Cuba Diaries by Isadora Tattlin Read Free Book Online Page A

the
despensa?
”
    â€œHe says it’s safe there.”
I. 17
    Nick and I go downtown every chance we can get, to complete our tour. We go to a
cuentapropista
(people allowed to do business for themselves) complex in a large store on Avenida Galliano. People rent counters in the store and sell either what they have made or what they are allowed to sell. Aisles of glassed-in counters hold handmade party decorations, aluminum utensils, used record albums, bottles and packages of mysterious liquids and dried leaves, some bicycle parts, used baby clothes, plaster Santeria images, rolled beeswax candles, hair ornaments, goldfish swimming in little glass bowls.
    A lunch counter with built-in stools wraps around three sides of the store. Some of the stool seats are missing; only the bases are left. A repeating frieze of menu runs along the top of all three sides of the food area: PERROS CALIENTES (hot dogs),
5
centavos, PANATELA DE BOSTON CREMA (Boston cream pie),
20 ¢
, ENSALADA DE ESPAN (spam salad),
15 ¢
, PANQUÉ ,
5 ¢
CADA UNO (pancakes, 5 centavos each), HAMBURGUESA (hamburger)
20 ¢
. It is the menu and the prices of 1961.
    Only one side of the lunch counters is occupied. The other two sides are empty and dark. Stool seats have been taken from the empty sides to keep the stools along the lighted counter intact.
    The waitresses do not take orders, nor do customers give them. One waitress stands at blackened pots on an unplugged griddle filling plates with rice, beans, squash, and pinkish meat and handing them to another waitress, who hands them silently to customers. During lulls, the second waitress pours tiny glasses of Tropicola. Dirty plates are removed, and more blackened pots are brought through a swinging door as the pots on the unplugged griddle empty.
    In the pavement at each of the store’s two entrances, mosaic in flowing script spells out WOOLWORTH .
I. 18
    Word has gotten out that a couple of people in the government think that Nick is a good guy, and word has gotten to Nick that he should invite them for dinner.
    We have to serve twice as much food when Cubans come over, Lorena says, because they eat a lot.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œOh yes.
No tienen control
” (“They have no control”).
    Thin, pale white men in 65 percent polyester
guayaberas
, Chinese nylon socks with lines of arrows or Ping-Pong paddles running up the ankles, and gunmetal, powder blue, or pale yellow basket-weave loafers. Placid, heavy first wives, for the most part, with feet stuffed into pointed patent leather shoes with poofs of flesh out the top. There are, however, some younger trophy wives as well. I didn’t think there would
be
trophy wives in Cuba. One sports a dé-colletage held up by Chanel-bag–like chains suspended from a band around the throat. This looks somehow more socialist. I don’t know why.
    Concha shows the seating plan at the entrance to the dining room. The first woman into the dining room, wife of the guest of honor, tries to take the seating plan from her, thinking it’s some kind of party favor, but Concha holds on. “Oh,” the woman says. Concha smiles slightly, arching one eyebrow.
    The first course is served, and each person served digs right in without waiting for anyone else. I don’t know whether to hold my ground or not, but eventually I do, waiting for Nick. Some don’t put their napkins in their laps. One stands up and reaches across the table to grab the salt. Others spear the pâté on their plates with knives and carry it directly to their mouths. Still others wave their knives around as they talk. One woman, clacking loudly, with her face very near her plate, sucks pâté from her side teeth, clearing the rest with the nail of her pinky.
    â€œ
Qué rico!
” (“How rich!” i.e., sumptuous) several of them say, complimenting me on the food.
    â€œ
Sí, sí, muy sabroso
” (“Yes, yes, very