Sofrito by Phillippe Diederich

Author:Phillippe Diederich
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Cinco Puntos Press
Published: 2015-10-16T00:00:00+00:00

Frank lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling fan. He tried to sleep but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Sordo crushing Granudo’s fingers with a Stilson wrench while Granudo’s wife and daughter cowered in a corner, crying, holding each other, begging for mercy.

Then the telephone rang.

“Frank?”

“Sí?”

It was Eusebio. “I would like you to come to a little party tonight in the penthouse of the building next to the Sierra Maestra choppin. Bring your mulatica if you like. And Frank. Don’t bring the Lada.”

Marisol. He had a sudden irresistible urge to see her. But he also wanted to see Hilda. There was so much he wanted to ask.

He left the room in a hurry. When he stepped out of the elevator in the lobby, he almost crashed into Marisol herself, coming around the corner.

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers. He closed his eyes and took in her sweet smell, her taste, her warm body against his, breasts pressing against his chest. For an instant he felt safe—at peace.

Then he opened his eyes and saw the white Lada parked across the street from the exit. The MININT agent with the wide jaw sat on the hood with his arms crossed, looking at the hotel.

Frank turned away. Three hotel security guards stood by the other exit.

Marisol touched his face. “What’s the matter?”

“No, nada.” He forced a smile. “What a coincidence.”

“Did you get my message?” she asked.

The MININT agent was showing himself, getting closer. There was no way out of the hotel. Not without the Lada following. “I was just going to look for you. Do you want to go swimming?”

“But I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

Frank put his arm around her shoulder, and they walked into the hotel’s boutique to buy one.

The pool area was sandwiched between the hotel and an old building. The security guard at the street entrance held the gate slightly ajar so curious pedestrians walking down Prado might get a peek at the foreign men and the beautiful Cuban women splashing in the cool water.

Frank lay back on a recliner. The sky was blue, innocent. White puffy clouds moved slowly with the breeze, changing shapes, traveling toward Miami.

From the building on the Ánimas side of the street, rows of balconies decorated with hanging laundry and aloe plants overlooked the pool like box seats at the opera. He was on display. And all the unsmiling eyes in Havana focused on him alone. Paranoia and insecurity crept up his spine. Then he caught sight of Marisol walking out of the changing room wearing a blue and white striped bikini. The MININT agents, Granudo, Sordo, Filomeno, Abel, Frank País, the revolution, Maduros, the recipe, Huracán, Pepe, Michi, Fidel and the stale heat and stink of Havana vanished in the flash of her absolute beauty. His heart sped with every step, her hips swinging, her arm swaying freely like a runway model, her breasts bouncing lightly, hair flowing with just the right effect.

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