The Cuban Comedy by Pablo Medina

Author:Pablo Medina
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Unnamed Press
Published: 2019-08-02T16:00:00+00:00

They arrived well after the roosters had tired of crowing and the cows had been milked and the vendors had passed, hawking leftover fruit as they returned to their shacks by the marsh. Elena threw herself out of the truck and entered the house barely touching the ground. Tomás Gutiérrez waited in the cab smoking a cigarette.

She came back out a few minutes later with Soledad astride her hip, followed by a flustered Cándida, who wanted to contact the funeral home so that arrangements could be made for the viewing and burial of her husband. Tomás Gutiérrez smacked his lips and said that was a bad idea. The funeral director would have to alert the authorities.

“What’s wrong with that?” Cándida said.

“How will you explain that your husband died in Havana but was brought here in the back of a refrigerated truck?” Tomás Gutiérrez’s smell, a blend of alcohol, tobacco, and sweat, wafted out of the cab and made Cándida wince. “We will all wind up in jail.”

“What do we do, then?” Elena asked.

“Bury him as he is,” Tomás Gutiérrez said, “before he thaws.”

“Without a casket?” Cándida asked. “Without a funeral Mass?”

“Mama,” Elena said. “Papa doesn’t need a Mass. Tomás is right.”

“Someone is bound to make inquiries,” Cándida said.

“People disappear from this island all the time,” Tomás Gutiérrez said. “One moment they’re walking down the street. The next moment they’re in Miami, driving a late-model Buick. If somebody asks, tell them he got on a raft and left for the United States with a saucy mamacita.”

Cándida raised her eyebrows and said, “My God, what a vulgar man!”

The fact was Fermín José had few friends. No one would ask about him or wish to see him laid out in a casket. Leaving on a raft was as plausible a reason for his disappearance as any, especially if he left with a woman. Tomás Gutiérrez declined Elena’s request to help dig a hole in the backyard, saying he had to deliver the goods to the Russians. The best he would do was carry Fermín José into the house quickly, without the neighbors noticing. Elena suggested he drive around to the alley in the back where hardly anyone went, except for, on occasion, one of the veterans sleeping off a hangover.

And so it was. Tomás Gutiérrez carried the blue-cocooned body inside and propped it against the wall of the distillery room. Elena put Soledad down in order to pay him. He refused her, saying it had been taken care of back in Havana.

“By whom?” Elena asked as they walked back to the truck.

“Your adorer,” Tomás Gutiérrez said with a knowing smile. He got in the truck and waved goodbye.

Obviously, he was referring to Daniel, but she had other matters that consumed her attention and kept her from pondering what Tomás Gutiérrez insinuated. Most important, her father needed to be buried, which meant that she and Cándida would have to wait until nightfall and hope the body wouldn’t thaw. Cándida said they should ask Pedro for help in digging the hole.

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