Rosa Jordan - The Woman She Was

Celia felt her emotions turn topsy-turvy. How had Luis and Liliana got to the point of confrontation before she even knew the details of what had happened? Even as the question raced through her mind, Celia guessed the answer. This was meant to be a showdown and each wanted her on their side. She would have to reassure both that their concerns would be heard and considered. But before she could speak to defuse the situation, Luis went too far.

“The law is the law!” he shouted. “Celia may not have any say in the matter!”

“Enough!” Celia snapped. “Liliana, if you have finished the dishes, go clean your room.”

“I’m going out ,” Liliana shot back. “So you and Fiancé Number Two can have it out.” She flounced out the door, but before slamming it, she stuck her head back in for a parting shot. “This is not about me , you know.”

Sounds from elsewhere in the building could be heard, but the space around them seemed unnaturally quiet. Celia pulled a chair out from the dinette table and sat down. Luis moved behind her and hesitantly began massaging her shoulders.

“Long train ride?”

“It was.”

“I guess from now on it will be necessary to leave her with Mamá and me when you are away. That is, unless you and I—”

“Did you and José really take her dancing at one of those glitzy hotels?”

Luis’s hands paused on her shoulders, then began to massage again, weakly. “More a case of her taking us. I can tell you, Celia, it was not the first time she had been there. She knows her way around and how to get into places she is not supposed to be. I looked into it. At this point, six months in a re-education camp would be the best thing for her.”

Celia drew the terrycloth robe more closely around her. “I don’t believe that. If she was skipping school regularly, her grades would show it.”

Luis’s hands dropped away from her shoulders and he moved around the table to face her. “No, Celia. Because she is smart enough to do both. I checked her attendance. Since January, her record shows several absences on days you were out of town. We picked her up just outside Varadero. Go through her things and you will understand.”

“I would never do that!” Celia gasped.

“Because you don’t want to know,” Luis accused.

“She will tell me. She did tell me!”

“Did she?” It wasn’t a question; it was a sneer. Luis strode into Liliana’s bedroom. Celia heard drawers being yanked open. Seconds later he dumped an armful of clothing—if it could be called clothing—on the table in front of her.

It was cruel and tangible proof of the jinitera images Celia had banished from her imagination: spiked heels, platform shoes, lycra shorts, see-through blouses, frilly underwear, expensive imported cosmetics.

“Tell me you bought this crap. All available, as you well know, only for dollars.”

Behind her, Celia heard the apartment door ease open. “Tía Celia, Tío Luis, I’m sorr—” Mid-syllable, the contrite voice changed to a banshee wail. “You’ve been snooping in my room! Gone through all my stuff!”

Celia turned and looked at her niece. In a voice so neutral she might have been commenting on the unwashed dishes, she said, “I think you owe us an explanation, Liliana.”

“Go to hell, both of you!” Liliana screamed, backing out.

Luis was after her in a flash. Liliana fled down the stairs. Celia moved to the door in time to see him catch her on the landing. He only held her by one wrist. With the other hand, Liliana beat on his chest and would have hit him in the face had he not blocked her wild blows. She shrieked incoherently. He held on, doggedly and silent.

Liliana gasped for breath, and in that splinter of silence, Celia’s words carried clearly. “Let her go, Luis. Liliana, come here.”

He instantly released his grip, probably assuming Liliana would respond to the authority in Celia’s voice as he had. Instead, she raced down the stairs. There was a short silence, followed by the sound of apartment doors easing shut as neighbours who had peeked out to see what was going on understood that whatever it was, it was over.

“Oh my,” Luis said wretchedly, trudging up from the landing. “What a mess.”

“Never mind. I can deal with her when she comes back.” Celia did not add, But only if you are not here. What she said was, “I need time to think. I need to be alone.”

Luis stopped halfway down the hallway and stared. “You mean you don’t—”

“I am very tired,” Celia said. She closed the apartment door quietly and leaned against it. It was a minute, perhaps two, before she heard Luis’s footsteps retreating down the stairs.

The stillness that followed felt like the cessation of a storm. Celia knew better. This was the eye of a hurricane, those few still hours before the howling would begin anew. This storm, the path of which could not be charted, would cut a swath of devastation through all their lives.

JOE managed to feign steadiness long enough to convey to his guests, government officials and potential business partners, that he had had a jolly good time at the cabaret. Only when the last one had been seen to his car or poured into a taxi did he drop the act and admit befuddlement. Where the hell had he left his own car? Not the BMW, which he greatly missed, but the damned Daewoo.

He spotted it near the end of the block. As he walked unsteadily toward it, he realized that a woman was shadowing him. He turned to size her up. She had thin legs, thin hips, full breasts, and full lips. Not bad.

“Amigo,” she murmured. “Could you give a girl a lift?”

He considered it, then remembered his agenda. “Chica, if I didn’t have an early meeting—” He fumbled the key into the lock of the car door.

She stood close to him, breathing warmth onto his neck. But as he struggled to open the car door, she backed away. “I see.”

Joe was not seeing all that well himself, not even the damned car door, which he was having trouble unlocking. By the time he got it open the woman had walked on. He was surprised that she had been so easy to shake off. Maybe she wasn’t a prostitute, just an employee at the club hoping for a lift home? He looked down the street in the direction she had gone but she was already out of sight.

For a moment he sat in the driver’s seat wondering if he was too drunk to drive to Pinar del Río. Should he go back to his mother’s apartment? But no, he reasoned. He was barely a mile from the Habana-Pinar freeway, which at this time of night would be empty of traffic. It was no more than a two-hour drive to Pinar. He could still get half a night’s sleep. That plus a shower and he’d be plenty sharp for his morning meeting.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

The voice, coming from directly behind him, caused him to jump violently. He jerked around and found himself facing Liliana, smiling with sleepy sweetness.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“You left the car unlocked. If I hadn’t come along somebody might’ve stolen something. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Not particularly. How did you know I was here?”

“I’m psychic.” She smiled mysteriously, enjoying her little secret. “The car was unlocked.”

Confusing as the situation was, Joe knew that this was not a product of his personal alcoholic-induced confusion. On that he was quite clear. “Look, I haven’t got time to take you home. I’ll put you in a taxi.”

“No!” Liliana’s shrill voice struck his eardrums like a sharp object. “Tío Luis wants to send me to a stinking re-education camp. Him and Tía Celia.” She began to sob.