As we walked through the town, I spotted a few PNR guys, who looked us over as we passed by, but there is safety in numbers, and as long as Sara and I stayed in the herd we wouldn’t be picked off by a wolf asking to see our passports and visas. Se?or, are you pregnant?
Sara, however, might be too pretty for the wolves to ignore, so I told her, “If you’re stopped, I can’t come to your assistance. That’s Tad and Alison’s job. And if I’m stopped, you don’t know me.”
“Everyone knows we’re together.”
“The police don’t.” And I was happy Antonio wasn’t there to rat us out. I reminded her, “We just met. And sleeping together doesn’t mean we have to get arrested together—or even walk together.”
“All right . . . I understand.” She offered, “I can carry the gun.”
“It’s my gun.”
On the plus side, the natives seemed friendly, though there didn’t seem to be any reason for this town’s existence.
After a few hours of trying to figure out why we were here, the heat-exhausted herd returned to the plaza and boarded the bus. Sara and I sat together and shared a bottle of water.
Maybe because it was Sunday, our next stop was lunch at the Matanzas Seminary, located on a hill above the city. Alison told us that the seminary was not Catholic—it was Methodist, Presbyterian, and Episcopal—with forty students of both sexes, half of whom, said Alison, would probably leave Cuba at the first opportunity. Me too.
We pulled into the seminary grounds, which were nicely landscaped, and the buildings were in better repair than any I’d seen in Matanzas. I was fairly certain they didn’t have stop-and-frisk here, and I relaxed for the first time today.
As we got off the bus, Sara said, “Religion will save Cuba.”
“Right. Look what it did for Afghanistan.”
“Don’t be a cynic. I never asked—what religion are you?”
“You’ve been sleeping with a Presbyterian. But when I’m getting shot at, I pray to everyone.”
“Would you consider converting to Catholicism?”
Were we talking about a wedding? Or Last Rites?
“Mac?”
“Yes, I’d consider that.”
She took my hand and squeezed it.
We were greeted by a pleasant middle-aged lady who escorted us into a refectory with long tables and benches, and Sara and I found ourselves sitting with Tad and Alison, who didn’t appear to have hooked up yet. Also at our table were Alexandra and Ashleigh, whom I’d chatted up at the welcome dinner before I fell in love with Sara Ortega. At the end of the table was our driver, Lope, who hadn’t picked his table at random.
There were pitchers of iced tea on the table, hopefully waiting to be turned into wine. Nice-looking young men and women, alight with the Holy Spirit, brought out platters of food. I’d expected loaves and fishes, but we got rice and beans, and poultry that had come in second in a cockfight.
We all made small talk, then Tad asked me, “How are you enjoying yourself so far?”
“This has been an eye-opening experience.”
“And there’s more to come.”
Right. But not with you. I asked, “Where’s Antonio today?”
“I’m not sure. He was scheduled to be with us.”
“I hope he’s not sick.”
“He left word that he’d be joining us tomorrow.”
“But not tonight for dinner?”
“Apparently not.”
Correct. Sara and I were having drinks with Antonio tonight.
Alison said, “We’re having dinner tonight at La Guarida, one of the best restaurants in Havana, housed in a huge old mansion. If you’ve seen the movie Fresa y Chocolate, you’ll recognize scenes that were shot there.” She added, “La Guarida was favorably reviewed in the New York Times.”
“So was Fidel Castro,” I said.
Everyone thought that was funny. Even Lope, who smiled.
Alison asked us all where we’d wound up having dinner on our own last night, and everyone at our table had a culinary adventure tale, some good, some not so good. I admitted, “Sara and I drank dinner at Floridita.”
That got a few chuckles. We were really bonding. In another week we’d be calling one another by our first names.
Tad took the opportunity to chide me and Sara. “We missed you at the ballet rehearsal and the visit to the firefighter museum.”
Sara responded, “I wasn’t feeling well and Mac walked me back to the hotel.”
Alison advised, “Stay hydrated.”
This wasn’t a good time to tell Tad and Alison that we were blowing off the group dinner tonight, but I set it up by asking, “What are the first symptoms of malaria?”
No one seemed to know.
Anyway, before lunch was finished, Sara looked at her watch and made an announcement. “I have an appointment with Dr. Mendez, who is the rector here.”
Really?
She explained, “I’m involved with an ecumenical charity in Miami, and I’ve brought cash donations for several religious institutions in Cuba.” She stood. “I’ll meet up with the group shortly.” She left, carrying her purse of pesos.
Alison said, “That’s very nice.”
And also consistent with her cover story.
Our next stop was the chapel to hear the chamber choir perform. I wasn’t looking forward to this, but the young men and women in the choir had angelic voices, singing some great oldies like “Rock of Ages” and “Amazing Grace,” and for a few minutes I was a kid wearing my Sunday suit, sitting in First Pres in Portland. Meanwhile, Sara was still MIA.
We next went to an outdoor lecture given by a theologian who told us that there was a religious revival occurring in Cuba, but it was mostly driven by Evangelical Protestants, not the Catholic Church. I was sure the Pope would be back.
Sara appeared at the end of the lecture and we all boarded the bus for the trip back to Havana.
I asked her, “How much did you give them?”
“Thirty thousand pesos. About twelve hundred dollars, which is a lot of money.”
“Are we good with God now?”
“We’ll find out tonight.”
Indeed we would.
CHAPTER 34
Before the revolution, the Vedado district of Havana was controlled by Cuban mobsters and the American Mafia in a profitable joint business venture that might be a good model for the future.
Our taxi, a dilapidated Soviet Lada whose upholstery smelled like bleu cheese, traveled along the Malecón toward the far western edge of Vedado, where we were to meet Antonio in a bar called Rolando.
Parts of Vedado, according to Sara, still retained some of its pre-revolutionary flavor, and remained home to a number of unauthorized activities, including black marketeering, midnight auto sales, rooms by the hour, and unlicensed rum joints, to name just a few of Vedado’s private enterprises. Every city needs a Vedado.
Our driver, who spoke a little English, had never heard of Rolando’s, and our hotel concierge couldn’t find it listed anywhere, but our driver made a few cell phone calls to his colleagues and thought he had an address. If this was a trap, Antonio wasn’t making it easy for us to fall into it.
I’d left a note at the hotel for Tad and Alison saying that Sara and I had been stricken with Fidel’s revenge and would not be joining the group for dinner. P.S.: Gotta run now.