In 1953, Alfonso Candela is a likeable rogue who loves his privileged life in Santiago de Cuba. Unfortunately, Fidel Castro has other plans for him. As the Cuban Revolution takes root and irrevocably tears at the fabric of Alfonso's personal paradise, he and his family attempt to go about their daily lives, despite the mounting threats that surround them. When approached by a rebel who wants their weekend home to help dethrone Batista in the name of democracy, the Candelas are seemingly left with no choice but to comply. His wife, Mirta, befriends Teodora, who channels her interest in her neighbors' affairs into revolutionary purpose and tries to recruit Alfonso to join the militia. With their family splintered and in exile, the Candelas must reinvent their lives in an alien land. But when Castro finally opens the gates of Mariel, Alfonso returns, intent on seeking redemption. In this historical saga, the essence of the Cuban Revolution is captured through one family's eyes as they reflect on a life that could have been and the generation that must create a new paradise in exile.
A CUBAN IN PARADISE
By Antonio J. GuernicaiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Antonio J. Guernica
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-6137-9Chapter One
Santiago de CubaAlfonso Candela gazed at his oldest son and reclined in the pew of theschool chapel of El Colegio Dolores, holding his wife's hand. Her veiladorned the eyes that had mesmerized him ten years before. Mirta worethe lightest of pink silks cinched at her small waist, prelude to the full hipsof a woman.
Luis was dressed in a white suit with white gloves and white shoespolished to a gleam. Brylcreem tamed his unruly hair. In his hands, he helda silver rosary and an ivory covered missal. One by one, Luis' classmatespromenaded to the altar and knelt in front of Bishop Perez Serantes. Luisgently extended his tongue.
Alfonso thought he spotted his son biting into the holy wafer, whichaccording to the Jesuit brothers who ran the private school was to inviteterrible consequences. It was the body of Christ. Alfonso had heard theadmonition twenty five years earlier in preparation for his First HolyCommunion in the same church. Like his oldest son, like many of thesons from Santiago's prosperous families, he had also attended Dolores, asFidel Castro himself had.
Outside the school chapel, the Candelas lingered long enough toexchange congratulations with their friends, not taking too muchpunishment from the unforgiving sun before proceeding to the car.
"This is a special day," Mirta told Luis. "You're growing up."
Luis turned towards his mother. "So that means I get to ride in thefront seat with dad from now on," he proposed.
"Oh no," Mirta laughed. "But you do get to ride there today. YourFirst Communion has much more serious significance than where yousit. You went to confession, told the priest your sins. You asked forforgiveness."
"Yes, but I'm not telling you."
"I wouldn't ask. That's between you and God. Besides, what have youdone that I wouldn't know about?"
"Admit to nothing son," his father counseled. "I've always found thatto be the best policy."
"Nonsense! Don't tell him that Alfonso. In the eyes of the church he'sresponsible for his actions now. He has an obligation to not sin, to resisttemptation."
"That really is nonsense. The boy is barely seven. What would he knowabout temptation?"
"He knows right from wrong, good from bad." Mirta answered forhim. "Isn't that right?"
"Plead innocence son, or ignorance. Admit to nothing."
Luis looked leisurely from his mother to his father as his youngerbrother Bobby listened attentively in the back seat. "I am innocent," hereplied. "I've done nothing wrong."
"Good work!" Alfonso concurred. "We men must stick together."
Alfonso pulled the Thunderbird in the driveway and the boys ran outof the car and straight into the party. Their two grandfathers, AntonioCandela and Jose Barcena, held court on competing ends of the large patio.Both appeared to be in good spirits and raised their glasses in greeting.Antonio was a successful surgeon, one of the founders of La Clinica LosAngeles, the hospital where all the Candela women had given birth to theiroffspring, a gunshot's distance from Moncada Barracks.
Alfonso embraced his father and lightly kissed his sister Vivian whohad flown in for the occasion. She had married a Cuban diplomat, RodolfoPadron, who served as ambassador to the Dominican Republic underBatista. Stationed in the Dominican capital of Ciudad Trujillo, they visitedSantiago much too infrequently to suit the family.
"Castro and his gangster movement are as good as dead," Rodolfoannounced with customary authority.
"You're underestimating Castro," replied Enrique. "He's tapping intoa current of discontent. The police are more abusive and capricious eachday. Last week they beat one of our workers at the warehouse because hebedded the police captain's mistress."
"He should have kept his dick in his pants," Rodolfo laughed, bitingthe mint sprig from his Mojito. "What you say isn't news in Santiago,New York or Paris for God's sake. The police take liberties. Don't blamePresident Batista."
"It's gone too far," Enrique insisted. "Yesterday, the police detainedRene Ayala without cause. You must remember him. He was on his wayto join us at the Tennis Club for gin. They didn't keep him for very long.But they were very disrespectful. No apology, no explanation."
"An isolated incident." Rodolfo fanned the objection away, borderingon rudeness since the party was being held at Enrique's home. "Look, youdon't know if Ayala is involved in something shady or not. The policedon't stop the cars of people like us for no reason, you know that. They'reon our side."
"If that's the case, it's time for Batista to remind them," Enriqueconcluded. "You're the diplomat. Whisper in his ear."
"Niños, come here!" Mirta called the boys over to the outdoor bar. Dirtand grass had already stained the knees of Luis' First Communion suit. "Ishould've made you change when we got here." She brushed at the stainswith a handkerchief moist with club soda. "It's ruined."
"Rodolfo and your brother arguing politics," Alfonso commented andsipped his whisky. "As usual."
"It was nice of Enrique to host the celebration."
"We could just as well have held it at our house if your brother hadn'tinsisted. He is the boy's godfather after all."
"That's high enough," Mirta called to her sons who had returned to theswing set. She opened the small box in her palm, a silver rosary wrapped ina silk pouch, a gift for Luis from his grandmother. "I don't want anythingto change," she told Alfonso and ran her tongue slowly along her lower lip,as if applying lipstick.
"You're happy?" Alfonso tapped the bridge of Mirta's nose with hisfinger, gently sliding it down to the tip.
"I wish we could hold this day forever. Bundle it in white like Luis'rosary."
Bayamo
"It's not complicated," Alfonso told Luis. "Sit on the horse and getcomfortable. That's the essential skill to master when riding a horse. If therider feels confident in the saddle, the horse is his to command."
The Candelas stayed at the family farm in the rural town of Bayamomostly on weekends and vacations. Rustic by city standards, the farmhouse was a mansion in comparison to the bohios, the dirt-floored shackswith walls made of wooden planks or tin panels and roofs of thatched palmleaves where the guajiros, the Cuban country folk lived. The house hadelectricity powered by a windmill and a diesel generator when necessary.The floors were made of ceramic tile. There was running water for thekitchen and the single bathroom, fed from a large tank behind the house.The three bedrooms, the living room and dining room all bordered aninternal courtyard where a thick oak tree towered over the house providingshade. In the evening a breeze would play with the ashes that dropped fromAlfonso's cigarettes, scurrying them along the ground.
Alfonso walked the horse by the reins while Luis held on to thepommel of the western saddle and became accustomed to the sway. Luisrode Nieve, a gentle white mare. Alfonso had pulled the stirrups high sohis son's legs could reach them. After a few tame circles around the corral,Luis grew as bored with being led around on the mare as Alfonso did ofwalking him.
"Ready to take the reins?" Alfonso asked him.
"Si, papi."
"Muy bien. Here you go. Pull on this rein when you want the horseto turn right. Pull left when you want it to go the other way. Pull straightback on both when you want the horse to stop." Alfonso demonstrated."Simple."
"I see, papi."
Luis proceeded to successfully walk the white mare in a circle to showAlfonso and brought Nieve to a stop in front of him.
"Vaya! You got it. Let's go for a short ride together. But very slowly,you understand?"
Alfonso mounted Azabache, a spirited black Arabian mare with amean disposition. Father and son rode side by side.
"Keep your feet firm in the stirrups."
"Don't tense your legs."
"You're holding the reins too tight."
Soon Alfonso found little to correct. "You want to go ahead by yourselfa little bit?"
Luis nodded and Alfonso pulled back on the reins. As the white marepassed, Azabache took a nasty rip at her hindquarters. Nieve fled at agallop. Alarmed, Alfonso dug his spurs into the sides of the Arabian andgave chase. But the closer he got to the white mare, the more agitated Nievebecame. Luis bounced unsteadily as the saddle drifted off center.
Having grasped the cause of Nieve's fear, Alfonso pulled back violentlyon the reins, bringing the Arabian to a sharp stop. Unthreatened, Nieveslowed to a canter then a trot and finally to a walk a safe distance ahead.Luis' feet had been jostled loose from the stirrups. He hung on tightly asthe saddle listed badly. Alfonso dismounted and hurried to the white mareon foot.
"Are you alright son?"
"Si papi." Luis looked up sideways at his father as he clung to thepommel. "I like riding horses with you."
Alfonso lifted his son from the mare and hugged him closely. Heknew, even if Luis didn't, that a few more strides and the saddle could haveslipped completely under Nieve. Alfonso had neglected to account for theold mare's trick of puffing out her stomach when he strapped the saddleso the cinch wouldn't pinch her belly. His son would have fallen, perhapsbeen trampled by the hind hooves of the mare.
Alfonso tightened the saddle snuggly around Nieve, kicking her firmlyin the stomach so she breathed out before giving the cinch a final yank.He adjusted the stirrups, mounted the white mare and pulled Luis up byone hand. Alfonso sat Luis on his lap and handed him the reins. He ranhis fingers through his son's coarse light brown hair and straightened thecowboy hat on his head. "Let's go home," he said.
Batista Forces Ambush Castro
By Rafael Montes
Diario de la Marina
December 1956 – SIERRA MAESTRA, ORIENTE – The revolutionaryFidel Castro landed at Playa de los Colorados, a swamp in his native provinceof Oriente on December 2nd, driven by the fervent intention of bringing downPresident Fulgencio Batista who five months earlier had decreed a generalamnesty for political prisoners. Fidel and Raul Castro had been granted theirfreedom having served less than two years. Preoccupied that Batista had himtargeted for death and fearing that his release had been a cynical precursor tohis execution by a government goon in a blind alley of Havana, Fidel Castrohad until recently disappeared into self-imposed exile in Mexico.
The rebel leader was to have disembarked at Niquero where supporters wouldhave joined the insurrection. The plan had called for Castro and his armedforce to take the small town and advance on the larger port of Manzanillo incoordinated action with other assaults. But the overloaded vessel "Granma"arrived two days too late and at the wrong destination.
On November 30th, the day Castro had been expected, veterans of the failedattack on the Moncada Barracks joined Frank Pais to launch an armed strikeagainst Batista in Santiago. Pais set flame to the Customs House and capturedthe police and the harbor headquarters before withdrawing from the panickedcity. The following day Pais struck again, setting the harbor headquarterson fire. President Batista suspended constitutional guarantees and airliftedreinforcements to Santiago.
Three days after the overdue landing, a unit of the Cuban army under thecommand of Colonel Cruz Vidal ambushed Fidel's incipient rebel force,betrayed by a guide who reported their whereabouts to the rural guards.
Batista's troops killed 24 of Castro's men and splintered the group of rebelswho scattered in confusion, leaving behind most of their weapons. The UnitedPress correspondent in Cuba filed two reports that Batista's soldiers had killedFidel, the second claiming to have found Castro's identification papers on hisbody as evidence. Batista denied that Fidel had ever left Mexico.
Two weeks after the ambush, the surviving rebels re-assembled in the SierraMaestra, chief among them Fidel and Raul and the Argentine Ernesto "Che"Guevara. Fidel's purported demise was grieved and celebrated upon the greatlyexaggerated reports of his death.
Palma Soriano
Mirta took her engagement ring and her wedding band off the ring fingerof her right hand and carefully slipped them over her pinky with a furtivekiss, crooking its tip to hold them tightly. She followed the small ritualfaithfully and slowly closed her eyes in the front seat of the Thunderbirdto best conjure up memories of her wedding day. A breeze flew in from theopen window as Alfonso drove, washing over her face.
She had worn a dress of white with a long lace veil that trailed behindher like a creek. She was a virgin, a disciple of that revered and ridiculedsect of Cuban women who make love with a man for the first time on theirwedding night and intend to share their bed only with that man for therest of their natural lives.
The society column Santiago Social published her picture in her bridalgown above fawning coverage of congratulations for the happy couple.The wedding had more than sufficient photographers to preserve the dayand a cake large enough to accommodate a naked girl inside to jump outon cue – which it didn't – unlike the stories that reached her concerningAlfonso's bachelor party.
Their courtship had been predictably unsteady. If they were hopelesslyin love one day, she was ready to call the wedding off the next. Butultimately the attraction proved irresistible. On their wedding day, Alfonsopromised to turn over a new leaf and Mirta honestly believed he would.
Prizes were baked inside the cake – keepsakes, rings, and onyx amulets.In the receiving line, Mirta accepted well wishes from people she hadknown all her life and from people she had never seen before or likelywould again. They drank from silver flutes of champagne and held eachother tightly as they moved to the stylish music of the society orchestraof the moment among a dance floor of elegant colored gowns and blackand white tails.
"Mom, I'm done with my ice cream," Bobby said from the back seat.The sticky Dixie cup dripped on Mirta's hand as she tossed it out thewindow.
"Oh no! Oh my God! Stop the car! I lost my ring!"
Alfonso braked harshly and pulled off the road as quickly as he could.
"My engagement ring! It fell off when I threw away Bobby's ice cream."
"Por Dios! What were you doing?" he scolded. The engagement ringwas a Candela family heirloom.
"It slipped out. Help me look, quickly. All of you."
They were a few miles past the town of Palma Soriano on an inclinethat provided a scenic view of the rolling fields below.
"Look for the Dixie cup," she asked. "The ring should be nearby."
"Be careful with the traffic," Alfonso told the two boys sharply. "Stayoff the road." Cars and laden trucks whizzed by on the two-lane highway.
Continues...
Excerpted from A CUBAN IN PARADISEby Antonio J. Guernica Copyright © 2012 by Antonio J. Guernica. Excerpted by permission.
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