The Double Life of Fidel Castro (24 page)

As far as business was concerned, Fidel sometimes had the mentality of a Caribbean pirate. Operating outside the law, navigating in informality and dealing in contraband posed him no problems at all since circumstances demanded it and his position as resistance fighter against the American embargo authorized everything. Moreover, contrary to what he claimed, he had always known about all the illegal activities (including drug trafficking in the 1980s) imagined and carried out by his brother Tony and Arnaldo Ochoa within the
Departamento MC
(MC Department),
*
in their endeavor to find cash by any means whatsoever so as to keep the Revolution afloat. In the same way, Fidel knew about the parallel activities of the Minister of the Interior Abrantes, who manufactured counterfeit Levi’s jeans in secret workshops (in which Cuban prisoners worked) and trafficked adulterated Chivas Regal whisky to sell on the black market in Panama. All this with the same end in mind: feeding the Commander in Chief ’s reserve.

I knew about all these commercial operations because Fidel and his entourage talked about them in front of me for seventeen successive years and because Pepín and Chomy, with whom I collaborated closely on a daily basis, regularly gave explanations about them to the Commander in Chief, without taking account of my presence because I effectively belonged to his most intimate circle.

Be that as it may, Fidel’s finest coup was perhaps when, in 1980, he ordered the temporary reactivation of the gold mine of La Dolita situated on the Isla de la Juventud, the large island in the shape of a comma situated south of the Cuban coast. After having exhausted its resources, the Spanish had closed it down permanently during colonial times. However, learning that gold was experiencing a boom on the world markets, Fidel took it into his head to check whether, by any chance, modern equipment would enable any residual deposits that may have been overlooked to be extracted from La Dolita. His intuition was excellent: around 130 to 150 pounds of gold were collected and melted into ingots. I saw them with my own eyes when they were transported to the
palacio
to be shown to Fidel. Pepín asked me to help him schlep them into a wheelbarrow, and that was how I was able to estimate the weight: a single man could not have lifted it all at one go. I did not bother to ask him what this treasure would be used for or where it was going: I already knew the answer. . . .

_______________

*
More on that in chapter 15.

Although Fidel Castro’s personal wealth cannot be measured, his assets can be estimated. In a country in which there is no real estate market, it is difficult to put a price on the immense property of Punto Cero (with its swimming pool, tree-filled grounds, and greenhouses) or the paradise island of Cayo Piedra. Nonetheless, these exceptional properties still have an intrinsic value that can be compared with their equivalents on the luxury market, very sought after in the Caribbean Sea, the Bahamas, Grenada, or Antigua. Using this measure, the private island of Cayo Piedra is worth at least between two and ten million dollars.

Fidel’s assets are not limited to these two main residences. There are dozens of others; to restrict myself to a rigorous, objective, and minimal estimate, I will detail only the twenty or so houses that are for the exclusive use of the
Comandante
and that I know about because I have set foot in them and seen them with my own eyes, without taking account of the other piedsà-terre that could be likened more to official accommodations.

Let us review this property portfolio, region by region, from the west to the east of the island. In the province of Pinar del Río, in the extreme western edge of Cuba, he owns three properties: the American House (with open-air swimming pool); the farm of La Tranquilidad in the locality of Mil Cumbres (very little used by Fidel; I went there only twice); and La Deseada, a hunting lodge that I knew well, situated in a swampy zone where he shot duck in winter.

In Havana, other than the estate of Punto Cero, the
Comandante
has six landing places: the House of Cojímar, his first home after the Triumph of the Revolution in 1959; the house on 160th Street in the fairly upmarket district of Playa; a third house reserved for his amorous encounters, the House of Carbonell, situated in the precinct of Unit 160; an adorable little 1950s-style house in Santa María del Mar, facing the sea and next to the Trópico hotel (in the municipality of east Havana); and, finally, the two houses equipped with air raid shelters for the Castro family in case of war: the House of Punta Brava (where Dalia lived in 1961 before she moved in with Fidel) and the House of Gallego, very close to Unit 160.

In the province of Matanzas, he owns two vacation homes on the north and south coasts: in the north, a house situated in the heart of the holiday resort of Varadero that was particularly valued by his and Dalia’s sons because it leads directly onto the beach, and in the south, La Caleta del Rosario (in the Bay of Pigs), where a marina serves as the home port for the yacht
Aquarama II
and the rest of Fidel’s private flotilla. Further to the east, in the province of Ciego de Ávila, another house has direct access onto a beach of fine sand: the one on the Isle of Turiguano, near the tourist hot spot of Cayo Coco, appreciated by divers the world over, on the northern coast of Cuba.

In the province of Camagüey, still further east, is the small hacienda of San Cayetano, which, even though Fidel did not ride horseback, possesses an outside manege (known as a “schooling yard” in the riding world). Another house in Camagüey, named Tabayito, is hidden inside a complex that includes other properties given to members of the elite. Finally, I know of another property called Guardalavaca in the province of Holguín and two residences in Santiago de Cuba, the large town situated in the eastern part of the island: a house in Manduley Street (with two floors and a bowling green) and another, with a swimming pool, inside a complex belonging to the minister of the interior.

I am not sure that even the president of the United States has such a well-stocked property portfolio. But whatever the case, Fidel will swear, staring into your eyes and challenging you to believe him, that he earns just nine hundred pesos a month.

There had been an initial warning. In 1983, Fidel had had serious health problems that reoccurred in 1992. So when he fell really ill in 2006 and was forced to hand over the reins of power to Raúl, I was one of the few people in the world—along with his Cuban doctors and his immediate entourage—to make the connection with his earlier medical history.

In March 1983, when we had been back about a month from New Delhi, India, where Fidel had attended the seventh NonAligned Movement summit, life was following its normal course: the
Comandante
went every day to his office to deal with the business at hand. The month of April even began with a happy (although secret) event, about which I learned only years later: the birth of Abel, the illegitimate son of Fidel and Juanita Vera, his interpreter. Judging by photos recently sent me by wellinformed friends, this baby is today in his thirties, with Latin lover looks.

Two weeks later, on the evening of April 20, we were accompanying Fidel back to his residence of Punto Cero at past midnight. As usual, Dalia greeted him on the doorstep, kissing him and taking his Kalashnikov from his hands before placing it in their bedroom on the first floor. Then the
Comandante
retired to his apartments while we his escort went home—that is, to the dormitory situated in the building about fifty yards from the main house.

Around two a.m., the bell that alerted us every time Fidel was about to leave rang out. We leaped out of our beds and ran out to the cars, convinced that an urgent meeting, an international event, or a secret rendezvous meant he had to return to town. And, indeed, the head of the escort Domingo Mainet informed us that we were returning to the
palacio
: ten minutes later, our convoy of three Mercedes was streaming through the darkness of the sleeping capital.

When we got to the basement car garage of the palace, Fidel got out of the vehicle and I immediately noticed something abnormal: under his military uniform, he was wearing a blue pajama top! What was more, when he turned around to go toward the elevator, I saw a stain on his rear end. At the time, I imagined he must have sat down on something wet—but in the elevator, I also noticed his pallor. I decided he must be suffering from a simple digestion problem, not imagining how worrying the situation really was. But Domingo Mainet did not press the button for the third floor (where his office was) but rather sent us up directly to the fourth, where Fidel’s private clinic was to be found.

It was a miniature hospital that contained just three bedrooms: Fidel’s, with a bathroom and terrace overlooking Havana, a second for the bodyguards (principally the two “blood donors” who always slept there in case
El Jefe
was hospitalized), and a third for the medical staff on duty. This secret clinic also comprised an X-ray room, a pharmacy, a medical laboratory, and all the modern medical equipment one can imagine— including an expensive SOMATOM CT scanner made by German manufacturer Siemens. There was also the dental office where Professor Salvador, his dentist, had carried out all the Commander’s implants at the end of the 1980s to replace his original teeth. A gym for rehabilitation exercises, a kitchen, and a dining room completed the scene. All that for the exclusive use of one person: Fidel. Unlike the other leaders of the Revolution,
El Jefe
did not use the
Centro de Investigaciones Médico Quirúrgicas
(CIMEQ ), even though it was the pride of Cuban medicine. He possessed his own infrastructure.

That night, when we reached the fourth floor of the
palacio
, Fidel’s medical team was already there in full force. There was the surgeon Eugenio Selman, his personal doctor; Dr. Raúl Dorticós, one of the most eminent Cuban doctors, who enjoyed an international reputation; Dr. Ariel, the anesthesiologist; and Dr. Cabrera, responsible for Fidel’s blood bags and for transfusions. Not to mention Wilder Fernández, his personal nurse, plus two female nurses. The
Comandante
was immediately taken in hand by this assembly of specialists.

The following morning, as the latter were all coming out into the corridor to confer, I learned from their conversation that their illustrious patient was suffering from a cancerous ulcer in the intestine. I do not know what treatment they administered, but I do know that Fidel stayed in that clinic for eleven days and that afterward he convalesced for three months in his Havanan residence of Punto Cero. Thus, from April 20 to July 17, Fidel Castro did not appear in public and did not give a single speech.

It was on that occasion that the strategy of disinformation consisting of putting Fidel Castro’s “double” on display at the back of the presidential Mercedes was first used; the vehicle drove through Havana so as to dispel any rumors about the absence of the
Comandante
. From time to time Fidel’s personal hairdresser made up Silvino Álvarez, the Commander in Chief ’s double, and altered his appearance by decking him out with a false beard. Then we would leave in convoy from the Palace of the Revolution to pass ostentatiously in front of the Western embassies. At regular intervals, when we crossed a group of people in the street, the false Fidel installed in the real one’s place in the right-hand side of the backseat would lower his window and greet people from afar. During those months of convalescence, the whole of the escort kept his routine: every day we would perform Fidel’s usual trip between home and office so that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nobody realized that anything was amiss; for all concerned, Fidel was indeed in Havana, absorbed in his work as “father of the nation.”

From the time of that first health alert, particular attention was paid to Fidel’s diet. His doctors having prescribed a strict regimen based on white meat and fresh vegetables, agricultural greenhouses were put up in the garden of his residence at Punto Cero and he virtually gave up red meat. The
Comandante
also got into the habit of drinking a freshly squeezed orange juice, nice and cold and served without fail—wherever he was and 365 days a year—at exactly four p.m. However, no decree against alcohol was set down and Fidel continued regularly drinking whisky, though less than before. This, as well as his abstinence in terms of cigars (he had stopped smoking in 1980), allowed him to recover his health. Fidel reappeared in public on July 17 and gave a speech in the botanical garden of Lenin Park in Havana for Children’s Day. Everything went back to normal, but I have to admit that from that day forward I saw Fidel a little differently; sometimes I even caught myself, rather shamefacedly, looking at his posterior.

The second attack came nine years later in 1992, after Fidel Castro’s memorable journey to Spain. That year, the
Líder Máximo
had a thousand good reasons to go to the land of his ancestors: to take part in the Ibero-American Summit in Madrid on July 23 and 24, to attend the inauguration of the summer Olympic games in Barcelona on July 25, to celebrate the Cuban national holiday in Seville on July 26, to visit the Seville Expo in the same town on July 27, and, finally, go on a pilgrimage to Láncara, his father’s native village in Galicia, sixty miles or so from Santiago de Compostela. I remember that Fidel’s visit was greeted by a sarcastic article in the great Spanish daily
El País
, which gave an ironically exaggerated description of the number of security men in place around the Commander of the Revolution. The author talked of “fifty armed men landing at Barajas airport at an hour kept secret until the last minute, on board two Ilyushin airplanes in the colors of Cubana de Aviación, one of which serves as a decoy.”