The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba(64)

It’s difficult to understand how my countrymen can support Spain after all they’ve done to us. I often feel as though I must inhabit a different version of Cuba than they do, one where I see suffering and injustice everywhere I look and they turn their gaze away, eagerly supporting our oppressor. The Spanish have certainly done their part to stoke fear and division; when you control the news and regulate speech in a country you can shape reality however you see fit. And yet, are the camps not enough proof that Spain does not have our best interests at heart, that they are literally killing Cubans at an alarming rate with their cruel policies? How are we still so divided? How can two people look at something like Spain’s absolute and cruel dominion over Cuba and see it so differently?

I was coming back from passing a message to a household sympathetic to the revolutionaries when one of the protests in favor of the Spanish passed me by, and I felt a wave of fury unlike any I’ve ever experienced before. The Spanish have burned my home to the ground, killed or seized the animals we raised for their own purposes, and forced so many Cubans into reconcentration camps. Do our lives, our loss, mean nothing to our countrymen who have not suffered a similar fate? What will it take for them to support us?

One afternoon, I return to the Hotel Inglaterra for another meeting with Carlos Carbonell. He’s waiting for me in the same room as before, but this time he is alone.

“We were successful,” Carlos says in greeting.

I’ve seen the newspapers strewn about Havana that carried the news of Evangelina’s escape from Recogidas, but I’ve heard little about the fate of the rest of the men involved in her rescue.

“We were. Is everyone else safe?”

“They are. Decker is back in the United States.”

“And Weyler is in Spain where he belongs,” I reply, although in truth, given all he has done, the death that constantly surrounds me in the camp, I’d rather see him in hell.

“He is. Hopefully, it is the first step to bringing about change in Cuba.” Carlos motions to a velvet bag beside him. “I brought you something—a thank-you for helping us.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he replies, his voice gentle. “It is only right. We couldn’t have gotten her out of prison without your help. We all owe her freedom to you. You risked a great deal.”

“It’s no different than what you did.”

“I have less to lose,” Carlos replies. “You have a family?”

“I do.”

“I thought you might. I remember the scandal awhile back. Your parents said little about it, but the rumor was that you had married.”

“I did.”

“Are you happy in your marriage?”

“Very much.”

“I’m happy to hear that for you. That man the last time we met here—the one you were standing with in the hall—there was something between you. Love in your eyes and his. Was that your husband?”

“It was.”

“And he is fine with you working as a courier?”

“It’s complicated. But we’re all doing our part for Cuba now, aren’t we?” I hesitate, and then I ask the question I have wondered about since our paths crossed again. “Have you—did you tell my parents that you saw me?”

“I didn’t. Would you like me to?”

“No, I can’t imagine that they would understand. We haven’t seen each other in many years, but from what I remember, their sympathies were always with the Spanish.”

“I think their sympathies are with whomever helps them retain the life they are accustomed to. They’ll have to adjust wherever the tide turns in Cuba or they will be left behind in this new world we are creating.”

I don’t disagree with his assessment of my family. My parents have never been overly political, but then again, supporting the status quo is a choice in and of itself.

“Is that why you fight for Cuba?” I ask him. “Because you think the world is changing and you want to move with it?”

“Perhaps. Is that why you do this? The courier work? You have to know how dangerous it is; they expelled Clemencia Arango from the country for it. Other women are in Recogidas.”

“We’re all risking something in Cuba at the moment. The reconcentrados are dying in the camp. The risk is worth it, if it means ending our suffering. Some days it feels like death breathes down my neck, whether it be from the disease and hunger in the camps or the risk of the Spanish branding me a spy. If I’m going to leave this world, I’d rather do it fighting for what I believe in.”

“Your parents would help you if they knew you were among the reconcentrados. Your brother has grown into a fine man. I can’t imagine he would want to see his sister brought so low.”

“I made my choice a long time ago. There’s no place for me in the life they live. As you said, Cuba is changing, and I must change with her. I can’t pretend as they do that everything is fine. I want more for myself. For my family, for my daughter. For all of us. We deserve better than this country we have been given by the Spanish, deserve more than this life we’re forced to lead.”

“This money will help then. If you want to continue passing messages for me, I have work for you. As long as you’re sure that this is what you want, that you understand the chance you’re taking.”