“All right... let me think about this.”
“Let me know before I meet Jack so I can tell him if you and I are leaving Cuba early.”
“All right... and if the tournament has been cancelled, then the decision has already been made for us.”
Borrowing from her book, I said, “It will be a sign from God.”
“No, it will be a decision made by the Cuban or American government.”
“That too.”
We looked up the street but the group had disappeared. “We lost them. Let’s find a place for a cold beer.”
She took her itinerary out of her bag. “Lunch is at Los Nardos. I know where that is.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Come on. Tad will be in a panic if he thinks we’re missing.”
“Good training for him when we do go missing.”
We took our time walking, and on the way I ran all this through my mind. I couldn’t get a tight grip on Antonio, but if I had ten minutes alone with him in one of these back alleys, I’d have some answers. But as Sara pointed out, this was not Afghanistan, where I could be very insistent with the locals about answering my questions.
Anyway, it was easy to make a good case for abandoning this mission and getting out of Cuba. But I told Sara that if I came here, I wouldn’t back out. So this was her decision. And if she was influenced by my assurances and we got arrested, it wouldn’t be the first time I miscalculated.
She took my hand as we walked and said, “I’m not afraid of death, Mac. I’m afraid that the police will arrest us — here or in Camagüey — find the map, and... make us confess... I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to let everyone down.”
“You won’t.”
“Also... I feel responsible for getting you into this.”
“I understand the responsibility of command. But I knew what I was getting into.” Well, not all of it. There are always surprises.
“In the Army... if you gave an order that... caused a death...”
“Shit happens.” I added, “I wasn’t back in the rear phoning in orders, I was right there at the front, and that’s where you’re at now.”
She glanced at me, then said, “All right... if I say we leave, it’s my decision. If I say we go forward...”
“I promise I won’t blame you if we wind up dead or in jail. But I won’t be happy.”
She forced a smile, then said, “Most men in this situation would jump at the chance to go home, collect fifty thousand dollars, and tell their friends they slept with a woman in Havana who paid for their vacation.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Well, thank you for listening. I’ll let you know before you meet Jack.”
“Okay, and if we’re not going to Camagüey, I do not want to spend another week with the Yale educational tour.”
“It won’t kill you.”
“It might.”
She understood that I wasn’t making a joke and agreed, “If we’re being watched, it would be good to get out of here as quickly as possible.”
“Correct.”
“But it’s difficult... There are no commercial flights to the U.S.... but maybe we can get a ticket to Mexico or Canada.”
“Even if we do, we may be on a watch list at the airport.”
“We seem to be running out of options,” she said.
“We never had many options. And when that happens, you just push on.”
“To Camagüey.”
“Correct.”
“With or without meeting our contact here.”
“Correct.”
“We’re back to where we started,” she concluded.
“When we got on that plane in Miami, there was no turning back.”
“No, there wasn’t,” she agreed.
“The road home goes through Camagüey Province, the cave, Cayo Guillermo, and The Maine.”
Chapter 28
We arrived late for lunch at Los Nardos, a small restaurant on the edge of the Old Town. Our group was already seated, filling up most of the tables, but Antonio had thoughtfully saved two seats for us at his small table, and we sat opposite the Nevilles.
Pretty Cindy Neville said to me, “I like your T-shirt.”
Well, Richard did not. Nor did he like me — once he realized he had no chance with Sara Ortega. Plus he’d had to see where Hemingway drank at the Ambos Mundos hotel. He was having a bad day. He should only know what kind of day I was having.
Cindy said, “Richard wouldn’t let me buy him a Hemingway T-shirt at Finca Vigía or Ambos Mundos.”
I assured her, “There’ll be many more opportunities.” I suggested, “Make it a surprise.”
Neville frowned, so to have a happy lunch, I said to him, “I’ve read a few of your books.”
Well, you’d have thought I just handed him a carton of cigarettes and a Pulitzer Prize.
“I hope you liked them.”
Of course you do. “Of course I did.”
Frozen daiquiris were part of the package, and everyone got one put in front of them. Antonio proposed a table toast. “To a great novelist — Ernest Hemingway — a true Cuban soul and a beautiful writer of the people.”
Neville’s face got frostier than his daiquiri.
The menus came, and Antonio made a few suggestions to the Nevilles, who looked like Hamburger Helper people, so Antonio ordered family-style for all of us.
Cindy asked Sara and me, “Where are you from?”
“Miami.”
“Key West.”
“Oh... are you...?”
I said, “We just met.” I further explained, “We’re discovering that we have a lot in common.” We’re both horny.
“That’s nice.” She said to Sara, “You mentioned at the welcome dinner that you are Cuban.”
“Cuban American.”
“So this trip must be very special for you.”
“It is. And why have you come here?”
Cindy replied, “Richard wants to set his next novel in Cuba.”
Antonio said to Neville, “Please put me in your book — as the hero.”
Neville was definitely thinking: Not after that toast, asshole.
Cindy continued, “He’s gotten a lot of material already.”
I couldn’t resist saying, “Don’t ask too many questions in Cuba.”
Cindy confided to us, “Richard says if he gets arrested, that will be good publicity.”
Antonio assured her, “That can be arranged.”
We all got a good laugh at that. This was fun. Like making jokes about blood while you’re dining with a vampire. I was feeling reckless and said to the Nevilles, “Be careful of the chivatos.”
“Who?”
“Ask Antonio.”
Antonio looked at me, then at the Nevilles. “This is a... derogatory term... for the citizens who volunteer for the revolutionary watch committees. In America you would call them neighborhood watch groups. They assist the police in combating crime.” He added, “They have nothing to do with foreigners.”
Sara asked Antonio, “So if a chivato sees a foreigner who appears suspicious, they won’t call the police?”
“Well... like any good citizen, they would, of course.” He thought of something and said, “In America, where you have terrorism, the police say, ‘If you see something, say something.’ It is no different here.”
Sara replied, “In America we don’t report our neighbors to the police because of their political views.”
Well, they used to in Maine.
Cindy changed the subject and said to me, “So you’re a fisherman.”
“I am.”
“Will you go meet the fishermen coming in for this tournament?”
“I don’t know them.”
Richard remarked, “I’d like to go to the terminal and take pictures of the fleet’s arrival.” He looked at Antonio.