HABÁNAME (Havana [Verb Transitive] Me) by Ana Ortiz Copyright © February 25, 2002 Ana Ortiz All Rights Reserved
De que callada manera se me adentra usted sonriendo como si fuera la primavera yo muriendo. Y de que modo sutil me derramó en la camisa todas las flores de abril. Quién le dijo que yo era risa siempre, nunca llanto? Como si fuera la primavera no soy tanto. En cambio qué espiritual que usted me brinde una rosa de su rosal principal. De que callada manera se me adentra usted sonriendo como si fuera la primavera yo muriendo, yo muriendo. Nicolás Guillén, ?Canción? (Adapted by Pablo Milanés, used without permission.) Chapter 4: A Tentative Cartography The next afternoon Habana Central, Cuba "And I would not give you false hope, no, on this strange and mournful day?" Barbara alternately sang to herself and whistled as she strode through Vedado, briefcase in hand, the afternoon sun warming her exposed shoulders and beginning the process of darkening the freckles on the nape of her neck and her upper back. Moisture was again thick in the air and she could feel the dampness both where her bangs draped over her temples, and in the line running between her shoulder blades where her hair - collected into a thick braid - rested. Still, she concluded, even if she was back in New England she would be perspiring from the uncertainty and the excitement of her mission. It had already been a day of substantial accomplishments. She had returned from Chela's apartment water-logged and muddy, but with a remarkable amount of nervous energy that drove her to sit down and draw up a set of preliminary field protocols for her research team. Then, after a satisfying long shower, she had gone for sweet rolls and coffee and treated Cynthia to brunch on the balcony of the project officer's hotel room. Although the older woman had raised some questions about the feasibility of engaging in an island-wide sweep - punctuated by return trips to Havana for data analysis and clinical sample processing - she had ultimately capitulated to the maverick physician's proposals. Most importantly from Barbara's perspective, she had granted her carte blanche in arranging for human resources to support the Tufts effort. Glad I didn't spell out that the proposed research assistant was a local hooker I met last night, who probably has the hangover from hell right now. Yep, that pretty face has got to be looking like these buildings a bit - like the party was good but a long time ago. The daylight accentuated the contradictions of ornate architecture that wanted for decades of paint: the buildings of Havana with few exceptions displayed a mottled appearance of grays mixing with soft, faded pastels. "?but the mother and child reunion is only a motion away?" Barbara slowed down and stopped singing as she came up to Chela's Humboldt alley apartment, her heart picking up in the strength of its beat despite the attenuation of activity. Control. Gotta sell this. Bad enough you're here days before you said you'd be. Fuck it's not like she's interested that way anyway. Why am I doing this? I'm fucked. I don?t know why I'm doing this. Am I like those old Irish nuns that used to take fallen girls off the street? But they probably didn?t want to grab them and kiss them. Geez. Maybe they did and they lied! Maybe nuns lie all the time! Maybe Sister Mary Frances smoked the occasional bone too! Her mind momentarily went silent in panic as she found herself in front of Chela's wide open door, but she quickly recovered her sense of purpose, anchoring herself in her role as physician. The young woman she had treated the night before, and to whom she had left clear instructions to rest, was out of her bed and on her feet, awkwardly attempting to iron some clothes without the full use of her left arm. "Good day," she said softly. Chela startled at looking up from the ironing board to find Barbara in her doorway. "I'm sorry. I know," continued Barbara, "this is earlier than you expected me, but something important has come up - an opportunity. And now I see that it's a good thing that I have come because it seems that you have ideas about returning to work tonight regardless of what your body needs in order to heal." She just doesn't seem so dangerous in the daylight, thought Chela, taking in the woman before her. Perhaps it was the stress of being attacked that led me to have such a strong impression of her. Barbara looked to be a bit older, and clearly physically stronger; she appeared intelligent - she was a physician - but also acted naïve and arrogant in ways that seemed equally endearing and annoying. Best break the enchantment quickly. She must just be another one of these feminist do-gooders who thinks I don?t really understand what I'm doing. "You want to come in? " asked Chela evenly, although the hairs were still just settling back down on the back of her neck. "You can keep me company while I iron, compañera Doctora." She pulled a chair directly in front of the ironing board. "Please have a seat." Barbara shook her head ruefully as she dusted off the seat of her khaki shorts before sitting down, resting her briefcase against the chair. "Chela, even the ironing can wait, I'm sure," she chided. "Well, no. In fact, it can't. I have blood all over my other nice top and I don?t want to go out full of wrinkles." "But your shoulder?"