonio reminded Neville, “You must stay with the group. It is your State Department which does not allow you to go where you wish in Cuba.”

It was ironic, I thought, that it was my government, not Antonio’s, that restricted our movements in Antonio’s police state. But soon Sara and I would have a unique opportunity to fulfill the stated goal of this trip — Discover Cuba for Yourself.

Antonio, however, had some good news. “There is no group dinner tonight, and you are all free to go to the Plaza de San Francisco and perhaps find some of the fishermen and crew from the tournament.” He looked at me.

I wanted to get away from that subject, so I asked Neville, “Where do you get your ideas?”

He didn’t seem to know.

Antonio dropped the subject and said to me and Sara, “We missed you at Ambos Mundos.”

I let Sara reply and she said, truthfully, “I showed Mac my grandparents’ home.”

That seemed to interest him. “So you knew where it was?”

“I have the property deed, which goes back to 1895.”

“Well,” he joked, “hold on to it for another hundred years. You never know.”

Sara, of course, didn’t think that was funny and said, “It’s now a crumbling tenement.”

“It is a home for the people.”

“It’s not fit for animals.”

Antonio looked at Sara. “You speak your mind.”

“It’s an American habit.”

“Yes, I know.” He asked her, “And what did your grandfather do to afford a large house in Havana?”

“He was an honest businessman. And he had the good fortune to escape to America before he was arrested for no reason.”

Antonio had no reply.

I was wishing that Sara wouldn’t provoke Antonio, but it seemed to be in the DNA of the exile community to bug the Commies. I get it, but it’s safer to do it in Miami. Having said that, I, too, needed to control my mouth.

The Nevilles seemed to be feeling left out or uncomfortable, and Richard announced that he was going outside for a cigarette. I hoped Antonio would join him, but he didn’t. Cindy asked where the baño was and Antonio told her.

So now we were three.

Antonio looked at Sara. “Do you still have family in Cuba?”

“I do not.”

“May I ask — why have you come back a second time?”

“Obviously I enjoyed my first visit.”

“Good. Cuba is like a mother who welcomes the return of her sons and daughters.”

“Some of whom have been arrested on trumped-up charges.”

Antonio had no reply, and Sara asked him, “How do you know this is my second visit?”

“Someone mentioned it to me.”

“Why are you asking about me?”

He smiled. “I thought you were... unattached.” He looked at me. “I congratulate you, señor.”

Hey, no contest, señor.

Antonio looked over his shoulder at the front door, then looked toward the baños, and I thought he was trying to decide if he needed a cigarette or a pee, but he leaned toward us and said, “Perhaps we can have a drink tonight.”

Neither Sara nor I replied.

He continued, “Tonight is your free night. I can meet you both at seven at a bar called Rolando in Vedado.” He smiled. “No tourists. No Hemingway.”

Sara glanced at me, and I said to Antonio, “Thank you, but we’ve made other plans.”

“Then tomorrow night. Same time and place. You will excuse yourselves from the group dinner.”

This was not sounding like a friendly invitation anymore. I thought his next line was going to be, “You can meet me at the bar, or you can meet me at police headquarters.” But he said, “This will be worth your time and trouble. And your money.”

“Excuse me?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“For what?”

Richard Neville was returning from his nicotine break and Cindy was making her way back to the table.

As they both reached the table, Antonio said, “As Hemingway wrote, the Cubans double-cross each other. They sell each other out.”

Which may have been the answer to my question.

The Nevilles sat and Richard asked, “Still Hemingway?”

No one responded, and the apps came.

Antonio said, “I hope everyone likes octopus.”

What the hell was this guy up to?

After lunch, Antonio led us on a short walk to the Museum of the Revolution, a neo-classical building that was once Cuba’s Presidential Palace. In front of the former palace was a Soviet-made tank that Antonio said was used by Castro’s forces to help repel the U.S.-backed Bay of Pigs Invasion. “The invasion failed,” said Antonio, “so we invaded Miami with a million Cubans.”