Havana Bay (45 page)

"Except for O'Brien."

"And you."

"Me?" Arkady didn't remember the initiation.» How
did that happen?"

Erasmo's head lolled as if he'd been trying unsuccess
fully to drink himself into a stupor.» How does it
happen? By accident. It's like you're in the middle of a play, say, Act II, and someone wanders onto the stage.
Somebody new, never in the script. What do you do? First, try to get him off, drop a sandbag on him or lure
him behind the scenery so you can hit him over the
head with a minimum of fuss because there is an
audience watching. If you can't get the son of a bitch
off the stage what do you do then? You start incorpo
rating him into the play, find him a role of someone
who is missing, feed him some lines as smoothly as you
can so that the Third Act goes virtually unchanged, just like you always planned."

The last lobster was delivered. Every plate was
covered by a lobster or a well-picked carapace, although
Arkady had noticed that many guests had shown no
interest in their dinner once it had been served. A tall man with aviator glasses rose with a glass of rum. He
was the same army officer Arkady had seen in a picture
with Erasmo and the Comandante. The man proposed
a toast to "The Havana Yacht Club."

Everyone but Arkady and Erasmo stood, although
Erasmo raised his glass.

"Now what?" Arkady asked.» A meeting's going to
begin?"

"The meeting's over." Erasmo added in a whisper,
"Good luck."

In fact, men were leaving as soon as they set down
their glass, not pouring out as a crowd but slipping
under the neon sun to the dark of the street in twos
and threes. Arkady heard a muffled sound of car doors
opening and engines starting. Mostovoi vanished like a
shadow. Tico pushed Erasmo, who leaned his brow on his hand like Hamlet considering his options. Soon the
only ones left in the
paladar
were the staff, Walls,
O'Brien and Arkady.

 
 
"You're part of the club now," O'Brien said.» How
does it feel?"

"A little mysterious."

"Well, you've only been here six days. Cuba takes a
lifetime to understand. Wouldn't you say, George?"

"Absolutely."

O'Brien pushed himself to his feet.» Anyway, we have
to run. It's almost the witching hour and, frankly, I'm
bushed."

Arkady said, "Pribluda was involved in this?"

"If you really want to know, come by the boat
tomorrow evening."

"I'm flying to Moscow tomorrow night."

"It's up to you," Walls said and opened the gate. The Imperial glowed at the curb.

"What is the Havana Yacht Club?" Arkady asked.

"What do you want it to be?" John O'Brien said.» A
few guys goofing off with a fishing line. A dump of
a building waiting to be touched by a magic wand and be turned into a hundred million dollars. A group of
patriots, veterans of their country's wars, having a social
evening. Whatever you want, that's what it is."

Chapter Twenty-Four

The DeSoto was parked outside the Rosita. Ofelia was
inside on the bed, curled up tightly in the sheets. Arkady
undressed in the dark, slid beside her and knew by her heartbeat that she was awake. He ran his hand over her
breast and up her arm to the gun in her hand.

"You went back to Luna's place."

"I wanted to see what he had there."

"You went alone?" he asked and read her silence.»
You said you would take someone with you. I would
have gone."

"I can't be afraid to go into a house alone."

"I am, often. What did you find?"

She described the condition of the Centre Russo-
Cubano, the lobby and each room as she had investi
gated them, the goat, the buffet door and the grenade
that was wired to it. Also how she had picked her way
through the aftermath of the blast into a buffet and
kitchen without ovens, freezers or refrigerators, then
retraced her route back to the lobby, set the ladder on
the balcony rail and climbed to the mezzanine to
search the rooms on that level, opening every door
with the tip of a broom. There were no more booby
traps, no goats, nothing but their droppings and open
jars of Russian hair pomade that they had licked clean.

 
 
By then their meeting time at the park had come and
gone, and when she went to the Havana Yacht Club he
never showed. She let go of the gun and kissed his
mouth and released him slowly.» I thought you weren't
coming."

"We just missed each other, that's all."

He gathered her in his arms and felt her slide down
him. In a moment, he was in her and she wrapped
herself around him. Her tongue was sweet, her back
hard, and where he joined her she was endlessly deep.

They ate banana bread with beer while Arkady told
Ofelia about his trip to Mostovoi's apartment, every
thing except the fire. Arson she might be a stickler
about. He had to smile. She had sneaked through his
defenses, a small bird on barbed wire. There was also pleasure—morbid or professional—in talking with a
colleague. She was a colleague even though her point of
view was not so much from a different world as from a different universe. She was a colleague even though she
sat naked, cross-legged, in the haze of light produced by
a power brownout.

"There are parts of Havana that haven't had elec
tricity for weeks, although you won't read that in there."
She pointed to the newspaper the bread had come in.
On the front page was a blotchy picture of revolution
aries celebrating victory and a red banner that said
Granma.»
It's the official Party newspaper."

Arkady looked at the date.» It's two weeks old."

 
"My mother doesn't read it, she only gets it for
wrapping food. Anyway, whatever Luna had to move—
TV, VCR, shoes—he moved. It was gone."

"He tried to kill us in the car. He killed Hedy and
her Italian friend if the combination of ice pick and machete is anything to go by; I don't think that's an
everyday technique. And if he cleared mines in Angola
he can rig a grenade. I think the least of his crimes is
taking Rufo's VCR."

"He really only hit your side of the car," Ofelia said.

"What?" This was a new tack, Arkady thought.

"He only put me in the car trunk."

"He left you to suffocate."

"Maybe. You got me out."

"And then he tried to chop up the car."

"You mostly." This seemed like splitting hairs to
Arkady, but Ofelia went on.» So, you went to the Yacht
Club and didn't find me. What then?"

"I don't know exactly." He told her about the lobster
dinner at the Angola
paladar.»
They were military types and they called themselves the Havana Yacht Club. How
unusual is it for army officers to take over a private restaurant like that?"

"It's not unknown."

"Or have lobster there?"

"Maybe it was their own lobster. A lot of officers spearfish. The navy sells lobster, too. The officers don't
eat so bad."

"They seemed unhappy."

 
 
"This is the Special Period—except for you and me,
everyone is unhappy. What were they driving?"

"Sport utility vehicles."

"See!"

"But at least half of them didn't eat the lobster."

"That," Ofelia granted, "is strange."

"No speeches."

"Very strange."

"I thought so from what I know of the Cuban
character. Also, Walls, O'Brien and Mostovoi were
there. O'Brien described me to them as the 'new Rus
sian' as if I was taking Pribluda's place. I feel something
happened in front of me that I just didn't see. O'Brien
is always ahead of me."

"He hasn't committed any crime."

"Yet." Arkady didn't quibble over the arrest warrant
from America or the $20 million sugar scam of Russia.»
Why would twenty highly placed Cubans call them
selves the Havana Yacht Club?"

"A joke?"

"That was the answer for Pribluda's photograph."

"You think this is different?"

"No, I think it's the same. I don't think it was ever a
joke."

"Did the officers at this dinner have names?"

"No names that I heard. All I can say is that they all wore guayaberas and ordered lobster on pieces of paper
that had to be unfolded to be read. Some, like Erasmo,
didn't touch their lobster at all, just watched, counting the lobsters, and as soon as the last one was delivered
to a table dinner was over, as if they'd reached a
unanimous vote. Maybe I'll find out tomorrow. I'll see Walls and O'Brien before I go."

"As long as you don't miss your plane," Ofelia said.

He knew she was studying him for a reaction about
leaving. He didn't know what his reaction was. They were both so far out on a limb that the slightest shift
made for dizzying sways. His eye fell on the newspaper
her mother had wrapped banana bread in.

"What is Change up to?"

"What do you mean?" Ofelia was not ready to change
subjects.

He picked up the newspaper. It was a greasy broad
sheet folded to a photo of a black doll with a red
bandanna. Under the photograph a news caption read,

Noche
  
Folklorica
 
Aplazada.
Debtdo il
c
ondltioncs
indementes fue necesario aplazar el Festival Folklorico
Cubano hasta dos Sdbados mas, a la Casa Cultural de
Trabajadores de Construction.

"Inclement weather I understand and
Sabado
is Sat
urday and the
Casa Cultural
is the Havana Yacht Club."

" 'Because of rain a folkloric festival is postponed for
two weeks,' that's all."

Arkady checked the newspaper's date.» Until
tomorrow." He got up to look at the Change sitting in
the corner, the doll's left arm lank on a cane, feet
sprawled, half-formed features and glass eyes returning
Arkady's gaze. The more Arkady studied the doll the
more convinced he was that it was the one that had
disappeared from Pribluda's flat on the Malecon. Same red bandanna, same Reebok shoes, same baleful glare.»
He reminds me of Luna."

"Of course," Ofelia said.» Luna is a son of Change."

"A son of Change?" Once again Arkady had the sense
that any conversation with Ofelia had trapdoors that
could open and drop a person into an alternative
universe.» How do you know this?"

"It's obvious. Sexual, violent, passionate. Change all
over."

"Really?" He leaned to better see the yellow beads
around her neck.» And..."

"Oshun," she said stiffly.

"I've heard of that one."

"You are a son of Oggun."

Arkady felt he was about halfway through the
trapdoor.

"Go ahead, who is Oggun?"

"Oggun is Change's greatest enemy. They often fight because Chango is so violent and Oggun guards against crime."

"A policeman? Doesn't sound like fun to me."

"He can be very sad. Once, he was so angry at the
way of people, their crimes and lies, that he went into
the deep woods, so deep no one could find him, and he
was so silent no one could talk to him or could coax
him out. Finally, Oshun went after him and walked
through the woods and walked through the woods until
she came to a clearing by a stream. She could feel
Oggun carefully watching from behind the trees. She
didn't make the mistake of calling out to him. Instead
she began to dance slowly with her arms out like this. Oshun has her own dance, very sexual. When she felt
that he was curious and moving closer she still didn't
call his name. Instead she danced a little faster, a little
slower, and when he came out of hiding she danced
until he was close enough to her to dip her fingers into
a gourd of honey hanging from her waist and she
smeared the honey on his lips. He had never tasted
anything so sweet in his life. She danced and filled her
hand with honey and put more honey in his mouth and more honey while she tied him to her with a rope of
yellow silk and led him back into the world."