Next Year in Havana(46)
I imagine what our future will look like, where we will live, how we will live together. Attempt to envision what my life will look like when we defeat Batista. I think I would like to go back to practicing law, perhaps become a judge one day. I can no longer fathom a future without you.
I write back to him, the act of committing my pen to paper giving me courage to share all that is in my heart.
I want a future with you, too.
I scour my father’s library for José Martí’s writing, for the men Pablo admires—Locke, Montesquieu, Rousseau; the books are faithful companions as I wait for him. The days between his letters turn into a week, two, and pass by as I spend time with my sisters, shopping with Ana. Alejandro is gone as well, and I can’t help but fear that unseen forces are operating within the country, weaving disorder, and two men I care about—deeply—are involved.
The presidential election is held on November 1, and Batista’s candidate for president, Agüero, wins under mysterious circumstances. Murmurs ripple through the country—suggesting Batista rigged the vote in his favor. We waited and waited for elections, years, years of promises, years of hope for democracy, years of Batista, and it was all a foregone conclusion. Agüero will be Batista’s puppet.
The hope many held in their hearts is now reduced to tatters. After nearly a decade of Batista, we are now to have more of his rule in one form or another. We are fractured between those who are ambivalent to this outcome and those who mourn it. No one seems genuinely happy about Batista—he is not a man who garners great loyalty except perhaps within his most inner circle—but there is a sort of muted relief that envelops my parents.
Our house has become an uncomfortable place, everyone walking on eggshells. The servants smile, but there’s an edge to it now, a simmering anger lingering behind the flash of white teeth. Our nanny, Magda, is a buffer between the family and the rest of the staff, both parent by love and employee in our parents’ eyes. She’s the glue that keeps us together now that the family feels more fractured than ever—Isabel is consumed with Alberto, each day pulling further and further away; Maria is occupied with her games and toys, cocooned in an imaginary world where Cuba isn’t cannibalizing itself; and Beatriz and Alejandro—
They always had secrets as twins, but now I fear those secrets run far deeper and more insidious. I’ve already lost one sibling to this madness; how can I lose another?
Magda walks beside me and Ana as we drift through the store, our gazes lingering on the glittering jewelry ensconced behind glass cases. It seems incredibly indulgent to go shopping in times like these, but without these amusements to pass the time, the days grow stagnant, the waiting and wondering and tension unbearable.
“What do you think about this necklace?” Ana asks, pointing out a pretty set of pearls on display.
“More your style than mine, but pretty. They’d look nice with your new yellow dress.”
She smiles. “They would, wouldn’t they?” She lingers over them while Magda and I drift to the next set of cases, the next display of exquisite jewelry.
“I wish Beatriz would have come with us,” Magda whispers to me.
“Me, too.”
“What did she say when you invited her?” Magda asks.
“That she already had plans.”
I didn’t ask what they were; at the moment, it hardly seems in my best interest to inquire considering how much we’ve all been sneaking about lately.
“Plans.” Magda’s expression is grim. “She needs to spend less time up to no good and more time trying to find a husband.”
I can’t help but grin. “You sound like my mother.”
Magda and my mother are strange allies in the house. Their attitude toward me and my sisters might be different, but they work in concert, Magda a gentler, more affectionate version of our mother.
“Your mother knows what she’s about. And for as smart as she is, Beatriz can be incredibly foolish.”
“Headstrong,” I say, feeling the need to defend my sister.
Her expression softens. “Yes. Headstrong. And a bit stubborn, too.”
My lips twitch. Beatriz is undeniably stubborn.
I reach out and squeeze Magda’s hand, the familiarity of her touch a comfort in these tumultuous times.
Ana joins us, and all talk of Beatriz ceases; Magda, too, shares our mother’s devotion to protecting the integrity of the Perez name.
I wander off, half-heartedly looking at jewelry while Ana buys the pearls.
“Elisa.”
I turn at the sound of my name, at the faint pressure against my elbow.
My brother is suddenly in front of me, and for a moment, seeing him here in a store we accompanied our mother to when we were younger, it feels as though we have both gone back in time to when things were simpler and we weren’t divided by ideology and war.
Alejandro looks better than he did outside our home the day he saw me with Pablo, but he’s still unkempt, his appearance so different from the urbane brother I remember.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” I whisper, my gaze darting around the store. Magda and Ana are thankfully preoccupied with the pearl purchase.
His expression is grim. “I was waiting for you outside the house. I saw you leave with Magda and followed you. I need to talk to you.”
He pulls me into a corner so Magda and Ana can’t see us. “I heard a rumor the other day; they say Batista has arrested some rebels. Fidel’s men.”