Vanishing Maps by Cristina García

Author:Cristina García [García, Cristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

2

Herminia Delgado

Havana

When an official at the Guantánamo naval base called out my name, I hoped to leave Cuba at last. Instead I was loaded onto an army truck and brought to this women’s prison outside Havana. My neighbor Gladys had been caught red-handed with my birdcages in Pinar del Río and caved under police questioning. It didn’t surprise me. Survival often went hand in hand with betrayal. My sentence? Four months for trafficking in a threatened species.

The judge said she was being lenient on me because of a reference letter from Celia del Pino in my files attesting to my good standing in the community. Good standing? What the hell else had I done except sacrifice for the Revolution? Could I have sacrificed any more than my own son, que descanse en paz? How I wished I’d been arrested for something worthwhile, like burning down El Capitolio!

Hour after hour I stared through the bars of my cell at the sky, praying and watching for a sign. But only random thunderclouds replied. It was as if the orishas had forgotten me, forgotten everyone. Out of earshot of the other prisoners, I beseeched Felica: “Ayúdame, chica. I don’t have forever to wait like you!”

My fellow inmates were thieves, prostitutes, malcontents, black marketeers, dissidents of all stripes. In short, ordinary citizens like me. Our side jobs kept hunger at bay, enabled us to survive. Look at me. Sixty years old and forced into illegitimate work. Prostitution was, by far, the biggest moneymaker on the island. The jineteras slept with tourists surging to Cuba for bargain sex. Even the government was cashing in, running motels that rented by the hour. Hoy en día, who could tell a nurse from a hooker?

Everything was for sale inside, too: rum, sex, tamales, drugs, cigars, de todo. But the hardest thing to get? Soap. If you traded sex for a nub of soap, nobody would judge you. Cubanos suffered—and were insufferable—without it. Mariza, our resident dealer, had a sister who worked as a housekeeper at the Hotel Nacional. Those two made a killing supplying the fragrant jaboncitos that were our only hope against the filth.

Each day brought more violent drama here. This morning, una fiera from Sancti Spíritus attacked a cellmate over her pet cricket. The chirping was driving la fiera crazy so she smashed the bicho’s cage and ate it alive just to shut it up. Worse than her was the poet with rings in her nose who recited her nonsense day and night, inviting sporadic beatings.

At night we pooled our cigarettes to rent the antiquated black-and-white TV from El Baboso, the guard who came on duty at six o’clock. The Argentine telenovela Vivir y Morir en Las Pampas was everyone’s favorite. How we rooted for Valentina Godoy, the evil mother-in-law! Her murders and double-crossings made us all feel innocent as baby chicks.

Nobody had any idea that I was a santera. Usually I’d offer to listen to people’s troubles, try to lift their spirits, arrange trabajitos. You’d be surprised what you could do with a sliver of yam, or a swatch of cotton.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.