by Jerome du Bois and Catherine King
[Part Two, Section 9 is just below. The earlier parts of this novel in progress are on the sidebar.]
[Mantis here --or, rather: This is Jeronimo D'Anconia Reyes speaking. When it all settles out, The New Mango Revolution will offer millions of stories --eleven million plus. I have heard only a fraction of them, streaming through earphones, edited by my cadres, witnessed by myself, but I have heard them. And I will tell my own story through theirs, at times. History and my fellow Cubans, telling their own histories, will judge me harshly, as they should --who knows? I may not even live to tell the end of this story --my witness to this incredible event in history-- but I'm used to it: my fate, as through my whole life, is in the hands of others. But these excerpts are what I have chosen to share from the intricate overlapping reverberant concourse of conversations interwoven throughout Cuba during the New Mango Revolution. I chose them because they seemed particularly emblematic and strong.
[Monday, mid-afternoon, May 30,2005. MININT/CubaCell intercept of a cell-phone call between ISA senior and student artist Ramona Herrera and her cousin, ISA sophomore Ana del Mar. Ana is in the dorm room she shares with her novio Jikary Nacional at ISA. Directly across the hall lives their good friend Nelson Prieto. MININT has a hidden camera in the hallway, mainly to monitor drug transactions and "overcrowded" meetings. And every dorm room has a listening device. While Ana is talking, for example, across the hall Nelson is remote-zapping an American movie --Wall Street-- from his collection on his prized TV/VCR unit, muttering movie dialogue under his breath, probably dancing in place, mugging at the screeen, and making notes for an upcoming performance art project, Denominations. (Oh: for off-Islanders, ISA has its own generators --Guillermo patiently wore down the bureaucrats for five years to obtain them-- so blackouts and power failures are rare. Most sentences in quotes below are in English, and are American movie quotes or paraphrases. And "cola duty" means standing in line after line after line . . .)]
Ramona: How you feeling, cousin?
Ana: A little weak. Jikary had cola duty today, and he's been gone a long time; most of the day. He was supposed to go to the farmacia first, to get some insulin, but you know how these things go . . . Maybe they didn't even have any, and he had to go to the one across town . . .
Ramona: Hey, really, cousin, are you okay?
Ana: Like I said, a little weak. Just checked and my level is over 200. Listen, what's up? I can't talk too long on this thing; too expensive, and the batteries are about as low as mine.
Ramona: Oh! Damn, cousin, I forgot. I wish I could --never mind. Okay, listen: Abel and Yoan have struck again. This time--
Ana: Getting interns to do their work for them?
Ramona: Exactly. This time they've got three of them on a rush project --a CD cover.
Ana: Three of them?
Ramona: Well, they have to come up with an idea, don't they?
(laughter)
Ana: Good one. Yeah, and between the five of them--
Ramona: Right. And they all get their credits on the sleeve. Kind of crowded.
Ana: What's the CD?
Ramona: It's a single, or maybe EP, by Distinto. It's called "The New Mango," and that's--
Ana: What? Did you say The New Mango? Do you know about--?
Ramona: That's what I was going to say: all this buzz the last few days, with those little white cards--
Ana: Did you get one?
Ramona: No, but I've seen one.
Ana: Me, too. But what were you going to say?
Ramona: That it's weird. Everybody's bouncing off The New Mango, but nobody knows what it is.
Ana: Yeah, that's it exactly. So Distinto--?
Ramona: He got a card, too, and came up with the song idea.
Ana: Dio, this is weird. It's like a virus or something.
[As the two continue to speculate, Jikary Nacional appears on the hallway camera, at the end of the hall. The stairway door closes behind him. He leans against the wall. He carries in both hands a heavy-laden opaque white jaba vinyl. He rests his head against the wall for a moment, then pushes off, shuffling slowly down the hallway closer to the camera. He stops, swaying, outside Nelson Prieto's dorm room door, then knocks softly. A few seconds later, the door opens, and Jikary falls into the room. Switch to MININT microphone record:]
Nelson (sound of door closing): Jikary! What happened? . . . Here, sit down.
Jikary (in English, bad Austrian accent): "I need your cloze, your boods, and your moderzygle."
Nelson (automatically): "You forgot to say please." Jikary, stop messing around. What happened?
Jikary: I got everything, my man. I got what Ana needs, and more; oh man, what a blessed day, thank you Jesus, thank you Lord . . . My father came through like an angel, and after that there was the miracle of the disappearing line . . .(trails off)
Nelson: You saw your father? Hello? Jikary, did you eat? You were supposed to eat first.
Jikary: Ummm . . .
Nelson: Mierda, I thought so. Come on. Straighten up. We don't want Ana to see you this way.
Jikary: . . . That's why I came here first, hermano. To catch my breath. Help me up . . . I've got everything she needs. Let's go.
[They cross the hall and knock. Ana has already hung up from her conversation, and is lying in bed shivering, so obviously that the microphones pick it up.]
Ana: W-Who is it?
Nelson: Jikary and Nelson.
Ana (after a few moments, sound of door opening): Jikary! What happened?
Jikary (weakly) . . . lots of good things . . .
Nelson: He forgot to eat.
Jikary: I had a banana . . . but that was early . . .
Ana: You need to lie down. Let me take that.
Jikary: No! (sound of plastic rustling) Just let me sit down for a second. This day . . . (deep breath, more rustling) First things first. Here, Ana dear: go take care of yourself.
Ana (after more plastic rustling): Jikary! No! But this is impossible! Strips, insulin, two dozen syringes . . . This is . . . What did you have to . . .?
Nelson: In other words, who did you kill?
Jikary: My father helped me out. I'll tell you. But first, please go do what you need to do, okay, Ana?
Nelson: Go on, Ana. I'll feed this fool.
Ana: Good idea. But don't start the story without me.
(Sounds of footsteps as Ana goes over to their small shared refrigerator, puts some of her prizes away, and then steps into the bathroom)
Jikary: You have food?
Nelson: I have food. I know you, man. I'm surprised you didn't give the banana to somebody. The stuff's in the fridge, I'll zap it--
Jikary: Wait. (Rustle of plastic) Take these with you. Hide them in the back. I want to surprise Ana--
Nelson: Dio!
Jikary: Shhh . . .
Nelson (whispering): Two Dos Equis and a Diet Coke? Really, man, who did you kill?
(Sound of refrigerator opening and closing, shuffling sounds, then the clunky old microwave rattling and humming)
Jikary: No, it was nothing ugly. It was all good. My dad landed a fat-wallet American Benjamin who wanted to ride around all over the damned north shore, practically, all night long. Looking at the moon. That smells good. Taking pictures of the moon. "Straaaange dude" --had a cowboy name: Wade Snow --right out of Tombstone, huh?-- stopping on beaches, his head bobbing up and down, watching the moon in the sky, on the water, in the sky, on the water; lunaticus Americanus my dad called him, but a generous soul, too --that smells really good-- this dude Snow had a big old-fashioned camera he was lugging around --gave my dad a huge tip-- I mean huge-- and so my dad--
Nelson: Wait, wait, wait. Stop babbling. Save the story for when Ana comes back. Here. Eat. Eat, Jikary.
Jikary (softly, with a little sob): Ai, mi madre . . . Chili, with real beef! More miracles . . . (After a quick subvocal prayer from Jikary, just sounds of eating for a minute, then) Nelson . . . this is delicious.
Nelson: Well, when you didn't come back by two, I figured you were having a hard time. So I ran out and got something.
Jikary: Thanks . . . (after a couple of more bites) I know you, too, man. Just ran out and got something, eh? Just ran out. Like you have money to burn --I had all the money-- and like this stuff is on every street corner. Ojala. [Yeah, right, tell me another one.] So, what movie did you have to trade for this?
Nelson: Pulp Fiction. No loss. I hate that crappy movie! (laughs) But Fernando, the head cook at Lazaro's, has no taste, so to speak. But he wants only original tapes; no Cubavision dubs. It helps him with his English. That movie will do wonders for his vocabulary.
Jikary: His chili tastes great, though. Thanks again, Nelson.
Nelson: Shut up and eat. There's more for later. I had the original sleeve for the movie, so Fernando gave me extra.
(After a few minutes of silence, punctuated only by eating sounds and Jikary's sighs of satisfaction, Ana returns, just as Jikary is finishing his meal)
Jikary: Welcome back, Ana dear. Better?
Ana: Much better! How about you, novio mio?
Jikary: I ate! I am as strong as an ant! Harrrggghh! Nelson saved me!
Nelson: "Ahh, nuts to you." So what the hell happened, anyway?
Jikary: Let me go wash my hands first. Hang on. I've been out there all day long. (Sounds of footsteps, then in a theatrical voice) And leave the jaba vinyl alone, if you value your lives. Hahahahaha! (Bathroom door slams)
Nelson: Not Oscar-level, that's for sure.
Ana: Loud enough, though. He's getting his strength back.
Nelson: Yeah . . .
(After a few beats of silence)
Ana: Oh! I heard more about The New Mango. From Ramona.
Nelson: Really? What?
Ana: Well, it's strange: I learned more, but it doesn't get really us closer to what The New Mango is.
Nelson: Ummm . . .
Ana: I know. Well, Distinto is working on a song with that title, like a sequel to "Hey, Mango," from back in the day. But he didn't make up those cards, he's reacting to the cards. Everybody is. Everybody will bounce off of it, as Ramona said. You can bet there will be counterfeit little white cards coming up soon, for example. But as for The New Mango itself, the real thing . . . it's like it's in hiding. It doesn't step up to center stage and say "Here I am!"
Nelson: It's shy. Or, waiting to be defined. Maybe we're supposed to define it. Maybe it's a lot of things . . . Can you imagine Cuba without mangoes? How many kinds of memories can you find in memories of eating mangoes? As many as there are Cubans. You said "bounce." A mirror bounces. It bounces yourself back to yourself. Maybe we decide what The New Mango is.
Jikary (as the bathroom door opens, footsteps come closer): You are The New Mango. A guardian angel told me.
Nelson (in English): "Exsqueeze me?"
Jikary: Listen, let's get that table over here. I've got lots to show and tell.
(Sounds of scraping, shuffling, settling.)
Nelson: You know what? I think it's coffee time down at Raphael's room. You got any spare change, Mr. Moneybags?
Jikary: He's still got that gig going? Coffee sounds good. (Rustle of paper.) Does he take dollars?
Nelson: Are you kidding? We could get twenty cafecitos with that money.
Jikary: Three will do, my good man. (Laughs) Isn't this great? When was the last time I was able to do that?
Ana: Never.
Jikary: Exactly. Never. It turned out to be a blessed day, that's all I can say . . . (begins to weep softly)
Nelson: I'll go get those coffees.
Ana (as he leaves): Ah, novio mio . . .
Jikary (after a deep breath): A long day . . .
(A few minutes later . . .)
[Mantis here: Jikary, Nelson, and Ana consider themselves performance artists, but earlier generations would more properly call them actors, monologists, storytellers, even jesters and maturing psychological magicians, given the conditions in which they have grown up. So here I present them as Jikary narrates his day's adventures. Sentences in quotations are in English, usually movie quotes or paraphrases.]
Jikary: This is good, sitting around the table with fresh hot cafecitos and my best friends in the world, with food in my stomach, with insulin in Ana's system, and even with lots of money left over in my pocket. And there's this big jaba vinyl at my feet, which has its own jabas vinyl inside it. I only had our 200 pesos [about $10 US.] Where did all this abundance come from, hmmm? There may even be loaves and fishes in here. Who can tell? . . . I can.
"Let's go back about two hours, and find the place where it all started."
Nelson (interjecting): Hey, that story ended badly--
Jikary: But this one doesn't, does it, hermano? So . . . this day in my life:
Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. Kissed my sleeping beauty goodbye. Checked the contents of the survival kit: Granma for toilet paper; my libreta [ration book]; my New Testament; my Martin Cruz Smith Red Square wrapped in the Garcia Marquez Solitude cover; my ISA identity card; a banana; extra plastic bags; the Dillard List; and The Wish List. I had the money in my pocket. Good to--
Nelson: Wait. What's the Dillard List?
Jikary: Ummm . . .
Ana: Go ahead and tell him.
Jikary: I'm sure you remember Dillard Benlinederry from last year. We hung out a lot because of the Christian thing.
Nelson: A rich Christian.
Jikary: It happens. And you have to admit he was an okay guy.
Nelson: Yeah, he was okay. He wife was kind of obnoxious, though. What about him?
Jikary: A couple of days ago I checked my email at the school. There was one from him. He told me he and his wife Heather were coming down here for the Zeitgeist thing, and other business. They'll be here in a couple of days. Then he made a strange request. He asked me to make a list of as many Christian churches in Havana as I knew of--
Nelson (softly): Ai, mi madre . . .
Jikary: --whether they were still there or not. Any denomination of Christian; didn't have to be Catholic.
Nelson: You mean even if it's a parqueo [parking lot] now? Or boarded up?
Jikary: That's right.
Ana: He didn't tell you why, either, did he?
Jikary: No, but he wrote that he would give me his reason when he saw me.
Ana: But he knows about the recent dangerousness?
Jikary: I think so.
Ana: So he knows it's risky for you, but he still wants you to do it.
Jikary: Well--
Nelson: He knows you'll do it.
Jikary: I really think he's an okay guy.
Ana: He's a rich American art tourist, too, though. I just don't want him to use you.
Jikary: I want to do it, okay? I'm curious myself to know just how many churches were or are in the city . . . So anyway, I left early for Mass; I wanted to ask some questions, add to Dillard's list. These people know where a lot of churches are, or were.
Nelson: Man, I feel alarms going off. Just talking about it.
Jikary: We keep moving around. They can close the churches, but they can't close the Church. The Church is people.
Nelson: I don't just mean that. I mean that that list itself is dangerous.
Jikary: It's just paper, hermano. I could eat it if I had to.
Nelson: Yeah --"Why are you eating that paper, kid?"
Ana: Because he was hungry? Come on, Nelson. You know Jikary's going to do what Jikary's going to do. Can we get back to what happened next?
Jikary: So I went to Mass--
Nelson: The Travelling Tabernacle of Santo Peligroso.
Jikary: Santo Peligroso-Derrumbe. Use his full name. You should come with me sometime. It's like the early Christians.
Nelson: I could ask my babalawo [Santeria bishop], but I think I'll stick with Los Orishas. [The ensemble of Santeria deities]
Jikary: You know you don't believe in that!
Nelson: I was speaking of the musical group.
Ana: Are you guys working up an act, or can we hear what happened to Jikary today?
Nelson: I just like to jab him with my pitchfork once in awhile.
Jikary: Really, it's low pressure, man, you should come sometime. And it's usually not far away. Like this morning we met--
Nelson: Shhh! The Ears.
Ana: But I thought you checked the place out.
Nelson: What am I, a genius? I can program the VCR and connect a few cables. "That doesn't make me Yoda." I looked around the best I could, but if these MININT guys want to hide something, I'm not going to find it . . . Anyway, just assume it, like we do most places.
Jikary: I'm not worried. I don't think I broke any laws today, except the law of probability --more than once, in fact.
The problem was, the whole thing happened backwards, so that the insulin package was the first thing I was after and the last thing I got, but after my dad showed up the whole thing happened so fast, after so many long waits and delays and frustrations, that's it like I've got --I don't know-- shopper's whiplash?
(laughter)
Really! Remember I said let's go back about two hours and find the place . . . ? All the stuff you'll see come out this bag happened in the last two hours . . . and all because of an American. Wade Snow. One of Lisa Zeitgeist's art tourists, in fact. Can you believe it? He gave my dad a $500 tip! I--
Nelson and Ana: WHAT!? [Editor's note: This is about five years' income for the average Cuban.]
Jikary: De verdad. So my dad, he kept $200, then he drove around until he found me, and gave me $300. As you can see, I spent some.
Nelson: Unbelievable! Wade Snow. . . I know who you're talking about. He was here last year, too. Remember, guys, the photographer with the ancient camera?
Jikary: That's right! He was actually kind of goofy, I thought. And I liked that he lugged his own stuff around. No Cuban slogging behind him everywhere.
Nelson: I wouldn't give the guy too much credit. It was probably because the equipment was so damned delicate--
Ana: "Watch the plates!" Remember? He kept saying that. "I have to watch the plates!"He was so tightassed about his glass photo plates. We had a running gag about it for awhile. . . . And now that I think about it, that camera and that whole precious setup is like a slap in the face.
Jikary: What do you mean, Ana dear?
Ana: I don't know exactly. It's like he's underlining just how behind the times we are here --as if we're in a time warp-- but he's so special and talented he can handle it. As if we don't rate the best digital camera you can buy, and that anybody can use.
Nelson: Just another pretentious El Yuman.
Jikary (patting the bulging plastic bag): Well, that El Yuman sure was useful here, without him even knowing it. He won't ever know. Too bad . . .
Ana: No. Not too bad. I'm so grateful for what you brought me, darling, don't get me wrong. But it pisses me off that all that money and abundance just kind of spilled out of this guy's pocket. I mean, who could ever just hand over $500 to someone for driving a taxi for a few hours --a $50 tip, maybe. I don't know. I feel so bad even complaining. I know the money will help your dad, too. I wouldn't even have the strength to complain if it wasn't for this lunaticus Americanus. But it still makes me mad that we have to depend on the . . . what was that movie line about "drippings," Nelson?
Nelson: "Drippings from the master's table."
Ana: Exactly.
Jikary: You guys can look at it that way. Actually, I think the guy is like my dad said, a little loony, and probably harmless --just blundery and insensitive-- and the Lord used him as an instrument. Maybe that's just to make me feel better, but I feel better.
(laughter)
Nelson: Yeah, okay, I feel better, too.
Ana: When I was in the bathroom, I heard you say he was obsessed with the moon, looking and looking and taking pictures of the moon all night long. And it was a full moon . . . Who knows?
Jikary: Hey, Nelson, what about that other refreshment now?
Ana: Refreshment?
Jikary: Hang on . . .
(Clinking of glass and ice, then)
Nelson: Here we go. Diet Coke --yes, the forbidden El Yuman drink!-- for Ana, without the rum, but with the ice. And a Double Exe each for my miracle man and me.
Ana: Ahhh . . . This really is special, Jikary.
Jikary: They were there, at the last stop, where I scooped up a lot of stuff.
Nelson: You mean at La Sombrilla? [Umbrella Market]
Jikary: Are you kidding? That was the third place I was going to, after the first place and second place didn't have anything. But I ended up--
Ana: This really is getting backwards. Stop and rewind, novio mio. But first, a salute: To what? . . . Oh, I know: to The New Mango, whatever it is!
Nelson: Good one!
Jikary: Hallelujah!
(They clink glasses)
Ana: Sip, sip . . . make it last . . .
Jikary: There's more in here, novia. (Tapping the bag.)
(After a few moments of savoring their drinks)
Jikary: Okay. . . By the time I made it to the farmacia the line was already twenty people long. I counted. Nobody we knew. Not a long line, really, with an hour to wait until it opens and then another half-hour to get to the head of the line. I could be back even before Ana woke up. But before I took my place I looked through the iron gate. As usual, the entrance door was dark and blank and mute. . . You know, they know what they don't have before they open; why don't they put up a list of things they're out of --no hay this, no hay that-- so people don't wait in line for nothing?
Nelson: Because they can't find a piece of paper that long?
Jikary (chuckling): But really, they could put it on a blackboard, maybe--
Ana: Oh, novio, you're so sweet. You're right, a list would help the people. But think about it. A list would be a list of the failure of the Revolution to supply the people with their needs. A slap in the face of la lucha. Without the list, though, people stay in line, just in case what they needed came in. It does happen, right? Sometimes they do have what they're supposed to to have. The blank face, the empty blackboard, keeps the people in line. Also, if they're in the line, they're easy to find; they're not somewhere else, you know, making trouble.
Jikary: People seeing hope in a blank face. That's dark, my love.
Ana (sound of quick kiss): You see hope in an Invisible Man. Perhaps for some it hurts to show hope. Better to appear hard and aloof.
Jikary: Like Kiku?
Ana: Like Kiku.
Jikary: I love you, Ana.
Nelson: Ummm . . .
Jikary: Shut up, Nelson. Anyway, I took my place as the next temporary el ultimo. It was still pretty early, but it was warm already, with a warm wind coming from behind me --which was nice, at first anyway, since I didn't have to smell everybody else. We were on the sunny side, and of course there was no awning, so with the wind it got hot quickly. I just leaned against the wall. After a while I ate the banana. It was quieter than usual; no loud Ladas rattling at the curb, just a couple of bicitaxi guys playing dominos across the street. Some of the people in line were talking about last night's "Mesa Redondo" and bitching about Spain. There must have been a school nearby, because I could hear a chorus of reedy voices singing La Bayamesa, and then some recitations--
Ana (impulsively): The child's role is to study, to work, to learn--
Nelson (joining in): --to conquer the future. Wow, that seems like a long time ago.
Ana: Ten years.
Nelson: It seems like a hundred. Sorry, man, go ahead.
Jikary: No, I know, I was doing the same thing in my head. They drilled us well, didn't they?
Ana: To conquer the future . . . I always found that hard to connect with "To die for one's country is to live." (A long silence) Anyway, go on.
Jikary: Well, like I said, it was fairly quiet, and after the students settled down I just leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. And as soon as I closed my eyes somebody in an apartment just above started softly playing a couple of drums. I don't know all those drum names because it's not my tradition, but it sounded like a big one and a little one, and whoever was playing was using just their hands. The big one and the little one talking to each other, but the big one didn't overwhelm the little one. The little one had its strength, too, and used the power of the big drum like a source of energy . . . As you can tell, I kind of got into it, the drums took me away, and I . . .
Ana: What?
Jikary: Well . . . I must have fallen asleep, standing up against the wall, because when I woke up there were six more people in front of me than before.
Nelson (outraged): What!? La ronca los cojones! I can't believe people! How the fuck can they-- what are you laughing at?
Jikary (as his chuckles fade): Oh, listen, amigo, I was just as pissed as you at the time. And it gets better. You know who woke me up? Some jerk (forgive me, Lord) with a state-stamped libreta who wanted to make sure I knew he could cut in front of me in line. He went on up to the front. I checked to see if someone had stolen anything from the bag. No. But then the guy in front of me turned around and you know who it was? Half-Dollar Hernando.
Nelson: That asshole? I hate that guy! He uses people like pack animals. Don't tell me he offered you a job.
Jikary: He sure did. I mean, the guy had cut in front of me in line while I was asleep. No apology. Instead he says hi and holds up half a greenback between two of his dirty fingers. This one was a five.
Nelson: A five-dollar bill? Which you'd get the other half of after the job is done. I'm gonna pound the guy next time I see him. What did he want you to scavenge?
Jikary: Hickory wood. To smoke his sausage.
Nelson: He won't have a sausage by the time I--
Ana: Nelson, come on . . . Jikary, you didn't--
Jikary: Of course I didn't. He doesn't know anything about our stash. And never will. Just because I love Jesus doesn't make me a pushover. I told him I was busy. But then --people really are a test, you know?-- Hernando pockets his half-greenback and pulls out with the same two dirty fingers a NEW MANGO card and holds it up for me to see. "Two dollars," he says. He flipped it. WE ARE NEXT. I leaned in close and then --forgive me, Lord, but this was sweet-- I cracked up; I just started laughing so hard --because the card was a fake, hand-drawn with Crayola!
Nelson: ¡Ai, Cuba! Ana just predicted that a few minutes ago!
Jikary: Really? See, you are tuned in, novia. Well, anyway, it lifted my spirits. I said to him, "Hernando, I've seen a real NEW MANGO card," and you should have seen his eyes bug out. He wanted to know all about it. I said, "Why don't you move over to this side of me, and I'll tell you what I know." And he did, and I did, and then he went on his way.
I guess I don't have to tell you that by the time I made it to the counter there was no insulin. In fact, there was nothing else on the Wish List: no batteries, no . . . medicinal supplies --nothing. So I headed off on foot across town, to the state farmacia near Presidentes and La Rampa.
Ana: That's a hike.
Jikary: Well, I wasn't going to waste money on a taxi. The street was getting busy, food vendors were calling out the names of their specialties --everything sounded good-- but I kept my head down and plowed forward. One thing I noticed was a lot more kids chasing down tourists and begging --even running after panataxis in the middle of the street. Sad.
Anyway, again I guess I don't have to tell you that the second farmacia was out of insulin, too. I got a lot of reading done in line. But you know that area has a lot of clinics and hospitals, so I thought I'd try La Sombrilla to see if they carried any medical stuff. I was headed over there when my father pulled up in his panataxi Chevy. I wish I had a picture of the grin on his face.
He says, "Hop in quick, son, before somebody sees." Can't have a Cuban in a tourist taxi, can we? So I dove into the back seat and kept my head down as he took off toward the Malecon.
"I've been looking for you," he says. "I've got something for you. Keep down a minute. I need to get out of this traffic." He zigged and zagged --he keeps that car in great shape--
Nelson: The '56 four-door?
Jikary: Yeah, that's it, original chrome, aqua-and-white, tuck-and-roll same colors--
Ana (clearing her throat): Gentlemen--
Jikary: --and we ended up on the Malecon, headed west. As soon as I could sit up I asked him to turn around and take me to Old Town, where there was another state farmacia I wanted to try. He asked for what. I told him. He said, "I can do better than that. A lot better." He pulled over into a deserted alley and told me to get in front. That's when he took out the money --ten twenties, four fifties, and a Benjamin. He spread them out on the seat between us and we looked at them for a minute. Five hundred dollars. It was more money than I had ever seen in one place in my life. To me, it was a miracle: the loaves and the fishes. To my atheist-physicist father, it was just luck. But there it was, undeniable. Then he gave me the Benjamin and the two hundred in twenties and said, "I'll tell you the story while we go get Ana's insulin."
So on the way to Miramar and the tourists shops he told me about Wade Snow and the moon. I listened, but I kept looking at the money in my hands, too. When he was done, I took out the Wish List. He asked me what it was. I handed it over, and as we rolled down the Malecon he was bobbing his head over to the List and then back to the road, over to the List and then back to the road, and smiling all the while.
"A shopping list," he said.
"A wish list," I answered.
"Why all the crossing-outs and erasures?"
"We go over it from time to time."
"Well, depending on how you want to spend that money, today a lot of your wishes come true," he says to me. "Though I suppose you'd say it was the hand of the Lord. You know, I had no idea that American guy was going to unload all that money on me. I actually wondered if he did. When he handed me that wad, of course I refused, but he insisted. I made sure he knew what he was doing. He said, 'You've been really patient and and I've been really demanding. Please, take it, you've earned it.' And here we are."
I could almost smell wet concrete the place was so new. My dad said it was a new idea, created to cater to tourists who wanted one-stop shopping, and didn't want to walk from the farmacia to the clothes store to the camera place. Some enterprising Spaniard, naturally, consolidated his stores into one. My dad said he knew somebody who worked there. If we gave this guy a couple of dollars, he would help us find the stuff on The Wish List.
Listen, I know from movies, but here I saw it for real: in front of this big store there was no line. We walked right in through the double-glass doors, which opened automatically. Cool inside. I don't even remember the name of the place, but it was huge and bright and full of stuff; my dad had to hold me by the arm as we went in. There were extrañeros everywhere. "Stick with me," he said. I keep forgetting he drives these people everywhere; he's used to them.
Nelson: What did they look like?
Jikary: Come on, Nelson, you're not some native from the jungle. They looked just like the art tourists we see every year: fat white shark bait. And I noticed there were very few Cubans, except those who worked there. My dad found his guy, Ramon, handed over the Wish List, and explained what we wanted. Ramon scans the list and I notice his eyebrows going up. He looks up and asks if we have the money for all this. I let him have a peek at the Benjamin and the twenties. He grins and says fine and leads us over to the farmacia window, where there is a line. I was almost relieved. Ramon told me I could get all the medical stuff --the alcohol and cotton swabs and other stuff beside the insulin-- right there. That's right, Nelson, I've even got some Q-tips in here! (Slaps the plastic) So I waited while he took my dad off with him to get a cart for-- well, why wait any longer? Let's make a long story short!
(Sounds of plastic rustling, items spilling, more plastic rustling as Jikary upends the big jaba vinyl. Bag within bag is emptied. Gasps of startled pleasure from Nelson and Ana punctuate their exclamations.)
Jikary: Let's see now: t-shirts, socks, your new Converses, Nelson-- "shaddup," as you are fond of saying-- Batteries! Two kinds, for the OneTouch meter and the phone. Isopropyl alcohol, cotton swabs, Q-tips, soap, shampoo, toothbrushes, toothpaste . . . Those jeans you needed, Ana.
Ana: ¡Ai, novio mio! They're just right!
Jikary: You wrote the size down. Let's see . . . Duct tape, masking tape, transparent tape, and both scissors and a new pocket knife to cut them with. Notebooks, pens, pencils . . . Hey, Nelson, here you go.
Nelson: Hollywood Cigarettes! Three packs! Nobody has these!
Jikary: Nobody around here, anyway. But now you do. You know what I think about the habit, but . . . we all need what we need. And Hollywood? How could I resist? Like that kid said in the movie, "It's definitely you." Oh, but how will you light them? With these.
Nelson: Six disposable lighters! Those will last me forever. I know a refiller. Don't worry, man. I won't go through the smokes like The Terminator went through ammo. I'm going to space them out, over weeks, and savor each and every one. No black tobacco for me. This is . . .
Jikary: I know, it's hard to finish the thought; and there's even more. Ana, here's a 2-liter Diet Coke bottle, and a box of cinnamon-fructose cookies --can you believe they had those? but Ramon said that the store was planning on buying even more "diabetic-friendly" food. What does that tell you about our foreign visitors? Sad, huh? Anyway . . . Oh! Nelson, check these VCR tapes out. I didn't buy these, my dad was carrying them around for someone you both know in Santa Clara, but he hadn't had a chance to get out there yet. He said you'd know how to get them to where they belong.
Nelson: These are them! Sure, I know what he's talking about. "Zorro."
Ana: "Say what?"
Nelson: Balthazar Roa. The colonel. My dad said all the scientists in the nuclear program used to call him that. You know, zar . . . roa? Zorro.
Ana: Uh-oh. Say no more.
Nelson: No, it's okay, he's not . . . radioactive anymore, so to speak. He's a machinist and petty farmer out in Santa Clara. His son Beny, and Beny's buddy Yasmani, are really into natural science and physics. They're part of the Prodigy Program, you know? Well, Yasmani's older brother Rocco--
Jikary: The music guy?
Nelson: That's him. He knows I'm into movies, and he's got his own wish list. These are great: the first two I know --the Jacques Cousteau is for Yasmani, because that kid loves the ocean, and Apollo 13 has to be for Beny, Zorro's kid, who loves space. This third one must be for Beny, too: a CNN Science Special on Space Elevators. Hmmm . . . Space Elevators! I don't know what they are, but I want to be on one!
Jikary: So you know what to do with those?
Nelson: No problem. I'll pass them on.
Jikary: Okay, let's clear the table and stack this stuff to the side. Because there's one final thing.
Nelson: What is this, Christmas? It's A Wonderful Life?
Jikary: "Oh, brother, where art thou?" Come on. We know it's not a wonderful life. I don't know why all this abundance happened, except for the obvious evidence of the Lord's hand behind it all. Hallelujah for that! But take a deep breath and let's look around at the blessings for a second. And let's use them. My father said something today, when we were on our way back here with this bulging package between us on the car seat, full of its capitalistic abundance. You know my father is a nuclear physicist and a deliberate person. But, as I said, he's a physicist, so he must be open to "the stray neutrino thought," as he used to say: the maverick angle. What I would call the Holy Spirit, of course, whispering in his ear. He says to me, "El Yuma has its uses."
Ana: What do you think he means?
Jikary: It's a change of attitude. Like with the big drum and the little drum. They're a lot alike, they come from the same source, one's just bigger than the other. The big drum is not the enemy, but neither is it the boss. The little drum is not intimidated by the big drum, and learns from it. That's the new part. The little drum uses the power of the big drum for its own growth, to become its own big drum. And eventually the big drum will be learning from the little drum, who is little no more.
(after a pause)
Ana: Sounds good, my love. If only it was a matter of drums. . . But, uh, what did you have us clear the table for?
Jikary: Oh! . . . Oh, yeah, this is really the best. This happened when my dad pulled the Chevy up in front of our ISA dormitory. He was exhausted after all that driving and shopping, but you know what? He said, "What a day, eh boy?" and slid across the seat and grabbed me into his arms; gave me a long hug, and kissed me on the forehead. He hasn't done that in years. I tell you, the day was full of answered prayers.
Ana: And that was the thing--?
Jikary: No. I got out and we waved goodbye and he drove away. I was tired, and I stood there on the sidewalk getting the bag cradled just right, and catching my breath. Then I headed for the main lobby of ISA. I was almost to the door when this guy comes up to me. He was short and black, and he didn't look Cuban, and as soon as he spoke I woke up real quick.
Ana: How come?
Jikary: Because he had an African accent. I didn't know this guy, but I had an idea-- he was a refugee, or a getaway, from Juventud. [An African holdover from one of Castro's failed social transplant experiments.] He slides up to me --no introduction, no hey my name is, just holds out something between two black fingers and says, "He said you should have this," and this is what he gave me.
(Gasps)
"Who said?" I asked him. But he stepped back. "It's you," he said. And he smoothed away like a shadow.
(Long silence)
Ana: This is ours? Nobody's going to take it away?
Jikary: Here it is. There it sits. A NEW MANGO card. A real one. And after all the money burning through my fingers today, and even somebody trying to sell me a fake one of these, this little white card floats into our hands at the very last as a gift. It settled into my palm like a dove. If that isn't the Lord, I don't know what is.
Nelson: "It's you," he said?
Jikary: As in, "You are The New Mango."
Nelson: And we're next, somehow? How? How does that work?
Ana: I guess that's what we need to figure out.
Nelson: But why? Who said? Who is the he?
Ana: We're just getting started here, Nelson; slow down.
Nelson: Yeah. Yeah. You're right. Sorry. Yeah. This is a lot to take in. What a day! You know, I'm gonna take my riches, and my smokes, and go find out about Space Elevators. My man, I really don't know what to say. I didn't do anything for these gifts--
Jikary: You're still here, aren't you? And when was the last time you caught a break?
Nelson: I don't need a break. "Ain't the hard time been invented I can't handle."
Jikary: Okay, tough guy. Take a break anyway.
Nelson: Oh, yeah.
(Sounds of gathering things)
Nelson: Thanks for everything, Jikary. I'll tell your dad next time I see him, too. Anyway, I'll see you two in class. Good night. (murmuring softly on the way out) Ai, mi madre . . .
(Sound of door closing. Sounds of snuggling)
Ana: Novio mio. . .
Jikary: . . . Ummm . . .
Ana: . . . I found the other things you had in the bag with the insulin. The tampons, the condoms . . . The birth-control pills. Do you realize that tonight we can be together for the first time without fear? And in the days to come --just us.
Jikary: My love . . .
Ana: Oh! but you must be exhausted.
Jikary: Don't you remember? I had a nap.
(Soft laughter)
[Mantis here: And now, as Nelson would direct it, we fade to black.]
Posted by Jerome at March 30, 2006 01:25 AM | TrackBack