When We Left Cuba(82)

As much as I wish it were otherwise, we are defined by these roles we play; the tensions between Nick and me creep into our relationship despite our best wishes.

“Have you heard anything from Dwyer?” Nick asks when we’re lying in bed one night in November, two weeks after the missile crisis has ended.

“No, I haven’t.”

Each day that I’ve walked home from the market or the store, I’ve wondered if Dwyer would be waiting for me on the front steps again, only to be greeted by bare stone.

“You sound disappointed.”

“Not disappointed—just—it felt good to be doing something,” I finally answer. “To not be so helpless.”

“Is that how you feel? Helpless?”

“How could I not? There are still men suffering in Fidel’s prisons.” I don’t say Eduardo’s name, but it doesn’t matter. He lingers between us anyway. “So many of my countrymen and women still suffer under Fidel’s rule.”

“I know they do, and I understand your frustrations, but you have to be patient. These things take time. We’re doing everything we can.”

“Are you? You worry about the United States looking weak in front of the Soviets, and yet, Kennedy hasn’t felt the same way about appearing weak in front of Cuba, has he? Where do the Bay of Pigs prisoners fit in all of this? They’re still there, languishing in Fidel’s jails, and Kennedy hasn’t exactly flexed his might.

“We’ve been patient. It’s been almost four years since Fidel took power. Don’t tell me to be patient.”

“There are other problems going on in the world, Beatriz. Other battles to be fought. It isn’t just Cuba.”

“At least some people are willing to do something.”

“Who? The CIA? The CIA isn’t the answer to all of your problems. The Soviets knew about the Bay of Pigs a week in advance. The CIA knew they knew. They chose not to tell the president, to let it play out even when they had to realize what the outcome would be. You want to be angry at someone, be angry with your Mr. Dwyer and his friends.”

“What is Kennedy doing to get them out?”

“These things take time, Beatriz.”

“Fidel wanted tractors for the men. How hard is that to do?”

“Yes, he did, and now he wants sixty-two million dollars. For now. But no one knows what Castro really wants. He aims to make trouble more than anything else.”

“Then do more.”

“I’m trying. We’re all trying. Bobby Kennedy is personally doing everything he can to help. As are many others.”

“Are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that Cuba and its people feel like an afterthought. You were all content to send Cubans to Playa Girón to risk their lives in order to solve your Castro problem for you, but now that you’ve all failed them, you aren’t willing to do what you need to in order to save them.”

“Is that really what you think of me? That I’ve turned my back on Cuba?”

I hear the unspoken words in his voice—

That I’ve turned my back on you.

“They’ve been rotting in cells for over a year and a half,” I reply. “They’re sick; they’re suffering.”

“And we’ve been working on it.”

“Really? Your President Kennedy seems far more concerned with other matters. From what I hear, the family members of the prisoners are doing more to get them out than the U.S. Government that started all of this.”

“It isn’t just Cuba Jack has to worry about. You have no idea how many troubles he has on his plate.

“This plan was put into motion before he even took office. He had his reservations, but it was the CIA’s baby, and your Mr. Dwyer certainly did what he could to push it along.”

“He isn’t my Mr. Dwyer.”

“Isn’t he? You’re a part of my life, Beatriz. Do you really think I’m not going to worry about you?”

“Don’t act like I’m some problem you have to fix, another person for you to take care of, some silly woman who needs a man to look after her.”

“I never said that.”

“But it’s how you make me feel. Like we can’t be equals because I’m a woman and you’re a man.”

“It isn’t like that. You know it isn’t like that. I worry about you. Constantly. You think you can take on Fidel, but you can’t.”

“Eduardo thought I could.”

“Is that what this is about then? Eduardo?”

“He’s in prison. Fighting for our country. He’s like family. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t think of him?”

“I don’t begrudge you for being his friend. But don’t tell me it’s just friendship between you.”

“He’s been sentenced to thirty years in prison. I hardly think he is preoccupied with romance at the moment.”

“And when he’s released? Is he going to pull you back into his world?”

“You cannot possibly be jealous of a man in prison.”

“It’s not jealousy. It’s concern. There are groups of exiles who are being monitored closely for their activities inside the United States. And before he left for Cuba, Eduardo’s name kept turning up on those lists. They’re smuggling things into the country. Weapons. Explosives. There are rumors that they have planned attacks inside the United States to make it look like pro-Castro forces are at work in order to spur our action. Eduardo was in the thick of everything. I don’t want him dragging you down with him.”