Rosa Jordan - The Woman She Was

“Divorce?” Alma looked stricken.

“Sorry, Mamá, but that’s the way it is. In America, anyway.”

Luis watched his mother trying to cover her disappointment by plying first José’s plate, then his, then her own with food. The news jolted him too but with mixed emotions: sorry for his mother’s sake, yet pleased that José had not returned with a triumphant entourage of wife and children. Somewhere beneath those feelings was yet another one that left Luis shaken: fear of the unknown. Not yet identified for what it was, he did his best to suppress it. Yet it rose up in his gut and spread out like the hood of a cobra: the knowledge that just as his brother’s leaving had changed everything, so would his return.

Luis put down his fork and reached for the only defence he could think of: a better understanding of what he was up against. “So, José. What brings you back?”

“Business.” José wiggled his eyebrows comically and lowered his voice to suggest shady dealings. “Pharmaceuticals.” Then added seriously, “Basic medical supplies.”

José reached across the table and caught Alma’s hand that had lain limp on the table since mention of the divorce. “Plus I wanted to see my mamá, to ask her pardon for being such a neglectful son.”

Alma slapped his hand away. “ Perdón, no! A good paddling is what you deserve.” But she smiled and began eating.

Luis felt a simmering resentment at the ease with which José charmed their mother, and fished for a question that would show him in a less favourable light. “Did you finish medical school?”

José dug into his food and, mouth full, shook his head. When he was able to speak again, he said, “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Naturally. Not in the States,” Luis observed smugly.

If José noticed the smugness he didn’t show it. He replied cheerfully, “But you know how it is: one door closes, another opens. I’ve done well; my company’s still growing.”

“And you have some notion of expanding into Cuba.”

“That’s the plan,” José mumbled from behind another mouthful of rice and beans.

“No chance. We are not ready to travel that road.”

“We?” The expressive eyebrows shot up. “ You may not be a capitalist, Luis, but the Cuban government is cutting business deals right, left, and centre.”

“With Europeans and the Chinese, sure. With Yanquis, never,” Luis informed him coldly. Then added, as honesty compelled him to do, “Except for essential foodstuffs.”

José waved his fork dismissively. “Food now, medical supplies tomorrow. Eventually all Cuba’s essentials will come from the United States. It’s only natural—”

José broke off up when a hip-swinging woman in her early twenties walked in without knocking. She flashed a neighbourly smile at Luis and one of bold curiosity at José. Motioning to the cooking pot she carried, she spoke to Alma. “I ran out of kerosene. My rice needs another ten minutes.”

Alma waved her to the kitchen. “Leave it, Yvonne. I’ll bring it over when it’s done.”

Luis poked irritably at his food. “Cuba does not need US pharmaceuticals! Ours are vastly superior. But for the damned blockade, we would be producing plenty!”

“Hey, I don’t support the embargo. Most Americans don’t. As soon as Fidel kicks off—”

“Damn you Miami gusanos!” Luis shouted. “Like maggots, just waiting—”

Yvonne came out of the kitchen and headed for the door. “Gracias, Alma.” She cast a mischievous glance at them as she passed. “I see your sons get along well.”

“Just like old times,” Alma called after her in a cheery voice. But when Alma looked at her quarrelling boys, now men, her eyes were sad. “Never a meal in peace,” she said quietly so that only they heard.

Luis was immediately ashamed for having let his temper get the best of him so quickly over—nothing, really. “Perdón, Mamá.”

He thought José ought to have apologised to her too, but José was looking at him. “I didn’t mean to set you off, Luis. So what’re you up to these days?”

Luis was considering how he wanted to answer that question when Alma spoke. “Luis is the fourth-highest-ranking official in the energy department. A very important post. He has been a member of the National Assembly for five years.”

“Holy shit!” José exclaimed, giving Luis the satisfaction of seeing his younger brother look genuinely impressed. “What is Cuba’s energy outlook? I hear it’s pretty bleak.”

“Only because of the blockade. Once our oil reserves are developed—”

“Cuba has oil reserves?”

“We do. And unlimited solar potential. Of course, being cut off from US technology has delayed our solar development.” He gave José an accusing look. “I guess you heard that US State Department refused to grant its own scientists visas to attend the most recent international conference held in Habana on solar energy.”

“Yeah, but that’s going to change.” José glanced around the shabbily furnished apartment and back at his mother. “It’s bound to be for the better.”

Alma tilted her head, thinking this over. Luis had a general sense of his mother’s politics but could not guess how she might feel about what her younger son had just said.

After a moment of silence, Alma spoke heavily, with the certainty of a person who has lived through political upheaval. “The only good change is slow change.”

Two children, one black, one brown, bounded in. The younger boy was holding his arm, crying. The older one, a self-assured ten-year-old, took charge. “Where is Doctora Celia?” he demanded. “David hurt his arm.”

“She is not here at the moment,” Luis told him. “Let me see.”

David held up a chocolate-coloured arm for Luis’s inspection.

“Can you wiggle your fingers?” Luis asked.

The boy wiggled his fingers, flapped his hand, then waved his whole arm up and down. “Maybe it’s okay now,” the child conceded.

Luis suppressed a smile. “Seems to be. But if it keeps hurting, perhaps you should walk over to the clinic and have the nurse look at.”

“ Sí, sí, gracias! ” they shouted in unison and bounded out.

“Celia still visits?” José addressed the question to Alma.

“Claro. That girl is like a daughter to me.”

“Did she ever marry?” The question appeared casual, but Luis wasn’t fooled for a second. Por Dios, how he wished he could answer that in the affirmative!

Alma sighed. “Not yet.”

“Maybe she’s still pining for me.” José grinned.

Luis guffawed. “What an egotist you are, José!”

Then Alma delivered what Luis appreciated as the coup de grâce . “Celia’s engaged. Didn’t she tell you?”

José looked abashed. “No, she didn’t.”

“To Luis. Since two years ago.”

José’s open-mouthed astonishment gave Luis enormous satisfaction. He had been momentarily put out to find that Celia had not told José herself, but now he was glad she hadn’t. It was worth anything to have this moment of triumph.

Suddenly José burst out laughing.

“What is so funny?” Luis demanded.

José shook his head. “Just—life, I guess. Always ready with the curve balls.”

Alma replenished their plates with more black beans and rice. “I’m sorry there’s no meat. Do you still like moros y cristianos?”

“Love ’em,” José assured her. “I’ve cut way back on meat anyway.”

He gave Luis a long, speculative gaze across the table. “Tell you what,” José said finally. “I’m going to Varadero Friday next. Come along, you and Celia. I’ll treat you to lunch.”

“Celia will be in Santiago that weekend for a medical conference.”