Hotel Cuba by Aaron Hamburger

Author:Aaron Hamburger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

Eleven

WALKING AWAY FROM THE PORT OF HAVANA, PEARL IS struck by how different the city seems since she left, only two weeks ago.

As the American tourists wait for taxis behind her, street musicians compete for change, singing Cuban love songs badly but with gusto. A girl with her hair done up in a crown of braids is selling bouquets of white ginger flowers, Cuban orchids, and yellow morning glories. She runs up to Pearl, repeating “Fisens, fisens, flowers, fisens.”

“Sorry, I don’t have even one cent,” says Pearl.

The girl gives her a strange look, then plucks a wilted orchid from a bouquet and hands it to Pearl. For luck, she says. Inhaling the cloying, slightly putrid smell, Pearl continues into the Old Town, passing an old man on the sidewalk, playing a guitar for change. The curving streets shaded by European-style buildings are comforting after the stiff grid of Key West, which feels like some strange dream, not America.

The crossing back from Florida went smoothly. The shipping company, which had to bear the cost of her fare, assigned her a seat in the drawing room and served her a lunch and two cups of tea besides. Now her belly is full, and she feels oddly relaxed, more than she has in weeks. Here in Old Havana, no one is trying to catch her in a lie. In this city of outcasts and desperate people, she fits in. Though she has nothing, the choice of where to go, what to do, it’s entirely hers. She’s as free as, no, maybe more free than any woman she’s known, Mrs. Steinberg, Julieta, even Alma Singer.

The scent of the orchid nauseates her. Pearl tosses it away and heads to the Steinbergs’ flat. Where else? She tries to think up an excuse for running out on them. She was sick. She was kidnapped by a white slaver.

No, the best course is honesty. This was her chance at freedom, so she took it, and it didn’t work. She betrayed their trust and she’s very sorry.

It’s a short walk to the Steinbergs’ bright yellow building on Muralla Street. Holding her breath, Pearl knocks on that familiar old door and rehearses her lines of apology. But when the door opens and it’s Mrs. Steinberg, Pearl has no words.

Mrs. Steinberg draws back in surprise. She stares at Pearl through her glasses, then quickly reaches out her hand, as if Pearl were a friend paying an unexpected social call. “Come in,” she says. “We’re having an early supper. Won’t you stay?”

Flooded with relief, Pearl gives a quick nod.

Mr. Steinberg, frowning at the Havana Post at the dinner table, brightens as Pearl walks in. His collar is unbuttoned, and his hair needs combing and more dye at the roots. He’s the kind of man whose hair looks unnatural when it isn’t dyed. “Look who’s back!” he says, draping his newspaper over a chair. “So, Pearl, it didn’t work out up north?”

Pearl says in a bitter voice, “They didn’t want me.”

“Impossible!” says Mr. Steinberg.

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