Havana Best Friends (30 page)

There were a few moments of silence. Marina was trying hard to think, but the emotional hurricane she was immersed in made it difficult.

Miranda wanted to get things back on track. “It’s clear to me. Somehow this big guy learned about the treasure, kidnapped your husband and …”

“He wasn’t my husband.”

The disclosure dried Elena’s eyes. She raised her face and stared. “He wasn’t your husband?”

Miranda spotted a glimmer of hope.

“No, Elena. I’m sorry. It was part of the ruse. We figured we would appear more respectable to you if we said we were husband and wife. I met Sean a few months back. Actually, we were introduced by the son of the man who hid the diamonds here. Oh, shit!”

“What?” Miranda asked.

“Where’s the cane? Did Sean have a cane with him?”

“Yes. It’s in the servant’s bedroom, with the bodies.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God! Could you bring it here, please, sir?”

A minute later, with trembling hands, Marina turned the handle, slid the receptacle out, and pulled the stopper. Elena
rushed to her room and came back with a pair of eyebrow tweezers. Marina pulled out the cotton wool and tipped the container slightly, and several stones rolled into her left palm. As she stared at them, guilt forced out two fat tears that rolled down her cheeks and fell on the diamonds.

“And I thought he had run away, left me stranded here. That was why I came now. I went to the airport first. Oh, Sean, forgive me.”

Miranda’s glimmer of hope became a glorious dawn. He suppressed a smile.

“Okay. Now, Marina, I want you to think carefully about what has happened. My daughter believed in you, the two of you, and now she finds herself in the worst mess of her life. There’s no way we can cover this up. She told me you brought two passports, one for her, one for Pablo. Plane tickets also. She decided to stay in Cuba. But that decision was made before … what happened today. The only way Elena can remain a free woman is if she leaves Cuba with you.”

“But, Dad …”

“Shut up. You still have those passports?”

“Right here.”

“Let me see.”

Marina returned the diamonds to the lead container, capped it, then searched in her duffel bag for the passports. Elena kept quiet as her father examined them. She realized it was the best possible outcome. But what would happen to him? She shouldn’t let him take the rap for her. She was also discovering a new side to his personality: the cool-headed crisis manager, the fearless man, the general. Her father had become an amazing, ten-foot-tall hero.

“And you say these are not fakes?” asked Miranda, wanting to be sure.

“That’s what Sean said,” said Marina, disclaiming responsibility. “Ours are identical, and we came in and out in May, and back in this time without any problem.”

The ex-general grasped the implication. “So, you are not Canadian citizens.”

Marina lowered her head and stared at the floor. “No, sir. We are, were, I mean, Sean was American, I am American also, by naturalization.”

Elena was fighting the anger growing inside of her for having been so gullible as to be completely taken in by Sean and Marina. “What about the son of the landlord? The guy who needs the heart-and-lung transplant?” she asked.

Marina closed her eyes and with splayed fingers massaged her forehead as she took a deep breath. After a moment she locked eyes with Elena. “That’s partly a lie. He doesn’t need a transplant, but he’s blind. He lost his eyesight in Vietnam, a mine. And he’s poor.”

Miranda made a face. Now they were talking his language. But it was neither here nor there. “Okay. We’ll have to assume the passports are not fakes. Listen to me, Elena. You have to go. There’s no alternative. Act out this deaf and dumb shit if necessary. And limp too, to account for the cane. Wait a moment.” He stared at a wall. “They have X-ray machines at the airport.”

Marina started. “No, listen to me. Sean said this container is made of lead, so X-rays can’t show what’s in it.”

Miranda assented, reflecting. “Bright guy. Thought of everything. Well, not exactly, but almost. Okay, Elena, grab a few things, pack, and go. Now. Don’t wait one more minute. Pack, now.”

“Your father is right, Elena. Let’s do it.”

“What will you do, Dad?”

Again, Miranda fixed his eyes on the floor for a few seconds. “I’ll leave with you. We all laugh, we’re happy, not a care in the world, say goodbye on the next corner, I kiss your cheek, shake hands with Marina. You go your way, hail a cab on Fifth Avenue, I go mine. Nobody knows what happened here, there were no shots, no screams. Several days will go by before … you know, the stench.”

“Oh, my God.” Both women chorused.

“By then you’ll be safe, thousands of miles away. The police will probably come to see me and tell me that two dead men were found here and you have disappeared. I’ll pretend to be worried, ask for a full investigation. When we left here today you were in perfect health, happy, unconcerned, on your way to spend a few days on the beach with a friend. That’ll be my story.”

Elena thought about it for a moment. “But the autopsies, Dad. Can’t they determine the exact day and time when they died?”

“The day, for sure; the time, I don’t think so. Not after several days.”

“What about fingerprints?” Marina asked.

“Right. I’ll wipe the hammer clean and … never mind. Go and pack, Elena. Now, move, move.”

“But, Dad.”

“It’s an order. Move.”

Miranda went back to the servant’s bedroom as Marina helped Elena pack. The odour of recent death he knew so well. Mindful not to tread in the pool of blood, he wiped the hammer clean and closed Sean’s right hand around its handle. He took his time inspecting the room, reflecting. There might be some hairs of his
on the floor, but he had no time to search for them. His fingerprints in the kitchen, the living room, were okay. He would admit to being here today.

Miranda hurried to the living room. The lead receptacle remained on the chesterfield. He seized it and retraced his steps into Elena’s bedroom. Marina and Elena froze, watching him. Without a word he started dropping her diamonds into the container.

“Keep packing.”

That got them moving again. He finished storing the diamonds and was heading for the living room when he stopped in his tracks in the doorway.

“Elena, that suitcase is fifty years old,” he observed.

“That’s what I told her,” Marina said.

“It’s the only one I have, Dad.”

“No, I was just wondering whether … Keep packing, I’ll be back.”

In the living room, Miranda compressed most of the cotton wool back into the receptacle, crammed it tightly with his finger, stuffed what remained into his pocket, then capped it with the plastic stopper and slid it into the cane. After screwing the handle, he shook the cane by his ear. No rattle. Fine. He returned to his daughter’s bedroom. Diagonally, the cane fitted into Elena’s suitcase.

“Neighbours would find it odd to see either of you leaving the building with the cane, limping,” he said. “Now, this museum piece is perfect for storing the cane, but if you enter the airport with it, everybody will stare at you.” And turning to Marina: “Once you find a room somewhere, take Elena to a store and buy her one like yours.”

“No problem.” Marina said.

“Then, you leave for the airport with the cane in plain view. Tourists, strangers, nobody will notice.”

“I hope so,” Elena said.

“One last thing, Elena. The container is made of lead, and lead weighs a lot. That cane is too heavy for you, but you’ve got to handle it as if it is weightless. People see you puffing and pulling to move it, they’ll become suspicious. So you’ve got to pretend, know what I mean? Walk effortlessly, a smile on your face.”

“I’ll try. Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that.”

It was 12:19 when the two women returned to the living room. Elena had applied a little makeup and looked much better, albeit not her usual self, Miranda noticed. She had wanted to wear her best outfit, a brown pantsuit with a cream-coloured, long-sleeved blouse, but Marina advised against it. In the summer, people flying economy wear comfortable clothing, especially tourists returning from tropical islands: jeans, shorts, sweatshirts, sandals, that kind of thing. Elena finally changed into her only pair of jeans, a white sleeveless blouse, and well-worn black pumps. From her shoulder hung a nondescript black leather handbag. Marina had also freshened up, making herself more presentable.

“You girls look terrific,” Miranda said.

“Oh, Dad.”

“Stop it! Not one more tear.”

Marina grabbed her carry-on and the duffel bag.

“Give me your handbag,” the man demanded of his daughter.

“Why?”

“Give it to me.”

Miranda removed all Cuban identifications from Elena’s old leather wallet and stuffed them into his pockets. “From now on
you are this Canadian woman, Christine something. I’ll dump this in a sewer. Now, let’s go.”

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can I give you a hug?” she implored.

“Sure, but no crying.”

“I promise.”

She rested the suitcase on the floor, then held him tightly. He feared new tears and broke away.

“How can I let you know where I am, how I’m doing?” said Elena, struggling to keep her emotions in check.

Miranda pondered this for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip. “You know my home address. After three months, that’s November, send me a phone number, not your phone number, somebody else’s, in an envelope with no sender’s address.” He paused and thought some more. “If I get it, and well … if things turn out the way we hope, I’ll try to call you on the last Sunday of December, from a pay phone, between 10:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m. First you say Marina offered you a safe way to leave Cuba and you took it. You didn’t tell me because you assumed I wouldn’t approve. You are well, you’ll write soon. Then I’ll give you the news that two dead bodies were found in your apartment. You can’t believe it: ‘How come?’ ‘Who were they?’ – that kind of shit.”

“Jesus,” Marina said.

“What?”

“You’re quite a number, sir.”
Another iceman
, she was thinking.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“What about Mom?”

“Don’t even think about it. She’ll have to live with your disappearance until you write to her, and don’t write until after we talk on the phone. And remember, you learned through me that two dead men were found here. You know only what I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s get moving,” Miranda said, seizing his daughter’s suitcase.

They left the apartment building shortly before 12:30. Even Marina, adept at pretence, failed to appear as confident as she intended while murmuring to Elena: “Don’t worry, dear, everything is going to be okay. What you should be thinking right now is where we should be headed. It shouldn’t be one of the best hotels, but not a fleapit either. Just a three-star where we can get a room, then go shopping for your carry-on.”

Elena nodded repeatedly as she glanced sadly at the Parque de la Quinta. Was she seeing it for the last time? Was she leaving behind her whole life, her world? She realized that only a tragedy of the magnitude she had witnessed, with its disastrous consequences, would make her run away. This was where she belonged, where her roots were!

An old lady who lived in the house with the red-tile roof next to the apartment building, returning from the market with a plastic bag full of potatoes, beamed and nodded to Elena. She smiled back. That old lady had lived there for as long as she could remember, probably seen her grow up, for God’s sake! That crinkled, kind face was part of her world, as were her pupils, neighbours, memories, hopes, and now this was a world she was trying to escape from, forever. Suddenly, what she had taken for granted all her life looked indispensable, so dear!

They covered the distance to the corner of 26th and Third A in less than thirty seconds, time enough to start sweating under the blazing sun. With a big grin, Miranda handed the suitcase to his daughter. “Smile,” he ordered.

She tried to force a smile. He kissed her cheek, then extended his hand to Marina. “Take care of my girl, Marina.”

“I will,” she said, feeling the enormity of the moment.

Miranda turned and shuffled away, to catch a bus on Third Avenue. Elena kept looking at him, hoping he would turn and wave a last goodbye.

“Let’s get moving, Elena.”

“Just a moment.”

“Remember, people watching, we don’t want to give the wrong impression. Let’s go.”

As she walked away, Elena turned one last time. Her father was nowhere to be seen. “From now on you’re a deaf-mute,” Marina was saying. “Don’t speak in the presence of anyone, not the taxi driver, not the hotel clerk, not a living soul, understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Now, tell me the name of a hotel where we might get a room.”

“The Sevilla, on Prado.”

“Okay.”

His knees buckled under him, as though suddenly weary of having carried him for so many years, and Manuel Miranda sank down on to the empty bus-stop bench. He had never felt this drained before and he wondered why. Two hours had gone by and he could still feel the impact of the hammer’s recoil in his hand as it hit the man’s head. He had taken lives on numerous occasions – in
combat, three times commanding firing squads, once settling accounts with an adulterous wife and her lover – and his knees had never given way. Remorse? Bullshit. He hadn’t experienced an instant of remorse in his life, least of all now, after saving his daughter’s life.