“People Working thru chall”Excerpt-Enero-2025

Marc Inchcliffe is laid back fellow, taking whatever comes in strides.What some folks see as misfortune, he has stock response. “Hey! It could be worse. Just let your imagination run free and scare yourself back to happy.” Lately, he tells anyone who will listen. “If you survived 2020, worst year of 21^st century. You will live forever.” Wherever there are boats or water crafts. Marc is in his vineyard, or should say, Eden. His forte being propulsion and navigational systems. Qualified expertise not in abundance. He is sought after and well compensated, as his fame makes rounds. This Saturday, he is bound for Palm Beach to complete month’s long hibernation job. Kind of job, he likens to snake swallowing prey. Then hibernates during digestion. Family found themselves stranded at sea aboard mega yacht and called for help. Coastguard responded and radioed for towing. Cost of which, riled wealthy yachtsman. Aware, coastguard does not charge for towing. Expecting benevolence. Irate when this did not materialize. Four months elapsed, getting parts and meeting bureaucratic challenges. He was now at sea trials stage. Times past, he went out with armed guard. In case disagreement arose and boat owner decided he should take water hike. Usually, this came by question of money. Now, he outfits vessels with equipment that not only monitors performance. But also puts it through rigorous paces. What will they think of next? Marc is using a 2007 Rand McNally atlas. Guiding him from Monroe, through Miami-Dade to Broward and Palm Beach counties. Considered obsolete, now that there’s Google maps and audio directions he finds distracting. He prefers turning pages. No longer a young man, he adheres medication regimen that dictates. “Take with food.” Exiting on Sunset Drive, he heads East. U-turns at SW 67^th Avenue. Not seeing evidence of commercial district. Heading West didn’t improve his sense of quest, until he pulled over. Saw shopping centre ahead at SW 87^th Avenue. Not burger and fries person. Began scoping area for Wagon Wheel or Chuck Wagon restaurant. Ha! A bakery that seems popular, judging by snaky patron’s queue. It escaped him, line was not necessarily indicative of clientele support. Could be social distancing regulations. On entering, ears are assailed with Spanish exchanges between customers and staff. He peers into display case, chock filled with pastry. Which does not appeal to his taste. Decides to exit and continue his search, but glances at menu boards. There are sandwiches, and voila. Familiar item from English menu. Ubiquitous omelette. His turn came, young woman shot barrage of words at him, that had both staring at each other. Turning her head toward inner area, hollered a name. Matronly lady with Spanish features approached Marc, directed by head swerve. Responding to his interest in omelette. She rattled off sides at 75c each. Ended by asking. “For here or to go?” She told him, price includes cafe con leche. “No cafe con leche, please. You got tea?” He asked. “No tea, senor. Maybe, jugos naranja?” She asked, quickly corrected. “Orange juice, fresh from juicer.” She told him, pointing to machine. He gave her his credit card, she flipped screen over and told him. “Sign with finger, please. Box to left not working. So, take another box, please.” Box not working, is “No Tip.” Others range from 15-25% Now he begins silent come on with eye movements. Head shifts and that kind of smile. He signs, adds generous tip and settles down to wait. Begins thinking. “She’s very nice lady. Got to be sixties. But eyes has that teen sparkle of innocence.” He’s figuring how, he can get knowing her in a friendly way. Find out if she’s married and all that. She’s putting bread and things in a bag. Walks to isolated end of counter. With head jerk she beckons, tells him. “I make very good for you, hope you enjoy.” He seizes window. “Thank you..Miss. Or is it Mrs.?” She coyly tells him. “When you say if you enjoy. Maybe, I tell you.” She walked away, Marc decided on a plan. Overnight in Palm Beach and stop for breakfast. Instead of driving to Key West next day as planned. Driving into parking lot, agog with anticipation. He again reasoned with Self. “What if today is her day off? She seems that church praying, communion person. Hey! You are grown man. What you excited like Johnny going to prom?” With that self critique, he calmly stepped in. Waited three feet in line. Clerk threw question at him in Spanish. Recognized him and called into kitchen. He didn’t realize, but breathed sigh of relief. Matronly lady walked out with a smile. Asked, what he was having today. He told her, same as before. Gave her his business card with credit card. She eyeballed the card, stared at him with serious brow. Bringing angst, having overstepped. Now folks, watch female ingenuity at work. Unlike first time, she did not give him receipt. Went making omelette and brought it to him. As she walked away, seemingly by afterthought. She said. “Your receipt senor, in bag. Don’t eat and throw out as waste.” She followed with hearty chuckle and hand wave. Marc ogled her departing frame, until she went out of sight. On his receipt, she wrote. “Rosalina” and phone number. Giving her space, he called mid week. Did not get answer. Went to the shop, caring she was okay. She told him. “I go job place, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Sunday, Six in morning till two, evening. Then, I wait for bus and sometimes stop here, there and look. Before I go home and see all who call. I always say, they call back if it very important. If not. I have one phone at my bed to call policia if things happen. Do not have phone for pocket or handbag.” Scoffed at suggestion, she get cellphone at reasonable cost. “I sometimes not want be talking, talking. So, I happy with one phone.” He quietly mentioned, getting second line to his Consumer Cellular account. Connected to simple, easy to setup and use, smart phone like his. Brandishing and showing off his Samsung A21. That was first wrong move. She angrily replied. “I not be vaca (cow) with campana (bell) in purse. Because, that’s what meaning of cellphone. Ring, ring, ring. Where you at, do what? Turn camara (camera) I see. No more I do that. I say to Victore. You want see where I doing what? Look close. And I drop it in lake, for fish play talk.” Despite which, as days turned weeks, turned months. Marc did add her to his phone account. Gave her an A21 that she accepted, after laying down stringent conditions. “Do not be more Victore. Never, no time. Or, you know where it goes.”

Let us discover who these two humans are. One is Spanish, other not certain of his ethnicity. Has been classified “white” and willingly accepts. Jamaican by birth, but considers himself a globetrotter. Having lived in Australia, Britain, Ethiopia, France, Switzerland and presently. These United States of America. Gleaning bits of history from his Greek-Italian father, who was hardly home in his growing years. He came to see him as some kind of emissary. His British-Norwegian mother did not help enlightening him. She always held finger to her lips. Saying, any discussion about his father or his job. Could be taken as treason, for which the penalty was death by hanging or firing squad. He was mostly home schooled up to age ten. After which, he was sent to private boarding schools. One gets picture, this child was isolated from parental interaction. As would be normal for other middle class children. Italian born, Benito Inchcliffe. Was suspected to have had role. In Italy’s second invasion and conquering of Ethiopia, October, 1935. Exiling emperor Haile Selassie I, or vain efforts to stymie. Fear of reprisal meant, truth could not be pursued or revealed in family whispers. Emperor Selassie, addressed then League of Nations, June 30^th, 1936 at Geneva Switzerland headquarters. Unsuccessfully, seeking intervention in the armed incursion. Diplomatically or by show of force. After world war II, League of Nations became United Nations. In today’s arena of armed conflicts, that body is still ineffective. When it comes to preventing armed or other types of incursion, by one country into another. Marc explains. Older brother, Yunus, by different mother. Was priest who started Jamaica’s RasTafari doctrine. In solidarity with exiled Selassie. Ras means prince. Tafari means, respected, feared. Upon ascension he took name, Haile Selassie. Which interpreted, means “Power of the Trinity” Coinciding with biblical gospel, of Father, Son and Holy Ghost, being One and same. When Rastafarians intone, “Jah Rastafari” Jah, is Jehovah or God. This reinforces conviction, Selassie is God. Days after Selassie’s under throw. Yunus set about and rallied Jamaican’s support. Influencing British authorities to restore Selassie’s governance. Although not being fruitful, Selassie did find safety from persecution in Britain. Living there until 1941, when he triumphantly returned to his throne in Ethiopia. In 1974, he was overthrown by Marxist Colonel, Mengistu’s army. Was strangled in bed, as determined by court held inquest. Whilst globetrotting, Marc became adult. It is not known when and how he came to reside in these United States. His tale goes on. Long time resident of Paradise, with wife and three adult children. Who were reluctant to start their own families, or move out of parent’s home. Creating family tiff, with wife and young adults on one side. Marc on other. He amusedly recalls, singing in infant school “Farmer in the Dell” which chorus ended. “The Cheese stands alone.” Of the family’s three children. A daughter went law school for six years, did not have a degree. One son is Physiotherapist with warrior rehab programme. Other is Geologist in training. Marc’s daughter volunteers services at immigrant assistance programme. Often reminds, protesting dad. “We must lift others up, when given opportunity. Or they will bring us all down. Out of sheer frustration and despondency, dad.” His sons careers, does not reward them. Relative to high cost of their education. Which burden, Marc now regrets having shouldered. He reckons, had they been saddled with making loan payments for college tuition. They would have been forced to seek better paying vocations. His wife regaled their children always, ventured saying. He should be drunk happy they did not become bums, as he was inclined to in his early years. If only she knew, he ogled her with that contented smile as he thought. “One fine day, the perfect opportunity will arise.” One sunny California day, a vehicular convoy pulled up at their home. Armed horde quickly surrounded the property, as others banged furiously at portals. Wife near fainted, but Marc had apparently been through this. Waived visitors in with a resigned smile. Law enforcement of federal, state and local units. Asked after his eldest son the Physiotherapist, who was on the lam. His room door was sealed and warning against illegal access given. And promise to be back in twenty-four hours. Marc truthfully said he hadn’t faintest idea of the young man’s whereabouts. As they sought direction to his quarters, he asked with reverence and much respect. If legal guidelines were being adhered to. In absence of which, as they are quite aware. Efforts could be jeopardized. They were in quest of computers and cyber support paraphernalia. Threatened to quarantine all such equipment in the home. Marc shrugged, aware he had no viable alternative. Wife hyperventilated, as female agent tried calming her. Asked if she wanted to be seen by paramedics. Empathizing, woman to woman. She then whispered. Child pornography was at centre of their visit. If evidence was uncovered, there would be dire repercussions. Of course, this alarmed her anew. Raising anxiety to chronic levels. Family were advised, the home was being quarantined indefinitely. They had time to take personal items only, including medication and vacate the property until further notice. Marc asked no One in particular. “Are we still in America, or did we?” Then answered, saying. “Empire strikes and citizens tremble in fear. Only in America.” Marc and wife went to his in-laws. Notified adult children they could not go to their home until further notice, as per law enforcement. Not divulging further information. Marc was adept at what he called. “Tickling the monkey’s ass for a laugh.” So, he said to his wife with disarming smile.“Everyone knows your son is gay. When did he segue to kids? You do know he’s looking at hard time. You? Will never escape cloud of shame over your head. Tut tut tut.” She said, through teeth tightly clenched. “I’m in my parent’s house. Let’s go walk. I’ll answer your question.”Limbo was on.

Three days later, all good or bad things ended. November 8, 2018. Paradise was burnt to ground in a wildfire. Over one hundred humans and countless pet’s were lost in wild conflagration. First in his life, Marc invoked praises and gratitude for God’s intervention. By way of raid and temporary eviction from their home. Quite odd and for reason unknown. Marc was unaware of settling process, until wife told him. Both had date at insurance office. Settlement was generous, he signed without further ado.Wife insisted, insurance money, he dubbed “the loot.” Be split three ways instead of two. A third divided equally, among three young adults. He moved to Arizona, where he hitched up with younger woman. Whom he now suspects, was primarily motivated by fixation with his loot. Existence was deja-vu his marriage. Tension from senseless bickering and peaks valleys stress levels. He mentioned, going to Florida and looking around. “I heard you can rent or buy a boathouse on one of the Keys and really enjoy life.” He softly said, whilst caressing and finger strangling her long auburn tresses. “What the f…would you want with a boathouse, when you don’t have a boat yet? You always think and talk like a f…ing hobo.” She began an angry tirade, walked away. Kept calling him names and demeaning epithets. Quickly realized having misspoke. Saying boathouse instead of houseboat, but jeezaloo. Where did all that lye come from? He thankfully, did not have much personal effects or furniture. So he packed a small moving truck, with his Harley in tow. Took a slow scenic ride to Florida. Rented trailer in a park, tried making sense of conflicting facts regarding Covid 19. Some said was a hoax to be ignored. Others claim it was start of Armageddon. In time, fact trashed fiction. Now he’s social distancing, as he waits for omelette. Life was slow paced, near standstill. Despite buying Rosalina a cellphone, adding her to his contract. He was mindful of her edict. Not emulate Victore, or else. That in mind, he called once weekly. Asked how she’s doing and. “See you Saturday.” This time she told him. “I learn new trick with phone. Don’t ask what. I show you soon.” Curiosity burning his ears, he jumped when the phone dinged. Opened it and saw a text from Rosalina. “For omelette, come here this time. If you enjoy, then other time.” lt gave address. “Li’l Abner Mobile Home Park” He texted back. “Where is that?” She replied. “Bee never ask where forest with flowers and dust. He finds and go make honey.” Of course, throw him challenges. He didn’t ask orally but she volunteered, seeing question in his eyes. “They not want me, only part time. Which I not like. But what I do? Smile agree, and say. I stay home Saturday instead, do clean and ready. They say. Yes, okay.” Again he didn’t ask but she saw and told him. “Go walk, look for yourself. This not double like others, but me single so….” Rest she left unsaid by inference. One could say. Rosalina was gifted sensing mental unease, she assured Marc. “No husband, boyfriend or admirador. So you come when not busy, see how Rosalina doing. You got car and move very rapido. We go here, there and talk your mind.” Friendship and comfort level grew between these two as they went places. Gabbing freely about every subject, except anything that touched on her life before Marc. That was about to change, and Marc hadn’t faintest inkling until she said. “You know. Next week make anniversary for us and omelette. So, Friday you come here. We go your there, and morning I make best omelette. Say yes, now.” He didn’t need prompting. Said three yeses before catching himself. She went on. “You put autotruck with boats in space at front all night. Then we leave early morning.” She made breakfast and walked over to the kitchen sink as he read the Miami Herald. She whispered his name and told him. “Come here, mucho silencio.” He tiptoed and followed her finger to where it pointed, then told her. “Oh! That’s Key Deer. I’m told there used to be more but are now endangered specie.” She smiled and said. “Well, if they walk up to people, who skin and put them in pot. Of course there be less and less them.” He quickly replied. “Oh no! Two life sentences, just looking at them. And ten with no parole ever, for doing anything to harm them. You best come to the stove and stop staring at that Deer.” Smiling, she whispered. “Usted hombre tonto.” He laughed, replied. “Me Tonto, you Kemosabe.” She’s looking at him. Neither understands what other just said. She told him. “I said. “You silly man.” He added. “Right, and I said. Me silly man, you my woman.” We know he lucked into that. Didn’t have a clue what she had said. Slowly sipping drinks under Tiki Hut at water’s edge. It seemed, night’s cold front lingered into the day. Making it unFlorida cool in May. Aided by gentle wind off the gulf. Nature infused, Marc asked. “You ever been married?” “Muy bien, es la hora del cuento.” She sighed and began.“Oh, that Spanish quote? All right, it’s story time. I was born and lived life of unanswered questions, that would make most persons crazy. La ama de casa told me. What went before I got here, is what someone else wants it to be. Not necessarily what was. So I should be content and discover life as I go along. And enjoy experiences when I can. El mudo always kept me away from her, lest she bares some dark secret. That’s what I suspect, but who knows why. I am deCordova, after my father or grandfather. He was youngest of four brothers. Owned acres best fertile lands, for graze cattle and plant in Batista Cuba. They farmed sugarcane, citrus, coffee, corn, rice and tobacco in Vinales Valley. Grandpa especially, raised cattle, pigs and horses he called, steeds. Four deCordova men, married four Machado women and had seven children. Not counting scores ninos ilegitimos. Los bastardos, expositos. Illegitimates, of which I could be One. Am told, there in Spain. Part of country, named deCordova. Where children sent for be educated. As I matured, there was always question in my mind. Why wives and children sent away. Instead living as family with husbands and fathers. Curiosity is from only child, want to be with children my age. Machado had tobacco farms in Jamaica and America. At time, grandpa sold meat to America. Pig meat and beef. But there was discontent among los pobres. The poor. Grandpa was popular to farmhands, Dominicans and Bolivians. He went places, they hailed. “Papi chulo” or cute daddy. I grew up thinking. El mudo or, the Mute was my mother. Soon gave up that, thinking. She too young for role. But still, confuse. Did I imagine, very deep resemble between us? A man taught at Universidad. Came la hacienda, five evenings and one day to teach. At eight I very good in Spanish. But el profesor said, my English good and grammar not good. Four summers I went with him to Jamaica. Where his sister had big academy for board and teach. Her house was small on big hill and always breeze cool. I slept, one eye watching boy who bring to put oil in lamp. Then begin creep and slow move his hand on my leg. I kick and scream and told grandpa I never want to go back. Did I tell you? The Mute never spoke a word by lips. But eyes and face twist, told rare joy. But anger, mucho. So I ask. Why I not go school in Spain with other children. Can you imagine, growing up in place. Where no One you size or age to be play or relate? Think about it. Farmhands took children to work and la ninera cared for them. Grandpa said they were campesinos rurales with pulgas y garrapatas. I sorry, you not follow. Nanny cared for farmhand’s children. But grandpa said they were rural peasants with fleas and ticks. You have to forgive me. But I exist in Miami world, where mostly Spanish is language and I often lapse although try to not be insulting. Looking back, I guess there was no reason for me to be unhappy. Given my expose to things and lifestyle that made envy by others. Grandpa went to America often, to get farm and animal things. Which time he brought nice dress or two. Perfume, stockings, shoes and hat to groom. Now that I was early teens. He also sailed Jamaica often, visit farms and factory. Bring back herring paste and stuff for the English pantry. Assort tea, biscuits, jams and Tia Maria liquor I steal before bed. There was young man, Francisco Machado about six years mas old. Was high as wide, with voice that boomed. Even his laugh had loud mocking chill. Like rattle of snake before strike. I hated how he stared me with curled lip grin. He cared stallions, fixed grandpa’s cars and truck. Gramps had big Ford station wagon. Cadillac hardly drive. Five window Chevrolet truck, he used touring farms. Grandpa talked about his “five window Chevrolet” that only had two windows. As if it was only one made, just for him. I never did find if Cisco was part of wealthy Machado clan, but I learned from him. Things I cannot accept as fact, because there’s no One to say yeah and nay. You know, as el policia would say. The right word, hmmm.” “Corroborate!” Marc butts in to ease her quandary. She says. “Si si si!” Goes on. “In addition to fixing grandpa’s cars. He was trusted, drive gramps here and there. He said one evening. “Manana, we go campestre excursion. He stopped at estacada, introduced me to hombres, his carino. One older hombre with face almost hidden under hair, took us in truck to open field. There were many grande de madera jaulas that looked like grande trampa para langostas. From afar I didn’t know what they were, until we got closer. I saw, each had male occupant, half crouched or in squat. That’s only room there was, none for standing. Rations were left uneaten, and being honest. Caca looked better than what was given these prisoners. Cisco said, these men owned best acres and refused to accommodate rurales campesino. Said, when I got home, should tell Gramps where I been and what I seen. That way he will know, whose mercy he at why he still exists like glotonazo or gormandizer. Gramps swore in silence and referred to “that descreido” or Infidel. A word he used relative to Fidel Castro, but now meant to include Cisco. Outside farmsteads there were discontent rumblings. I could feel anger from eyes that stared at us. Whilst hands waved and lips smiled. Cisco had kind of, how should I say. Connection with the people, and their smiles for him were genuine. If not for gramps. Times changing in slow hurry, if you know what I mean. Cisco would disappear for months. Return with bush beard and ragged hair. Saying he’s been teaching pequenos agricultores in rural slopes. To farm and self sufficient, stave off starvation.Their not having means to buy in marketplace. Truth is, wealth was most in hands large landowners. Who supported Batista without question. Those who opposed him were murdered. There was growing hatred among las la plebe, the common people. For Americans and all things America. In their support of Batista’s oppressive dictatorship. Depending on where you went, met different levels resentment. Then came word, “Brigadista” Boys ten years old and up, making threats and demands. With promise of reprisal at right time, for those who failed to heed words. I have never been able to grasp, if these were opportunity hoodlums. Riding shotgun someone’s stage. Our corner was safe from incursion, until Batista fled ahead of the revolution. What was happening? I thought. Yet, there was nothing to fear. Cisco made it known, I was his “Novia” This did not go over well with Gramps. He voiced loud and strong. Cisco bellowed loud laugh. Advised grandpa to show generosity. Accept what is new order and maybe get elected gobernador with prosecutin immunity when wide “cleansing” began. Truck was load with cows, bulls and pigs to el matadero. Then weekend mercado.” She breaks narration, with finger gently chides. “The slaughterhouse, then market. “Novia” is girlfriend and grandpa was offered title of governor. Wave a finger, please Marc. Not be in the head for later ask.” Goes on. “Bandoleros struck, animals never arrived as planned. That was only beginning of looting, displace and property seizures in name of great revolucion. In one place, Brigadista came for meaning. Young people helping spread literacy and virtues of Castro’s revolution. Among Cubans who couldn’t read or write. On other hand, it referred to armed youth taking action. Enforcing people compliance with dogma and revolution aims. Policia served only who paid price, and satisfied lust for property or other assets. Took to guarding landowners and their property. In exchange for high ransom and livestock. In time, revolution swept over them. Like flash fire through cane fields. Consuming those who could not flee. Farmhands, in cahoots with outsiders. Began looting livestock, crops. Carted away in vehicles, “borrowed” from owners. Grandpa was broken in spirit, sat me down one night and said. Best place for me, was Jamaica for months. Then I could go from there to America by Pedro Pan. No, the Mute would not go with me. She would stay and now be his nanny. Not knowing how blabbing would lead. As they say, naive. I told Cisco of grandpa’s plan for me. He came boldly up steps, entered hacienda. Changed man, eyes mirrored el Diablo. He confronted Gramps. They argued back and forth in anger, before grandpa chased him out. His parting words made me shiver. He told grandpa. Day I leave, is day he breathes last breath. And like it or not. We will be married. Soon as he has words with arzobispo. I looked at him with awe and wondered. Why, how did he access archbishop. Bypassing our sacerdote or priest. Ay caramba! What am I in for? I am only seventeen. Says he must speak to me tonight. Be at promenade after dusk, he said. Then paused and added. “There’s no reason for fears. I will harm no One who does not try to harm me or you.” It was then he shifted his bolero, revealing pistol’s butt. I sat and listened in disbelief. Could not ask the Mute, she would not reveal anything. I dared not say anything to grandpa. We got married, month I turned nineteen. No One knew or would say what day. Grandpa died from heart failure less than one month after. He was only fifty two years old. I told myself I was happy he died. Wasn’t slain like so many others. Shot or hacked and left in courtyards. To bloat until hauled away and discarded, without ceremony or recognize. Seems, stealing and seizures were revenge. Rather than for need. The one man who oversaw and dictated policies. Enriching few and disinherited majority, had safely taken flight to next paradise. Now I had no One but the Mute, who looked and said nothing. Is there anyone else who lived such torturous existence? I doubt. Near twenty and pregnant again. Cisco helping rural farmers and compadres four were ever around. I had little privacy and began thinking. Maybe there could be relief in death. But refused to think that way. Cisco came and trampled with pent up desires. I bled like cerda apunalado and lost conscious. Came to in small hospicio that smelled of death and dying. I dry sobbed silently. Recall when Gramps lived, had taken me better place than this. Was relieved, Cisco could not accuse me doing something to the infant this time. Lord, I felt weak, sore and empty. I came around gradual. Felt strength and willpower slowly return to thin body. Seemed after every miscarriage, I lost something that never came back. You understand what I mean? Because listening to me. What I just said, did not make sense. Of course I lost the…You understand? Say you do, so I can go on and not feel stupid.” He kissed her lightly on the lips and told her. “Say nothing more, wait one minute.” Went to the bar and brought back two tumblers with liquorade and straws. She plunked both straws in her tumbler and siphoned long and hard. Swallowed hurriedly then said. “You spoil me, but you should. Because I am good for ….” Quickly clasping a hand to her forehead, she went silent. Marc stared with deep concern and asked what was matter. After ten seconds, she slowly said. “Oooh! I think I took too many drink too fast and what the kids say. I did freeze the brain. Now what was last thing? Oh, I know. Twenty two and pregnant third time. I ask virgin Mary, what sin rests on my head. Why twice I fail to conceive to term and will this time be different. Four months and going. I begin thinking, this time will know motherhood. Cisco comes home, says we have to go Havana. Castro talking to everyone at Plazza de la Revolucion. Revolution Square. A three day drive in grandpa’s truck. Which was aged by now but made the trip. Started out with thirteen souls, of which I was only woman. Cisco got provisions and accommodations along the way, in name of the revolution. Men kept joining us, until I lost count by time we got to Havana. But I can tell you now. That truck limped in, like worn out underfed plough mule. All the rumbling over poor roads, hitting craters, dodging and heaving. I pleaded with Cisco. Needing rest before standing in that crowd, packed like beach sand. No, he could not betray revolution. We both had to be there, showing solidarity with Fidel. He hadn’t even arrived yet. Everyone was jostling to get vantage, except me. I fainted, had brief intervals before I went out. I dreamed. Lying on the beach like, and sun piercing my eyes with very strong beam. Turned my head aside and heard a man’s voice. Blinking eyes, I saw three standing forms. Closed my eyes again and wondered if was really dreaming or what. Someone was gently shaking my shoulder. I half opened my eyes and saw a man in coveralls. I asked where am I, what happened to me. He told me I should rest and when am fit enough, will be told everything. Fit enough? I wondered and went off to sleep without knowing. Later I thought, maybe they gave me something. I almost fainted, when morning of discharge. Doctor told me I had been there twenty three days. After miscarrying for third time and horror of horrors. Sixteen of those twenty three I was in deep coma. My jaw fell, oh my God I was near death. I began quietly sobbing, then screamed loud. As it hit me, I almost died. Closed my eyes and clenched both fists. Stomped the floor hard and felt prick of a needle. Late evening I awoke, the doctor came and asked how I felt. Told him I felt okay. He said they will keep me overnight and see me in the morning. If am stable I could be sent home, it’s up to me. Hacienda looked different, with many people coming and going all time. Every thread of clothes, shoes and personal stuff of mine and Gramps were all gone. There was no night or day, no bedtime or dinnertime. I felt like in chaos whorehouse. Told Cisco he should find place, where I could be by me. Cisco said I should join Brigadista effort to teach. Although official programme already ended, with claims of big success. Others like myself, who were fortunate to be equipped. Should share knowledge with young women. Enable better understand and support the revolution. Lord knows, I was overjoyed to at last be interchanging ideas. Mingle and impart with others. Cisco trampled with fierce but I never got pregnant again. Now he suspected, and so did I with sad happy. Doctors took matters into hand after last episode. Only difference. Cisco was furious if this could be proven. And I was happy any which way, although not full. Wanting smell my bambina or maybe bambino and shush when cry. Give el seno, brings much comfort to a woman. But the coma frightens, and I say the virgin Mary knows best why three and nothing. I went back to Havana and found the doctor who treated. Said I had nowhere to be. Was there any work could do at the hospital. Exchange for stay in residence block. I was given small cot in room of eight. With four other women and three men.” She pauses.

“Mariel” At first I wasn’t interested. But secret lover, the doctor. Said he was making secret plans to skip. If caught, he would be sent to cane fields as enemy of revolution. Roommate Antonio, had connections with boat owners making Mariel flotilla. Way it worked was. Someone in America had to pay before you were taken aboard. If any two time was found, chances are you could leave and not reach. If I were to make trip, I needed papers to identify. Thirty-four years old and never seen birth or marriage deed. Can you believe that? Strange as it sounds, after my marriage. I never once went by Machado and no One cared. I was deCordova without realizing there was something strange about that. In midst of all this, Antonio has picture of the boat and I am looking at it. Painted like carnival ride, I am almost certain it’s grandpa’s boat. I go down to the harbour one evening. Who do I see? Sergio. He’s old, bearded and grins toothless gums. How could a young man so quickly age and…He greets and we talk a bit. I ask if he still sees or knows where Cisco at. He turns aside, spits glob of saliva then says. “There’s family of swine in Florida. A stinkin Boar, a fat Sow and three runted pigs. That’s your Francisco. He was never about revolution. He about what Francisco could grrrab for Francisco. So he grrrabs and goes far away, to Florida in Camaguey.” I look at him and..Sergio. Florida is America where all boats going. He grins as slowly shakes his head side to side and replies. “No minino. (pussycat) Swine family happy in Florida, Camaguey. They not go Florida, America. I tell you because I know. Mucho enemigo wait for Francisco with daga larga.” (Many enemies with long daggers). I ask Sergio, who lives in the hacienda. He says, last he knew. Ramone’s sister and in-laws were to the atico, because there cool most times. There’s no electric to run wells, so it not very appealing to others. I say if we can go there, because I need papers. He said best pay familia to adoptar and go on the boat. I was eager going the hacienda. It was high off ground on caissons like small rooms. Grandpa used to go the attic and down secret stair to caisson. He always went when we about sailing to Jamaica. We always went to a big bank at a four way street. I say maybe there’s money in a place. No, not a four way. I mean a four way cross street. I am looking at right now. When Gramps went, he always left me with chubby lady and her husband. Miss Tatum and Mr. Best. He stayed very long at one time. She took me for lemonade or ice cream and I stood watching cars and bus and people. El policia stood in small house doing hand signal to cars. Then blew a whistle for us to cross. Never forgot, but things like that saddened me. Because had no One to share when came home. Except the Mute, who listened and smiled before walking away. Sergio said I should go to cathedral and ask to see the priest. Say I pray for annulment. Because I was young and forced marry guerilla to save grandfather’s life. Papers would take three months at best to get find and prepare. Now I suspect, Sergio found value, money at hacienda. Maybe gold and big pearls because he seemed happy, did everything for me. I joined family Santos of seven and eight of Riviera. Then I went through long process and more interview. And same questions told last time to different people. It came as good and bad fortune. Church said there was no deed of marriage. I couldn’t understand this turn. Was so very tiring and frustrate but this was freedom tasting. So I shut up and obeyed, with big smile to everyone. When at last everything was smooth. Woman Santos took me in supermarket to put cans on shelf. She know why man Santos go home for lunch and fight. Then after two years, they show me to be cashier. But I say I not like the job. Why? Every time they come and say, dinero gone, dinero short, dinero not right. As if I steal, and I am not stealing from no One, not ever. Truth was, I never liked Santos’ boy either. Finally get big dog in his cage and sigh happy. Then puppy start caca all over. So I says to him. “Look out. Maybe I prune cojones like farm pig. I be very good at.” They not like what I tell his boy, have big talk in the night. I rent with people, but they not nice. The women got men, always want try something. And not care they woman looking. I hurry and get my place where I not share with anyone, and live there long time. Where I live is longest. And is only second place I live with my own self and very happy. I think every time about the Mute. So I say, if Cisco was truthful. All time from child and growing up. Mute was my mother and grandpa’s sweetheart. Could it be, she was make sure I go bed every night and then go his bed? He never had woman and she never had man. Although we never spoke, would have been better if she was coming Jamaica with me. I was still scared of the boy who cleaned lamp. And the Mute would keep him away. When Gramps said I would go alone and Mute would stay with him. I never looked deep into it. But now, I do. It is not right, these things hidden from me. But what can I do?”And their story goes on. “It’s a long way to Tipperary.”

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