Christmas in Cuba: Post Script!

Complete Story @ Here!

December 25 1996

“Querida, do you believe in miracles?” I sit on the bed, untying my shoes. Reach for my journal and a smoke. Matilde gazes at me from the mirror. Brushing her hair. Pulls it up. Back.Ties it into a bun. 

“Si!“, she blows me a kiss, “I have hope, mi amor. Don’t you?” Sitting down on the bed, leaning over, she whispers in my ear, “Feliz Navidad.”

Yes! Merry Christmas one and all! May the spirit of love be with you! As Jesus moves among us, so to the Word is truly made flesh!

The End!

Christmas in Cuba [Third Edition] will be posted as a complete blog here; Chapters 1-3 with Post Script, on Christmas Day.

The Second Edition of Christmas In Cuba is now completed as posted:

Part 1 @  Here! Part 2 @ Here!  Part 3 @ Here! Part 4 @ Here! Part 5 @ Here! Part 6 @ Here! Part 7 @ Here! Part 8 @ Here! Part 9 @ Here! Part 10 @ Here! Part 11 @ Here! Part 12 @ Here! Post Script @ Here!

Christmas in Cuba 12: Trapped!?

Complete Story @ Here!

“Davido! Matilde!” It’s Miguel, “Come, we best go now. Rapido!”

We walk back home down the dark, narrow, winding streets, cautiously stepping around the pot holes, the worn streetcar tracks. Always watching -are we being followed? We pass the familiar crumbling building fronts. The arches. Pillars. Wrought iron window grates. The impossibly tall narrow wooden doors, bolted for the night. The street lights few and far between. Unreal. They cast their glare as if upon a stage, a theatre of the mind, Cuba and the night. Christmas eve? It's another world, so close to my heart. Otherwise? So very far away.

“Pssst! Buddy boy!” Mati giggles, squeezes my hand. Perhaps sensing my sudden loneliness.  My thoughts of Christmas, back in my homeland, in Canada, where snuggled in their beds everybody will soon awake, to so much more than this. Or will they? I look up at the stars shining brightly above. Feel Mati’s body pressed warmly against me. As we make our way down the street, she whispers in my ear, “ We go to our room, no?”

Miguel points to his house, a few doors away. We laugh and joke, relieved our little adventure is almost over. Or is it? He raps loudly on the door, calling Josef's name. We wait, patiently at first. Its quite late, he must be sound asleep. And the door? Its barred tightly from inside. We gaze up at the locked iron grate on the windows. Mierda! What to do? Miguel shrugs, raises his fist, pounding again and again on the heavy wooden door.

Suddenly a whistle blast. It’s the police! They pull up to the door on their bikes. Mati gulps, nervously begins to play with her hair. It must be her worst nightmare come true. So late at night. Los dos. The two of us. Ho boy!, “Darling, do you have your i.d.?”

“Mio Dios!” she whispers, “No!” God help her, she could get arrested for that alone. There’s nothing we could do, “Lean up against the wall, and please -don’t say anything!”

I move a few feet away, feel the cool stone against my back. Matilde stands at a distance in the shadows, her chest rising and falling, nervously tapping her fingers against the wall. We watch as Miguel turns to the police with a friendly wave, explaining Josef must be asleep. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out his cigarette pack and identification, offering them a smoke.

Down the block, on the steps, a group of hombres sit, passing around a cigarette, a bottle of rum. The pounding beat of Afrocuban drums rumbling out the bright doorway, into the night. They catch the policemen’s eyes. Wave. The police nod, handing back Miguel his i.d. The guys in the neighbourhood, the last night of the bembe fiesta, perhaps the police will just let us all be?

They watch in silence. One of them yawns. Miguel again pounds on the door, hollers for Josef, laughing, exchanging a joke with them in Spanish. Oh please Josef! Wake up! 

I can see Miguel sigh with relief. The wooden door shakes, light spills out, Josef peers through the crack; “Que pasa?”

Looking about, he sees Mati and me, crooks his finger. Quickly we step past the police and inside the door. Josef rolls his eyes, apologetically clapping his hands to his head. Stepping outside to talk to the police, he closes the door behind him.

Safe in our room again Matilde and I wait. Miguel, knocks, wishes us good night. “Don’t worry.” he winks, ”It’s okay.”

To be continued ......

The Series ......

Part 1 @  Here! Part 2 @ Here!  Part 3 @ Here! Part 4 @ Here! Part 5 @ Here! Part 6 @ Here! Part 7 @ Here! Part 8 @ Here! Part 9 @ Here! Part 10 @ Here! Part 11 @ Here! Part 12 @ Here! Post Script @ Here!

Christmas in Cuba 11: Cuba y La Noche 2!

Complete Story @ Here!

*La luz luce en las tinieblas, y las tinieblas no la sofocaron.*

*The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.*

                                                                                      (Juan 1:5)

December 25 1996

We slip out the church, skirting the park, keeping close to the brightly lit cathedral. Past the tourists trying to cram into the taxis. They scratch their heads. Looking about for a fast ride back to the resorts. Across the street in Cespedes Parque, the police stop the parishioners. Demanding  their i.d. Eyeing them suspiciously. Asking many questions.

Hurriedly, we make our way to the corner; the Casagrande Hotel. The maitre’d stands on the steps out front, blocking our way, “No no! Not tonight! We are closing early. Go home. Please!”

He nervously shuffles his feet, stares at the park from the open terrace. Behind him the waiters put up the chairs. Turn off the Christmas tree lights. Anxiously, Miguel gazes at the paddy wagons parked along our route back home, “Come. It is not safe. I know where we can go.”

We duck down a quiet, pitch black, side street. Follow an alleyway. The clack of our footsteps echo along the cobblestones, off the cracked courtyard walls. Come back into the lamplight out front the Palacio Provincial, a few blocks away. Huge black y red Communista banners hanging from the pillar arches. We continue at a steady clip down the street through Delores Parque. Pass under the palm trees, past the empty benches, the statues of the revolutionary heroes, without a word, alone in the night.

Miguel points to a lit doorway -an all night local haunt. Finds an empty table y chairs in the courtyard, under a towering palm, where between the ferns, obscured from view, we can watch the street. Matilde y I sit back while he goes to check out what to do. We sigh with relief. Its pleasant, cool for Cuba, not unlike a Canadian summer night.

Minstrels wander among the tables playing trova musica; sad romantic ballads, on their beat up Spanish guitars. Young couples cram about the tables, holding hands. Amigos knock back shots of rum. Pass around cigarettes. There’s laughter in the air. A few tourists sit at the bar. The jinetera saunter over, in their spandex tights, split skirts y heels. Soon are sitting on their laps. Whispering in their ear. They order them a beer. In a darkened corner, a old couple sway, a boozy dance, arms wrapped tight around each other.

Mati and I decide to order drinks. I sip my Tropicola, she her glass of wine, a late night, early morning Christmas drink. “So, Querida. I’m so sorry. We should’ve stayed at Josef's house tonight.”

She looks up at me, surprised, “Que? No. No. We see Jesus. There is hope!”

I pause. Mid drink. Pondering her words. Puzzled by her seeming innocence. “But darling, there is much trouble now.”

“Si? What did the prayer say? Deliver us from evil?”, she nods to herself, ”He will protect us.”

“Well. The Communistas say follow us too. Everything will be okay. Is this not the same thing?”

She smiles, puts down her drink, wagging her finger at me, “You think too much, I feel.”

"Ques/Eh?!?”

“Listen. You have a spirit, no? It is love. It can make the impossible come true. Otherwise? Nada. Nothing.", reaching over, she takes my hand, “Our life, it has no meaning.”

I gaze into Mati’s eyes. Amazed. At a loss for words. Such simple truths: love -a reason to believe? The reason for living? Whew!  Yeah, I guess she’s right. I think too much -often miss the obvious. Mati? She just feels it in her heart. Leaning over she kisses me on the cheek, winks, “Don’t worry, we will find a way.”

To Be Continued ........

The Series ........

Part 1 @  Here! Part 2 @ Here!  Part 3 @ Here! Part 4 @ Here! Part 5 @ Here! Part 6 @ Here! Part 7 @ Here! Part 8 @ Here! Part 9 @ Here! Part 10 @ Here! Part 11 @ Here! Part 12 @ Here! Post Script @ Here!

Christmas in Cuba 10: Go in Peace?

Complete Story @ Here! 

December 25 1996

As the service draws to a close, the padre walks to the communion railing to address his flock. “Mati! Que pasa? What’s happening?”

Mati translates, breathing excitedly into my ear, “He says he knows everybody is worried because we cannot afford enough food to eat this Christmas, let alone a tree. He says we have something here though, that we cannot buy for pesos, for dollars. We have Christmas. This is mucho mas, more -Jesus Cristo is born....................He is inviting everybody to sing happy birthday to the baby Jesus!”

At first, it begins slowly. The congregation awkwardly shuffle their feet, peering nervously at the police by the church doors. One by one, they join in song, growing more confident, catching the spirit. In the simple voices, a newborn hope, for most of them a first -the spirit of Christmas in Santiago de Cuba. The padre reaches out. Together, everybody joins hands. Amigos. Amigas, Chicos. Chica. Muchachos. Muchachas. United in hope, in love, and in song.

 As the song finally comes to an end, as the last voice trails off, a few awkwardly begin to clap. Soon, everybody is clapping. They clap. They cheer. They stomp their feet. Louder and louder and louder, a thunderous roar, rolling off the floor, echoing from the churches arched ceilings, stone alcoves and vestibules. It echoes out the huge open window shutters, the wooden doors, to the street, to the park.

The police tap each other on the shoulder, spread out along the back church doors. Legs squared, tapping their billy clubs on their open palms! In Cuba, this is unheard of! Solidaridad? Comunidad? Strength? In a land where there is only one way.

The padre raises his hands, trying to silence the crowd, at first to no avail. Nods. Among the confusion, some of the locals lead the children rapidly out the church side door. Soon it's closed off too, the police now standing guard. Miguel, Matilde y I are tightly pressed up against the inside wall of the church, amongst the crush of the crowd. Clapping. Cheering. Still stomping their feet, “Miguel! Your nieces?”

“Si, I saw them go!”

“Por Favour! Por favour! Please!” The padre waves his hands in the air. Steps back up to the altar, catching everybody’s attention; “Pueden ...../Go in the peace of Christ.”

“Demos gracias a Dio..../ with the grace of God.”

As the choir sings “Noche Silencia”, he slowly begins the procession to the door. Row by row the congregation begin to follow. The policia step back onto the street, spreading out through Cespedes Parque. Paddy wagons at the ready. 

The tourists hurriedly head outside, trying to wave down the taxicabs. They pull up to the curb. The padre surrounded by the faithful, peer outside. “Quick! Rapido!” Matilde grabs my hand, “They won’t do anything right now. It is time to go!”

And so we head back out, into Cuba y la noche, the Santiago night.............

To be continued .......

SERIES: Part 1 @  Here! Part 2 @ Here!  Part 3 @ Here! Part 4 @ Here! Part 5 @ Here! Part 6 @ Here! Part 7 @ Here! Part 8 @ Here! Part 9 @ Here! Part 10 @ Here! Part 11 @ Here! Part 12 @ Here! Post Script @ Here!

Christmas in Cuba 9: The Hail Mary Option!

Complete Story @ Here!

December 25th 1996

The padre explains its time to offer each other the sign of peace,

“La paz del Senor este siempre contigo.” Matilde blushes. An old woman reaches out, they embrace. A simple human touch -of peace, good will. No matter how bad it gets, Mati’s got it. She looks about, beaming. Good God -that’s why I love her so. Her hearts always in the right place.......

“Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed” The communion procession makes its way up the main aisle. “Pssst! Davido! I got the rosary! Can I go?”

Is she serious? I look at Mati. Oh my God! Yes -dulce Angelita! Sweet angel! “Sure, if it was up to me......”

To be Continued ......

SERIES: Part 1 @  Here! Part 2 @ Here!  Part 3 @ Here! Part 4 @ Here! Part 5 @ Here! Part 6 @ Here! Part 7 @ Here! Part 8 @ Here! Part 9 @ Here! Part 10 @ Here! Part 11 @ Here! Part 12 @ Here! Post Script @ Here!

Christmas in Cuba 8: Padre Nuestro!

Complete Story @ Here!

December 25th 1996

It is the mystery of faith with a Spanish twist. The padre looks up from preparing the chalice. He clears his throat, “Este es el misterio de nuestra fe.”

A murmur sweeps through the Cuban parishioners, “Anunciamos tu muerte, proclamamos tu resurrecion. Ven, Senor Jesus.”

Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. I repeat the words to myself, touched by the beauty, the hope, of their Spanish translation.

“It is the Padre Nuestro,” Matilde whispers, “ How do you say it? The Our Father?”

“Padre nuestro, que estas en la cielo/Our father who art in heaven,” The chicos bend their heads in prayer. I feel her gently reaching for my hand.

“...santificado sea tu Nombre/hallowed be thy name...” My thoughts drift back to my first visit here; a school trip, an empty church, in 1992.....

“...venga a nosostros tu reino/thy kingdom come...” I remember all the many efforts to reach out, to help the Cuban Schools, for the past 5 years.......

“...hagase tu voluntad/thy will be done...” Often a futile task, lost in the everyday shuffle of life. No easy answers, in Canada or here, no matter what we do.......

“...en la tierra como en la cielo/on earth as it is in heaven...” Mati catches my eye and smiles. Hmmmm. Can she read my mind? Yes, of course, we met on the project!

“...danos hoy nuestro pan de cada dia/ give us this day our daily bread...”

It’s all relative, I suppose. Mati, her family, her friends -they have so little, there’s so little they can do.....

“...perdona nuestras ofensas/ and forgive us our trespasses...” Then again, half the time I’m lost. I look at her standing beside me, at the police by the door. Being together, especially here, she is in so much danger. A Cubana, with an foreigner; amor prohibido -they won't like that. I wish I knew what to do. I can get back on my plane and fly home, but her?

“...como tambien nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden/ as we forgive those who trespass against us...” 

A siren blast! Whistles.The police are blocking the church door! I can see more of them coming in. A nervous murmur ripples through the church. Good God its hard not to feel hate!

“...no nos dejers caer en la tentacion/and lead us not into temptation...”

“No no!” Mati gasps, “Don’t worry! There are foreigners here. They won’t do anything -yet!”

Ho boy! God help us! Show us a way! “...y libranos del mal/but deliver us from evil.”

“For the kingdom, the power and the glory are yours, now and forever......”

To be continued .......

SERIES: Part 1 @  Here! Part 2 @ Here!  Part 3 @ Here! Part 4 @ Here! Part 5 @ Here! Part 6 @ Here! Part 7 @ Here! Part 8 @ Here! Part 9 @ Here! Part 10 @ Here! Part 11 @ Here! Part 12 @ Here! Post Script @ Here!