Havana Fever Page 30

  But yesterday, when I received the terrible news, the devastating knowledge that your death will also weigh eternally on my soul descended on me, like a mountain. Knowing you as I do, I can see that you sought out this finale and the reasons driving you were the love you still felt for that poor woman and your frustration at not being able to come back and mete out the punishments that would relieve you of that grief.

  I have discovered, far too late, that you were a much weaker man than I ever imagined or wanted to imagine. The extent of your capacity to feel love and suffer because of a woman shocked me and showed me how even someone like you can be left defenceless (as I always was) by the spell of true passion. And perhaps that forcefulness your daughter inherited pushed her to the extreme of committing a crime to reclaim what had been snatched from her.

  Now I don’t know what will become of me. The hope I might recover you some day, which waned but never disappeared, has vanished, taking with it any possibility of ensuring you knew your suspicions about my direct guilt were unfounded. Together with my incurable sorrow at the knowledge that you died thinking I killed that woman, I must now add my sorrow from the knowledge that I was really to blame for everything that happened. As if I’d not been punished enough for my crazy actions, now imagine what I suffer when I see your daughter, our daughter, and recognize her as the one directly responsible for these misfortunes . . . It is too much, my heart cannot stand it, because I know she is the person I have most loved in the world, after you, and that I can never forgive her. From now on I shall always see her as a murderer who killed not only that woman but, forgive her, Lord, her own father!

  Dear love: these horrific discoveries have made me see how fragile are the worlds that seem to have the firmest, almost indestructible foundations. Your life, mine, the family you created have collapsed, ravaged from within by an insatiable scourge, just as the health of this house is beginning to give, with paint dissolved by rain and gardens invaded by weeds.

  The voices from hell echoing in my brain have become more aggressive and, I know, they will rob me of my reason. The demon who speaks to me and pursues me through the day, has finally revealed his true intent, for he pushed me towards the abyss into which I am now falling . . . Thus, before reaching the bottom which I will never leave, I decided to write to you, confident you will receive this last letter, wherever you are, where I don’t dare ask for your forgiveness (I don’t want that, I shall wallow in my guilt, anticipating the fires of hell), but where I must reiterate that my greatest sin was to love you too dearly and expect something in exchange for my love. I beg you to forgive your daughter: do not blame her for my sins.

  I am sure God will take you into his bosom. A man able to love so much deserves for his sins to be forgiven. Goodbye, my love. I love you more, now and forever . . .

  Your Nena

  “After years of chewing on humiliation, as if it were our natural diet, when it finally seemed that luck or divine justice were lining up on our side to enable us to enjoy what was ours through natural law and the rights of fidelity, that woman appeared. She came from nowhere, ready to take everything and, when I realized what would happen, it was already happening, irrevocably. I couldn’t resign myself and that was why I did what I had to do. I wasn’t going to allow her or anyone to take away what belonged to us, what I’d been waiting for every day of my life, with incredible patience, in a corner of this accursed house, where I was born with Montes de Oca blood yet could never become a Montes de Oca . . . That’s why, even today, despite everything that’s happened, I don’t feel an atom of remorse and I say this with my conscience intact, because I’m not mad. If I found myself in the same situation today, I would do it again.

  “From the moment I acquired the use of my reason, my mother taught me the great truth in my life: I wasn’t the daughter of an illiterate chauffeur, my surname wasn’t Ferrero, and my life would one day be different, because I was the daughter of Mr Alcides Montes de Oca, grand-daughter of Dr Tomás Montes de Oca and great-granddaughter of General Serafín Montes de Oca, one of this country’s heroes who left his home and fortune to fight in two wars of independence and came back with one eye, one useless arm and eighteen sword and bullet scars on his body. And coming from that stock I had a right to the privileges that one day, Mummy swore, I would enjoy. But meanwhile I had to stay silent, and my pride flourished in the shadows. That was a secret we two would share, but not my brother Dionisio. Although he was equally the offspring of Mr Alcides, he lacked my patience, and was rebellious, like our great-grandfather the general, and possessed a mind best not made privy to that secret.

  “Thanks to my origins, I had my opportunities in life, although I couldn’t enjoy all the luxuries and considerations that were my right. I studied in a good private school, had a rich girl’s food and clothes and in 1956 enrolled at the university to study business. But in fact they were only crumbs and from a young age I was forced to introduce myself as having no father, an object of charity within my own family.

  “Luckily, Virgilio Ferrero, the chauffeur, disappeared from our lives when I was around seven, and Mummy thought that was the best thing that could ever have happened to us. Dionisio missed him a lot: he loved him like a father, because he’d never known any other, and over time decided he was no good because he’d abandoned us, no doubt to go after another woman. I never discovered what happened to him, but in hindsight I’m sure it was something quite nasty, because Mummy once talked about him as an ungrateful so-and-so who had bitten the hand that fed him . . . and Mr Alcides wasn’t a man to allow his dogs to bite him.

  “When Mr Alcides’s wife died in 1956, Mummy and I hugged each other for joy: it’s difficult to imagine someone’s death being so welcome, but for us it was as if the only obstacle stopping us from enjoying what was rightfully ours had gone. From that day on Mummy waited for what should happen to happen: after twenty years of clandestine love, Mr Alcides would marry his Nena, as he always called Mummy. In all that time, apart from being his lover, she had seen to every detail of Mr Alcides’s business and political life, and was more than his right hand: she was his two hands and often his eyes and ears. Moreover, he’d always encouraged Mummy in her expectations, and he never stopped visiting her room, even after his marriage. Until that woman appeared.

  “Initially Mummy flew into a rage, and then tried to persuade herself that it was the fleeting passion of an almost fifty-year old man for a young woman of my age, that is, someone who could easily be his daughter. Women at that time were, as you know, much more patient, and Mummy said if she’d waited in the shadows for so many years, she wasn’t going to go crazy because of an affair without a future that would disappear as easily as it had come. In fact, Mummy suffered terribly, it was insulting, worse, humiliating, although she had no choice but to wait. She wasn’t in a position to demand anything of Mr Alcides: Dionisio and I were legally the children of Virgilio Ferrero, and Mummy was only an employee of the household, albeit the most trusted. And in her heart of hearts she was afraid: she knew that man would do anything to get what he’d set his sights on and that it wasn’t advisable to cross him, as Virgilio Ferrero once had . . .

  “Around that time Mummy began to suffer from her nerves. She wasn’t sleeping well, took pills, had stomach problems, although she’d always been so strong and healthy. She started to lose her high spirits. If she’d once been a woman waiting, confident in her future, she now become desperate, jealous, and envious, an aggrieved woman watching the man she’d always loved, her life long dream slipping through her fingers.

  “And I imagined that woman, the singer, in seventh heaven now she’d hit the jackpot . . . I saw her for the first time in 1958. I told Mummy a story about a friend of mine who was going to hold her engagement party in a cabaret and I needed money so I could give her a present the day of her party. I agreed with my friend that I’d invite her and her fiancé to come with me to the Parisién. It was the first and last time I ever went to a place like that.
I still remember it as if it was yesterday, the plush seats, the coloured lights, the elegant men and women, the casino with roulette wheels, tables with dice and playing cards, waiters dressed in black suits with shiny lapels, hair sleekly combed, looking like film stars . . . We watched the first show, with Roberto Faz’s orchestra and some dancing-girls, then it was the cabaret orchestra and finally, at about one o’clock, or later, that woman finally emerged and sang. The Lady of the Night, they said . . .

  “It was then I understood why Mr Alcides had fallen in love with her. Any man could have fallen in love with her just by looking at her, her angelic face, her body like a Greek sculpture in a glittering tight-fitting costume and, above all, hearing her voice that was so strong and direct it almost didn’t need music to get into your ears and compel you to continue hearing her. So I hated her even more: because she was more beautiful than I would ever be, and because people worshipped her. That night I realized that unless something big intervened, Mummy and I would never have our opportunity, because that woman was invincible . . .

  “For the sake of appearances and above all to avoid falling out with his in-laws, who were filthy rich, he kept his love affair secret, but forced Mummy to be at the beck and call of that woman, as if she were already Mrs Montes de Oca. She lived in a flat in Miramar, bought by Mr Alcides, and Mummy had to go at least once a week, to ensure she had everything she needed and sign a few cheques to cover what she spent on clothes, perfumes, or whatever she fancied. That duty was more of a humiliation than a punishment, but Mr Alcides was so love-stricken he was unable to understand the pain he was inflicting on the person who loved him most.

  “Mummy waited, prayed for something to happen, and something did, but that only complicated matters: the rebels won the war, Batista fled and the Revolution triumphed. Initially we both welcomed that victory as a blessing, because we’d lived for several years in a state of constant anxiety over Dionisio’s well-being: when he was a youngster he’d joined the opposition to the dictatorship when he’d enrolled at the university, and the clandestine struggle here in Havana, which was bloodier and more dangerous than the war in the mountains. I remember how Mummy and I lived everyday in fear of receiving news that Dionisio had been found tortured and murdered on a street corner. When the Palace was attacked in 1957, we almost went crazy because Dionisio didn’t show up for three days and we thought he must be one of the dead who were being talked about in the street but about whom the newspapers said nothing. But he was safe now and that made us happy, as did the knowledge that the horror of those years was past. Even Mr Alcides celebrated the rebels’ victory but in particular the fall of the tyrant who’d done everything possible to ruin him, by refusing to allow him to participate in the lucrative business deals the government handed to its acolytes. In fact, Mr Alcides had power that escaped Batista’s designs, because he did business with a group of men who had as much, if not more sway over important matters than Batista, because they supported him economically, sometimes more than the Americans.

  “I remember seeing Meyer Lansky twice in this house. He was ugly and never laughed. Mummy told me Lansky and Mr Alcides were working on a big hotel and casino project, one that would make them multimillionaires in a few years . . . Their big problem was that they needed Batista in power in order to be the main stakeholders of the business venture, but politically clumsy Batista was about to throw everything overboard; it became clearer by the day that he would lose the war because no one wanted to fight for him. Then they started to plan how to get rid of him, before the rebels beat them to it. Their problem was that there was only one way: they would have to kill the tyrant. I don’t know the details, nor did Mummy, and, if she did, she refused to tell me, but other influential men were involved in the intrigue apart from Lansky and Mr Alcides. The idea was to contract a professional, a man who’d come from outside to do the deed. He had to be a contract-killer who wouldn’t ask questions and wasn’t linked to any mafia families, because the immediate reaction of Batista’s supporters was predictable – they were complete animals – and Mr Alcides, Lansky and their other partners couldn’t appear to be responsible, at least not initially.

  “A mistaken calculation undermined their plan: the Americans didn’t give Batista the support he asked for, the English wouldn’t sell him more planes and the army, with no desire to fight for a dictator, crumbled, so the war finished long before anyone thought it would. Mr Alcides was delighted, because he thought anything was preferable to living under Batista, but on this occasion the wiliest of the Montes de Ocas got it wrong. The first thing the revolutionary government clamped down on was the gambling and the prostitution industry, and Lansky and Mr Alcides’s project ran out of steam in a few weeks.

  “Lansky immediately understood that his moment had passed, and one fine day cleared off and never came back. Mr Alcides couldn’t stand the idea of leaving: this was the country of the Montes de Ocas, and he clung to the hope that things could be saved legally. Everybody knew that tourism was the only feasible option for this country, and that without trade with American companies the island would grind to a halt; he hoped that when the storm was over everything would function as before. After all, any government needs money, and the investments they anticipated making were the best source of finance. Consequently, he waited the whole of 1959 without deciding to leave Cuba, although, anticipating what might happen, he started recovering money and putting it in American banks outside the country.

  “Apart from our peace of mind now we knew Dionisio was safe and in the front line of the Revolution, the changes were a beacon of hope: Mummy thought Mr Alcides would have to re-think his life and that an individual like that woman would no longer suit his horizons. Yet again Mummy misjudged the pull of that relationship . . . The months passed, there was a tense atmosphere in the house, as if the war was still on, and when Mr Alcides realized it was more serious than he’d predicted, and there was talk of nationalizing US companies, he decided to cut his losses, began to close down his surviving businesses and prepare to leave before it was too late. He also took a decision that killed all our hopes and meant those long, silent, waiting years had been in vain: he would marry that woman and take her with him, although if we wished, he said, right in front of me, sitting in this room, if we girls wanted – because he’d already discounted Dionisio – we could follow him. And although he didn’t say so, it was clear that if we went in these circumstances Mummy would continue to be his secretary and I’d still be the chauffeur’s daughter, living on a blend of charity and tradition in the shadow of the Montes de Ocas, although we no longer lived in their country.

  “It was the most humiliating experience of my life, far worse than not being able to use my surname and it dashed all of Mummy’s hopes. That was why she asked Mr Alcides for time to think it over on the pretext she didn’t like the idea of leaving Dionisio behind. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth to his face . . . For her part, delighted to have finally landed a rich man all set on marrying her, that woman gave up singing and started to prepare for her departure from Cuba.

  “All this happened at the beginning of 1960. I’d decided I wasn’t going anywhere on those terms and was ready to take advantage of opportunities life was offering me irrespective of whether I was or wasn’t a Montes de Oca. So I started to work in a bank, and festively enjoyed the entire process of nationalization, agrarian and urban reform, and particularly the currency change that ruined so many rich people and compelled many of them to leave Cuba. My hatred, frustration and side-lining turned to fervour and I felt my strength grow as I turned into an executioner of all the Montes de Ocas and those like them: men able to dictate people’s lives, fortunes and even their names.

  “Mummy was visibly languishing and seeing her like that was the most painful thing that could happen to me, more painful than the loss of all my past dreams. Nonetheless, I still expected her to react in some way: these were her rights, her life, her years of loyalty and sacrif
ice, and it was her love affair . . . But although she’d been so strong and ready for anything, she was incapable of forcing a solution, and that was when I decided to help.

  “One day, when the Montes de Ocas and that woman had got everything ready for their departure, I decided to strike where it would hurt them most. As Mummy carried a key to the flat in Miramar, I made a copy. From then on I sought my opportunity and one afternoon when Mr Alcides must have taken that woman to see to some arrangements or other, I took myself to Miramar and entered her flat. My first surprise was to see how well she lived: compared to this house, it was a modest flat, but it was luxuriously furnished. It was a real blow below the belt when I went into the bedroom and found a stylish king-size double bed, where she and Mr Alcides no doubt wallowed, watching themselves fornicate like animals in a mirror they’d had hung from the ceiling. She had exquisite pieces in various jewel boxes that must have been worth a fortune. And the clothes: wardrobes full of expensive clothes, shoes of all the best makes, fur coats she’d never be able to wear in Cuba . . . She’d bought all that with money that belonged to Mummy, Dionisio and myself, and I’d never worn clothes like those and had only one adornment: a small gold chain and ring, a present from Mr Alcides on my fifteenth birthday.

  “I’d decided that poison would be my means to get rid of that woman. We’d had a plague of rats in the patio and garden two months before. As my job was to see to some of the most unpleasant tasks in the house, I’d had to ring the vet and be with him when he prepared the extermination and get whatever he needed. Chatting to him I discovered he was going to prepare a few food pellets where he’d hide some cyanide pills. The vet used rubber gloves to handle the poison and covered his nose with a handkerchief. I didn’t even have to ask: he began telling me about the characteristics of cyanide and how it worked in animal organisms and even told me the lethal dose for a human being was two of those 150 ml pills . . . As if something was already buzzing in my subconscious, when I brought the flour where he told me to mix in the pills he’d ground down, I stole two pills and put them in a safe place.