strangers coming or going.”
“What did you tell them?” Renata asked.
“I said I saw no strangers, today or yesterday. Did you see anyone when you came in your taxi?”
“There was a man hiding behind a tree,” Renata said. “He looked like Fidel Castro.”
“Don’t joke about such a thing,” Esme said. “They will arrest you.”
Renata drove Esme’s Buick in a way that Quinn decided was more dangerous than traveling with machine guns in the trunk, and more liable to get them arrested on this day of assassins on wheels.
“Let me drive,” he said. “You’re too distracted.”
“I am not distracted.”
“You’re speeding.”
“They’re not arresting speeders today.”
“Let me drive.”
“Later.”
“Later we’ll be at your house.”
“I can’t park this car at my house.”
“Are you saying we have another parking problem?”
“I cannot do anything strange that will attract the police.”
“Everything you do is strange. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’m falling in love with you because of your bizarre turn of mind.”
“Thank you, Daniel.”
“Thank me? For falling in love?”
“I love it when men love me.”
“You have so many. How many is enough?”
“I don’t think of it that way.”
“How do you think of it?”
“I can’t think of it. I have Diego in my mind. I can’t think of other people’s love.”
“I don’t want to be considered other people.”
“Diego was my love.”
“He was one of them. You can lose two or three and still have loves to spare.”
“I don’t like your attitude.”
“I’m sorry for Diego but I can’t grieve as you do. He was a very, very brave man and I’m sad a warrior of the revolution was killed. Yours is another kind of sorrow from mine.”
“You must stop talking or I’ll start to hate you and I don’t want to hate someone who is falling in love with me.”
“What are you going to do with this car?”
“Esme will tell my mother I have it. But if I park at my house and the police come, Esme will be involved.”
“She’s already involved. The police came to see her. They may even think she parked Diego’s car.”
“Never. She is too close to Batista.”
“I can park it someplace.”
“Yes, you can, can’t you.”
“I can park it by my apartment.”
“Where is your apartment?”
“In the Vedado. Near the Nacional. I could even leave the car in the hotel parking lot.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Take me home—Twenty-second Street.” She stopped the car and changed seats with Quinn. They were on Fifth Avenue in Miramar.
“Did your parents know Diego?”
“They heard his name, but they can’t keep track of my life. I tell so many lies I can’t keep track myself.”
“I would like to meet them without lies.”
“They will like it that you’re an Americano. They will assume you have money. Do you?”
“I can pay my rent and still have some left over for the laundry.”
“ Pobrecito. ”
On Twenty-second Street Renata said her house was on the right. Two Oldsmobile sedans, nobody in either one, were parked in front and every light in the house seemed to be lit.
“Keep going,” she said. “Those cars are the SIM. They’re probably talking to my parents. God, how my father will hate this. He hates all politics since Machado. My mother will be dying of anxiety.”
“Which way do we go?”
“I have to talk to somebody. I know nothing. I want to see Diego.”
“Diego can’t help you. What about Max? He’ll know what’s happening.”
“Max knows nothing I want to know. But I can use his telephone, yes, good. I so want to go to Diego.”
Renata wanted to love a dead man. The living man next to her would not do. She needed love that was no longer available and she needed it now. Maybe they could find a dead man somewhere. There were many in Havana today. It impressed him that she was broiling at organ central, a woman questing to love death. If I take her
“What did you tell them?” Renata asked.
“I said I saw no strangers, today or yesterday. Did you see anyone when you came in your taxi?”
“There was a man hiding behind a tree,” Renata said. “He looked like Fidel Castro.”
“Don’t joke about such a thing,” Esme said. “They will arrest you.”
Renata drove Esme’s Buick in a way that Quinn decided was more dangerous than traveling with machine guns in the trunk, and more liable to get them arrested on this day of assassins on wheels.
“Let me drive,” he said. “You’re too distracted.”
“I am not distracted.”
“You’re speeding.”
“They’re not arresting speeders today.”
“Let me drive.”
“Later.”
“Later we’ll be at your house.”
“I can’t park this car at my house.”
“Are you saying we have another parking problem?”
“I cannot do anything strange that will attract the police.”
“Everything you do is strange. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’m falling in love with you because of your bizarre turn of mind.”
“Thank you, Daniel.”
“Thank me? For falling in love?”
“I love it when men love me.”
“You have so many. How many is enough?”
“I don’t think of it that way.”
“How do you think of it?”
“I can’t think of it. I have Diego in my mind. I can’t think of other people’s love.”
“I don’t want to be considered other people.”
“Diego was my love.”
“He was one of them. You can lose two or three and still have loves to spare.”
“I don’t like your attitude.”
“I’m sorry for Diego but I can’t grieve as you do. He was a very, very brave man and I’m sad a warrior of the revolution was killed. Yours is another kind of sorrow from mine.”
“You must stop talking or I’ll start to hate you and I don’t want to hate someone who is falling in love with me.”
“What are you going to do with this car?”
“Esme will tell my mother I have it. But if I park at my house and the police come, Esme will be involved.”
“She’s already involved. The police came to see her. They may even think she parked Diego’s car.”
“Never. She is too close to Batista.”
“I can park it someplace.”
“Yes, you can, can’t you.”
“I can park it by my apartment.”
“Where is your apartment?”
“In the Vedado. Near the Nacional. I could even leave the car in the hotel parking lot.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Take me home—Twenty-second Street.” She stopped the car and changed seats with Quinn. They were on Fifth Avenue in Miramar.
“Did your parents know Diego?”
“They heard his name, but they can’t keep track of my life. I tell so many lies I can’t keep track myself.”
“I would like to meet them without lies.”
“They will like it that you’re an Americano. They will assume you have money. Do you?”
“I can pay my rent and still have some left over for the laundry.”
“ Pobrecito. ”
On Twenty-second Street Renata said her house was on the right. Two Oldsmobile sedans, nobody in either one, were parked in front and every light in the house seemed to be lit.
“Keep going,” she said. “Those cars are the SIM. They’re probably talking to my parents. God, how my father will hate this. He hates all politics since Machado. My mother will be dying of anxiety.”
“Which way do we go?”
“I have to talk to somebody. I know nothing. I want to see Diego.”
“Diego can’t help you. What about Max? He’ll know what’s happening.”
“Max knows nothing I want to know. But I can use his telephone, yes, good. I so want to go to Diego.”
Renata wanted to love a dead man. The living man next to her would not do. She needed love that was no longer available and she needed it now. Maybe they could find a dead man somewhere. There were many in Havana today. It impressed him that she was broiling at organ central, a woman questing to love death. If I take her
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