Acalia Bonilla was a wisp of a woman with the cujones of a heavyweight. She refused to surrender her grandson to the regime that sent policemen and soldiers to the family home to cart him off to the army. Her neat brown hair knot shook faster than a maraca as she argued with the police captain, swearing that her grandson was too sickly to serve in the military. She insisted that he was too sensitive, afraid of everything, physically and emotionally delicate, for Christ’s sake, he liked to style women’s hair and makeup.
The senior army officer dragged her grandson out from under the bed where he’d been hiding and seethed when he vowed, “We will make a man out of you!”
A ruckus ensued; women screaming, children crying and the men standing by helplessly, no match for the armed soldiers and policemen. Neighbors gathered in the courtyard, but were too frightened to ask what happened. Just about then Sisi arrived and all went quiet.
Sisi was the prostitute who lived in the rooms behind the Bonilla family. All of Havana knew that the Chief of Police was a most favored client of hers, therefore, she wasn’t stopped when she approached the senior army officer to have a chat that prompted his men to back off. The officer encouraged the young man to ‘get well’ as they would be back for him in a week’s time.
Sisi primped her curly dark hair and made sure that her red hibiscus flower was still anchored securely behind her right ear. Sisi was a beautiful, mature woman with flawless skin the color of peanut butter. Men wouldn’t admit it, but her full figure body shape was the one they most desired. Her large high set breasts, tiny waist and wide gelatinous haunches that she trained to sway and jiggle seductively with every step she took drove men wild when she oozed down the narrow streets of Havana.
The Bonilla family gathered around the kitchen table to hear Sisi’s plan to keep Marco out of the army.
“ Acalia, you and I will solve this problem in three days time. We will need a large burlap bag and a sturdy bicycle that can accommodate the two of us. For protection while traveling we will need a cane cutting scythe sharpened to its most menacing.”
Those were the only details Sisi gave to the Bonilla family
On the morning of the third day she and Acalia readied for the journey. The scythe was wrapped in an old blanket and secured to the rear fender of the bicycle. They tucked the burlap sack, a thermos of drinking water and two hard boiled eggs into the basket attached to the front of the handlebars. Wooden clothes pins were used to peg the hems of their full skirts to their waist bands. As family and friends gathered in the courtyard to wish them a safe trip, a neighbor, Dolores Lopez, shouted from her doorway.
“Senora Bonilla, I hope you and that whore aren’t going to bring trouble to this cuarteria with whatever it is you two are up to!”
Sisi sounded the bicycle bell and sassed, “We’re going to meet your husband to give him the ride of his lifetime.”
The courtyard erupted with laughter and a red faced Dolores Lopez slammed her door when she returned to her rooms.
Dolores Lopez was a poison hearted shrew with a horselike face. She had teeth as large and as yellow as ancient ivory domino tiles. She had mean eyes, darker than plugs of well chewed tobacco and she always seemed unkempt, in need of a good currying. Saddest of all, she was ugly on the inside, jealous of everyone and everything. She once stabbed her husband with a pair of scissors when she saw him cut his eyes to watch Sisi stroll through the cuarteria. She need not have been so jealous, everyone knew that Sisi never worked in her own backyard.
Sisi and Acalia set off for the Cristobal de Colon Cemetery situated in the Vedado quarter of Havana. They took turns as pedaler and passenger and sang songs and told jokes to pass the time on the trip. At three miles in they rested on the wall of the Malecon to have an egg and a cup of water. It was late afternoon when they knocked on the door of the caretaker’s shed in the center of the cemetery. An old man missing his front teeth sporting a bloated middle and a rum stench answered. Sisi smiled when she approached him.
“We have been told that you are the master beekeeper in all of Cuba. Your bees can save the life of my dear friend’s grandson. Will you help us, kind Don?”
The old man couldn’t take his eyes off of Sisi”s bosom, which she thrust out at him and she had him salivating when she agreed to the price he quoted for the bees. Sisi took him by the hand and together they stepped behind the shed. She poked her head back round to tell Acalia to take a stroll and admire the gravestones for at least thirty minutes. Her friend knew it was an order and not a suggestion and went on her sightseeing way.
The old man filled the burlap sack to the brim with live bees.
“Start the treatment as soon as you return or the bees will be dead come sun up,” he cautioned.
The women accepted a swig of rum from the caretaker, just to be polite, then they were on their way. Acalia told Sisi she would be in her debt forever; she knew what her friend had to do with the old man to get the bees.
“How do you do it, Sisi? How do you do it with such foul men?”
Sisi answered her friend honestly, “I close my eyes and pretend that I’m with Clark Gable.”
They pedaled the rest of the way home without a word between them.
It was dark when they reached the common area of their cuarteria. Family and several neighbors formed a protective ring around the women and the bee bag to prevent the prying Dolores Lopez from getting a glimpse of their bounty. Once inside they held Marco down and force fed him ninety proof rum before they shoved his bare feet into the burlap bag. The frenzied bees began to sting him and the bees that escaped stung the onlookers in the room causing them to flee. Marco began to scream and cry and flail his arms. Dolores Lopez threatened to summon the police if the noise didn’t stop.
Sisi couldn’t resist, “Old woman, don’t worry, it is only your husband writhing with joy. No need for the police to interrupt his pleasure.”
Marco’s younger sister held her hand to her mouth and bore her pain with grace, so as not to make a sound when the bees stung her. She didn’t want the police to come and take her brother away.
Marco passed out. His father remained by his side placing a small mirror beneath his nose every few minutes to check that he was breathing . Sisi and Acalia sat in the courtyard and shared a cigar and a glass of rum. Marco’s sister sat quietly at their feet and wondered what was going to happen next. Dolores Lopez’ husband returned home drunk and was greeted with a platter broken over his head, that is what happened next.
Sisi’s prestigious client, the Chief of Police, Ivan Rodriguez, led the cadre that returned to collect Marco for military service. The Chief and his men had to cover their noses when they examined Marco’s feet, which by then were the size of hams weeping and pulsating with vile smelling infection. Bright green and yellow pustules burst of their own accord, spiraling debris through the air and onto the Chief’s uniform.
The Chief gagged and pulled Sisi into the back room.
“He will get his military exemption certificate. How long it remains valid is not up to me. He should have an alternative plan to avoid serving in the army. You will pay for the time and aggravation it will cost me to secure his release from mandatory duty.”
Sisi smiled and pulled him closer to her. She licked his index finger and placed it between her breasts, “I will pay you millions, Papy.”
Marco’s younger sister witnessed the business agreement from a crack in the wardrobe closet where she’d been hiding.
Acalia and Sisi used a wheel barrow to transport Marco to the beach to soak his inflamed feet. He healed quickly and he thanked each of the women with a new coif. As Marco styled Sisi’s hair his sister asked , “Where will you get the millions to pay the Chief of Police, Sisi?”
She admitted that she was hiding in the closet and heard and saw everything.
Sisi leaned in and lowered her voice, “Listen to me, nina, and listen well. Since the beginning of time women have allowed men to think that they are the more intelligent and powerful beings. Today, it is still possible to find men who believe this to be true. They are all fools. Women have dominated and outsmarted men since day one. Only women possess the currency that men will lie, steal, cheat and yes, kill for. Men will accomplish feats thought impossible if payment is promised in this currency. There are times when a woman needs a special favor and it is then she must use her special currency.”
Sisi smiled when she hoisted up her bosom, “Do you understand, nina?”
“Yes, but why?” the fifteen year old wanted to know.
Sisi laughed and shook her breasts, “Reminds them of their mother.”
The Bonilla family decided that they had to leave Cuba, become balseros, anything to save their only son from living in fear of being forced to serve in the military. Sisi promised to help the family when Acalia told her of their plan and invited her to defect with them. Sisi declined the offer claiming the invitation was twenty years too late.
The two women laughed as they sat at the table reminiscing about the times that they shared as friends and neighbors. Acalia laughed so hard she had tears rolling down her cheeks and pains in her side when she recalled the time food was at its scarcest and Sisi prepared ropa vieja for the family using shredded cotton dish towels in place of the meat. The children were little and had eaten meat so infrequently they couldn’t tell the difference, so they asked for seconds and cleaned their plates. When the gab fest ended the two friends wished one another “buenos noches” and realized they would never again know a friendship such as theirs.
Sisi disappeared for three days during August of 1996 and when she returned she had good news, she found the family a sea worthy boat; with a motor! The boat would be available towards the end of September.
Sisi stressed to the family the importance of confidentiality.
“Tell no one! People have been known to turn vicious with envy when one in their circle has a bit of good fortune and gets the opportunity to realize a dream come true.”
She assigned small tasks to the family, to keep them busy and give them a sense of importance. She and Acalia would do the ‘heavy lifting’, so to speak.
Neither a vote nor a show of hands elected Acalia captain of the upcoming voyage, it was just so because she was the brightest and the only one who could command the respect of and need be, instill fear in the others. She was a leader, she had to be, her husband left her a widow when her son, Jorge, was just three years old. Acalia managed her life well, she always put her child first, kept her home and herself and the child immaculate, was kind and respectful to others and on the occasions she enjoyed the company of a good man, she was very discreet. It was a given that Acalia’s varied life skills guaranteed a successful voyage for the Bonilla family.
The rain turned torrential as Sisi and Acalia hurried down Calle Neptuno to the small restaurant of Jose Antonio’s, a cousin of Sisi’s. The restaurant didn’t have a menu because it didn’t have any food to sell, but you could get a coffee or a rum to slake your thirst. Primarily, it was a safe place to meet if you were experiencing a severe case of wanderlust. The women were ushered to a back room as soon as they arrived and waiting to greet them was Orosman the Sailor, an old friend (and client) of Sisi’s. He wasted no time familiarizing Acalia with the compass rose and gave her an interesting lecture on the history of the Earth’s division by degrees.
He had her recite, “Key West ninety-two nautical miles, latitude 24.555N, longitude 81.782W. Miami, one hundred ninety eight nautical miles, latitude25.550N, longitude 80.478W,” over and over again.
She was a good student and committed the information to memory in no time. He let her hold the compass and she tilted the instrument this way and that as she asked questions. After a couple of hours of his tutelage they agreed to meet again the following night.
“I will teach you the names and behavior of the different winds at sea and how to handle foul weather should you encounter any on your journey,” promised the seaman.
The rain stopped, but the streets were still slick from the deluge. The women linked arms for the long walk home. After advancing three blocks Sisi spun around and shouted, “Who’s there?”
Acalia assured her that there was no one following them and insisted it was just her nerves acting up. They quickened their pace for the rest of the walk home. Dolores Lopez remained crouched in the alley on Calle Neptuno until she was sure that her neighbors were well ahead of her and out of sight.
Sisi listened to her gut and changed their routes and meeting times when going to see Orosman the Sailor. Once they strolled the entire length of Calle San Raefael and then backtracked to Calle Prado and over to the Malecon for a rendezvous with the seaman. If they were being followed their stalker would be physically exhausted. They utilized the quiet morning hours to collect small bottles filled with gasoline from a building on Calle Galiano and avoided getting too close to anyone smoking a cigar as they made their way home. Sisi still felt that someone may have been following them, but she didn’t mention how she felt to Acalia. No need for them both to worry, what with the voyage planned for a little after midnight the following day.
Sisi arranged for the Bonilla family to shelter at a client’s house in Guanabacoa, a hilly residential community outside of downtown Havana. It was there they waited for the dark of night to set in. Sisi paid in advance with her feminine currency for a taxi cab to take them to the marina in Sante Fe at ten o’clock. The marina was operated by the regime and as with everything operated by the regime the facility was run down, in need of repairs and a fresh coat of paint. Sisi had been to many parties on the vessels berthed in the canals of the marina and she knew all of the security guards and dock masters both professionally and personally which made gaining entrance to the marina with the Bonilla family in tow a cinch.
Sisi and the family huddled together on the small stretch of beach in front of Canal One while they waited for Orosman the Sailor to arrive. He was on time and told them he stored the water and gasoline on board earlier in the day. The boat was a beauty, an eighteen footer with what looked like a brand new outboard motor. The Bonilla family boarded. They were leaving Cuba with the clothes on their backs, only Acalia had baggage; her compass and her cane cutting scythe.
Sisi made Acalia promise to not turn back, no matter what. Her friend was frightened and said she was having second thoughts.
“An angel will sit on your shoulder and guide you for the entire voyage,” promised Sisi.
Orosman the Sailor instructed Acalia not to start the motor until they rowed past the breaker line of waves, unless of course, she heard gun fire.
The night was clear and cool and breezy with no hint of rain in the air when they started out. Acalia looked back to see her friend one last time, but Sisi was gone. Gunshots rang out.
“Get them, Get them before they escape!”
It was Dolores Lopez leading the policemen to the beach. More gunshots were fired and the family heard Sisi scream. Jorge begged his mother to turn back. Acalia started the motor and swung her scythe through the air almost decapitating her son.
“Never! I promised Sisi that I would never turn back!”
She placed one foot on the cooler that held the drinking water and stood upright in the boat steadying herself with an oar and brandishing her scythe. She looked like a pirate.
Her behavior terrified the family. They held on to one another and listened as she talked aloud to herself all through the night.
“The sun must be at my back come daybreak or I’m in trouble. I must avoid the large cruise ships or be repatriated back to Cuba. Never! I must focus on my compass or the Gulf Stream current will suck me out into the ocean. Dolphins frolicking in my wake are a good omen. I must say a prayer of thanks when I catch sight of a land bird.”
The family finished their last drop of water when the Miami Beach skyline came into sight. Acalia ordered Jorge to unbolt the motor and push it into the sea. Marco and his sister sunk the empty gasoline jars then broke up the styrofoam cooler and sent the pieces floating. Jorge’s wife prayed. Acalia pitched her scythe into the water and apologized to her son for almost beheading him. She tucked the compass into her waistband, she just couldn’t bring herself to part with the instrument that (along with the angel on her shoulder) guided her family across the open sea safely.
There was a huge crowd gathered on the beach clapping and cheering the Bonilla family to shore. It was quite the welcome. Several spectators helped pull the boat in and assisted most of the family onto the beach, only Marco remained on the boat; frozen, close to catatonic. The police arrived and a waitress in uniform screamed, “Jump, jump! If your feet don’t make it to dry land they will send you back to Cuba!” She was referring to the revision of the Cuban Adjustment Act of 1966. In May of 1995 it was changed to state that all refugees must make it to dry land to stay in the United States of America. Those rescued at sea or near shore would be sent to a third country for repatriation and depending on the circumstances, some would be sent back to Cuba.
A news helicopter arrived and circled above. The police were discussing how to remove Marco from the boat. The crowd was screaming for him to jump. His younger sister blocked the path of the policemen and stood with her legs splayed wide apart as she tore open her blouse and in belly dancer fashion twirled her exposed breasts. While her antics held the attention of the authorities Marco stood tall with his head and arms thrown back then he leapt from the boat landing upright on the dry sand . His flight was worthy of applause from Balanchine. Acalia smacked her granddaughter in the head and called her, “Puta!” before she hugged her, laughing and crying. The Bonilla’s arrived safely in the United States of America on September 19, 1996 at three o’clock in the afternoon.
Every month for fifteen years Acalia sent a letter to Sisi in Havana, Cuba. She refused to believe that the gunshots she heard killed her friend. She wrote of all the family news, her cashier’s job at the supermarket, Marco’s graduation from the beauty academy and the grand opening of his hair salon called “Sisi’s House of Beauty” in her honor. She sent Sisi an invitation to her granddaughters’ nuptials to the hard working American boy who was a successful contractor and built a big compound for the entire family to live in. It was a year and a half later that she reported the birth of her first great-grandchild, a girl, christened Simara, but called “Sisi” in her honor. She wrote of the popularity of the small cafe that Jorge and his wife owned. Jorge named the cafe “El Pirata” to commemorate the night he cheated death at the hand of his Mother. Acalia wrote and wrote and wrote and never received a reply.
Havana, Cuba
2011
Dolores Lopez’ accusations caused tremendous trouble for the trio. Ivan Rodriguez was forced to leave the police force. Sisi and Orosman the Sailor became local heroes for stealing the boat belonging to “the bearded one’s’ first cousin. Sisi and the seaman swore that they were passengers and not the organizers of the defection. They testified that cowardice set in at the last moment, nevertheless, both received a year in jail.
Sisi retired and for the past ten years lived with Ivan Rodriguez on Calle Obispo in Havana. There was a knock at the door, it was an old man asking for Sisi. It was Alberto Lopez, the husband of Dolores, from the old cuarteria. He handed Sisi a box filled with letters addressed to her at the old building.
“Dolores died three months ago. I found these letters hidden in an old trunk. Please, don’t hate her too much, Sisi. Yes, she was mean and jealous, but all she ever really wanted was to have a best friend, the way you and Acalia had one another.”
Sisi read and re-read the letters all night long. She fell asleep crying and missing her old friend.
Miami, Florida
2012
It was Christmas morning and the children were searching for their gifts under the tree. Acalia used the wooden broom handle to tap the tree top angel whose bulb refused to light up.
“It’s time for a new angel, abuela,” one of the grandchildren suggested.
“Ah! When she’s good and ready she’ll light up. She sat on top of my first Christmas tree in America and she will sit on top of my last!”
The taxicab pulled into the circular driveway and the driver helped the woman get herself and her luggage to the front door. She used a cane and couldn’t manage by herself. The woman rang the doorbell and a young girl answered and ran inside shouting, “Abuela, there’s an old lady at the door with a red flower in her hair asking for you.”
The two old friends hooked arms and walked down the long hallway that led to the kitchen when the young girl shouted, “Abuela, come see! The angel is good and ready now. She turned her light on!”
Coreen Falco
© 2016 Coreen Falco
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