Havana Best Friends (20 page)

Elena paused so Marina could catch up.

“The minimum hourly wage in the States is five dollars an hour, something like eight hundred a month. Many people here who make fifteen or twenty dollars a month are dazzled by such an amount. But once there, they find the rent for a tiny apartment is four hundred a month, plus utility bills, medical coverage, insurance, travel, food. They end up with nothing. So, if I’m going to be poor anyway, I’d rather stay where I was born, where I have friends and relatives who can lend a hand if I need it.”

“I see your point,” Sean agreed when Marina finished translating. Then, smiling broadly, he said, “Money. It makes all the difference. If you had a lot, if you could choose where to live, you would leave, right?”

Elena tilted her head to one side, pondering her reply. “I don’t know. Maybe I would, considering that even if I had a hundred million dollars in a bank account here, I couldn’t stay at a nice hotel.”

They shared a laugh.

“Or buy a new car,” Elena added, “or a home, or a computer, or rent a cellphone, or buy an antibiotic at a dollars-only pharmacy, or watch the foreign TV programs you get to watch at your hotel.”

“All that is banned for Cubans?” asked an astounded Marina.

“In practice, yes. But not in our constitution. In our constitution we have many rights. Which is why some people feel that part of our constitution is not worth the paper it’s printed on.”

“It’s incredible.”

“Can Cubans eat at one of the good state-owned restaurants?” said Sean, once their surprise had subsided.

“Yes, we’re allowed to do that,” was Elena’s answer.

“Let’s have lunch then.”

Marina felt like seafood and Elena suggested La Terraza, in Cojímar, a fisherman’s town to the east of the Cuban capital. The teacher changed into a black skirt, a short-sleeved lavender blouse, and high heels. She also brushed her hair before putting on a little makeup. At 12:40 they were cruising along Malecón. Ten minutes later they drove through the tunnel under Havana Bay and sped
along the vast open spaces of Vía Monumental until they reached the Pan-American stadium, where they took the exit for the outskirts of Alamar. There they had to ask for directions because Elena didn’t know the way. “A three-vehicle parking space?” an amused Sean asked when he pulled into the restaurant’s private car park.

Sean and Marina had mojitos before the soup was served, but Elena, recalling her wooziness at the
paladar
, ordered a soda. They had lobster cocktail, paella, and espresso. For Sean, the all-male staff was less interesting than Roselia’s girls; Marina and Elena had a different view altogether. The weather, the scenery, food, fishing, and other trivialities were dealt with over lunch. Not far from their table, Gregorio Fuentes, the 101-year-old skipper of Hemingway’s yacht, was having lunch. Later, they drove to the writer’s bronze bust by the mouth of the river. Black clouds to the east presaged a thunderstorm, a flock of buzzards circled in the sky, humidity was close to 100 per cent. The oppressive heat made them stay in the car.

On the way back, a torrential downpour forced Sean to creep along Malecón, but by the time they reached Miramar it had stopped. Unsure of what they wanted, Elena hid her surprise when Sean and Marina got out of the car, locked it, and escorted her to her front door.

“Could we have a word with you now, Elena?” Sean asked.

“Sure,” the teacher said as she slipped the key into the lock. “Come in.”

The women used the bathroom first. Then Sean went in and eyed the bathtub’s soap dish attentively before urinating, washing his hands, and returning to the living room.

Elena was making espresso in the kitchen. Marina stood by her side, learning that the coffee sold to Cubans on ration cards
was a mixture of coffee beans and peas, of which each consumer got a two-ounce cellophane packet every two weeks. The price for a pound of pure Cuban coffee was six dollars at government-owned stores. Marina described the workings of a coffee maker, an appliance Elena had never seen.

“Elena, we need your help.” Sean deposited his empty cup on the coffee table.

Plan B
, thought Marina, and braced herself for a lengthy session of simultaneous translation.

“Sure. What can I do for you?” the teacher said, nestling into her seat.

“Let me explain first. We have a Cuban friend in the United States. He’s fifty-four years old and has developed an extremely serious heart condition following many years of chain-smoking. He needs a heart-and-lung transplant that costs $350,000 and he doesn’t have a penny to pay for it.”

“$350,000?” repeated Elena, in disbelief.

“I know it sounds outrageous.”

“Here, a heart-and-lung transplant costs you nothing.”

“I know that. But he can’t travel here. He left in 1959 with his parents, he’s an American citizen.”

“Nobody gets to enjoy the best of two worlds.”

“You have a point. Now, this man’s father died three years ago. On his deathbed he told his son something he had kept to himself all his life. He claimed he had stashed away a considerable fortune in precious stones at his Havana home, a place he built in 1956. This guy, my friend’s father, had been a political appointee of President Batista and he feared that if he came back to retrieve the stones he might be arrested, sentenced to prison, so he waited patiently for a change of government. But … well, you know.”

Elena was totally engrossed.

“My friend didn’t do anything, either. Initially he assumed his father could have been hallucinating, making it up. His memory had been worsening in the last few months. Then he figured it was too risky to fly over and give it a try, being the son of a
batistiano
and all that, so he just pushed the whole thing to the back of his mind. But nearly a year ago, when he was diagnosed with this condition and learned the cost of the operation, he realized his only chance lay in this real or imaginary treasure. He confided in us, then asked us to help him save his life.”

Elena was beginning to get the picture.

“It’s very difficult to say no to that kind of request, Elena. We didn’t want any part of it, but I’ve been his friend for many years now and Marina, well, Marina has a soft spot for him too and said we ought to do something. To cut a long story short, we told him we would come to Havana, check if this place still stood, see if there were people living there, and go back and report to him. That’s what we did in May.”

Sean paused. Elena nodded, then shifted her eyes to Marina. “And this is the place?” she said with a look of reproach.

“Yes,” Marina admitted with a forced grin before interpreting.

Elena smiled sadly. “So, what you did in May was a ruse.”

Marina translated.

“Of course it was a ruse, Elena,” Sean acknowledged. “It had to be a ruse. There was no other way. Two complete strangers couldn’t knock on your front door and tell you all this. We didn’t know what kind of people lived here, couldn’t risk that they would turn us in.”

“Why are you so sure I won’t turn you in now?”

“You are not that kind of person.”

“Are you two really married?”

“Of course we are,” Marina chuckled. Then she translated for Sean, who also chuckled. Elena was almost sure they were lying. If asked, she would have been unable to say why. “Okay, so what do you want from me?”

Sean cleared his throat. “We flew to New York in June – he lives there, you know – and explained our findings to our friend –”

“What’s his name?” Elena interrupted.

“Carlos, Carlos Consuegra,” Sean said without the slightest hesitation.

“Go on.”

“Well, according to his father, the diamonds hidden here cost one million dollars in 1958. Back then, a carat was worth one-tenth of what it’s worth today, so, if this fantastic story is true, there may be ten million dollars hidden in this apartment.”

Elena tried unsuccessfully to control herself, then bent forward, hands gripping the arms of her seat, and laughed. Sean and Marina exchanged a surprised glance and giggled. If this was how she was going to take it, all the better. The Cuban finally controlled herself, wiped tears from her face, leaned back. “Oh, my God, I haven’t laughed like this in years,” she said.

“You find it funny?” Marina asked, a smile on her lips.

“It’s just that I can’t believe this is happening to me. Not to me, no.”

Marina translated her question and Elena’s reply.

“It’s happening to you, Elena,” Sean said. “We are real, we are here, what might not be true is that there’s a fortune hidden here. Maybe the old man made it up.”

“Why would he?” Elena asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Why would he deceive his son?”

“Maybe he went off the deep end.”

“That’s a possibility. Oh, well. So, let me guess. You want my permission to search here, right?”

Sean raised his hand. “We’ll get there, Elena. Let me first explain a few things to you. We don’t want to jeopardize your future in any way. First of all, if the diamonds are here, we’ll cut you in. My friend agreed to split the lot three ways: one for him, one for the people living here, and one for us. The problem we see with this is that you might not be able to convert your stones into cash – and even if you are successful, you could get into trouble if all of a sudden you become rich. Neighbours might inform on you, police might want to know where the money came from, then you’d be in big trouble, right?”

“Right.”

“Show her, Marina.”

Marina opened her purse, produced two Canadian passports, and handed them to the teacher.

“What’s this?”

“Take a look.”

Elena opened the first passport. She was startled when a photograph of her deceased brother smiled at her. “The snapshot you took at the
paladar!”
she blurted, eyeing her visitors. Sean and Marina nodded but remained silent.

The teacher focused on the passport again and noticed that it had been issued to one Matthew González.

“Check the other one,” Marina instructed.

The second passport had her photograph and belonged to Christine Abernathy. “Coño,” she said.

“Those are real passports, not fakes,” Sean went on. “They have all the right visas, stamps, and seals, including the Cuban ones. Perfect forgeries of those stamped on our passports, when we first came, and identical to the ones stamped on this trip too. We also have two plane tickets under the names on those two passports. We had no idea Pablo had died, and we really are sorry, but his death simplifies things in the sense it makes it easier to take you back with us, assuming the diamonds are here and you want to leave, of course.”

Elena closed her eyes, took a deep breath, tilted her head back. “This is madness,” she said.

Sean shot a glance at Marina, blinked slowly, gave a slight nod. “Now, Elena, there are a few things you should know. You are a clever woman, I don’t need to spell it out for you.”

Elena opened her eyes and stared at Sean. She had never befriended foreigners and never been attracted to one, but all of a sudden this man had developed an aura of mystery and danger that unnerved her. Lust stirred in its dark corner and she felt guilty about it. In front of his wife! She returned the passports to Marina.

“We can’t wait more than twenty-four hours for your decision,” Sean carried on. “You say yes, we’ll search for the diamonds; you say no, we’ll go back and tell our friend. He accepted the risk, knows you might refuse, so he’ll understand. It would be perfect if you could make a decision now, but we realize you need some time. In case you don’t want to go along with it, we implore you not to tell anyone until we leave. We don’t want to be sent to a Cuban jail and I understand that local law orders Cubans to hand over to the government any treasure found anywhere. And the last thing: we won’t tell you where the diamonds are unless you
agree to the deal; it’s not our property and a man’s life depends on them, but I assure you that you could search here for years and still not find it.”

It was the end of Sean’s pitch and he stared at the teacher. Elena stood up, sauntered over to the French windows, and, pursing her lips, gazed at the Parque de la Quinta through the shutters. She felt reluctance and avarice struggle inside her. For the second time Sean nodded encouragingly to Marina. Elena felt utterly disturbed at having been deceived by these two. And their story was beyond the bounds of credibility, yet … it could be true. What should she do? She realized she had to be alone to put the whole thing in perspective and make a decision.

She turned around and spoke in a plaintive tone. “Listen, I know you’ll understand. I need to be alone for a while.”

Marina got to her feet in one swift motion. “We understand. C’mon, Sean, let’s go back to the hotel.”

The man stood hesitatingly and seized his cane. “Sure. Take your time. Would it be okay if we take you to dinner somewhere tonight?”

Marina interpreted.

“I don’t know, Sean. I don’t know. I’ll call you as soon as I reach a decision.”

“C’mon, Sean,” said Marina, approaching the door.

“Hold it.”

Suddenly, Sean’s tone was commanding. He faced the teacher. “Elena, do we have your word you won’t talk to anyone about this until you let us know your decision?”