Letter from Camilo:
It’s my birthday, February 6th. The whole family came: Alameda and Ernesto and Clarisa, along with their husbands, wives, kids and grandkids. They were trying to surprise me, but I read all the signs. Eighty-two years old, going on twenty-two. Well, perhaps not quite. I can’t remember what I felt like at twenty-two. I hadn’t met Clare, I wasn’t burned, I didn’t have any kids. Okay, thirty-two.
I pulled a little stunt after Clare brought in the cake. I pretended as if I didn’t have the wind to blow out the candles. And then, as if my mind were going, I started to speak in the most exaggerated Cuban accent, making it almost impossible to understand. The grandkids looked at me like I had a sudden attack of Alzheimer’s. I could tell Clare wasn’t too happy about it, because I was kind of giving away the Big Secret, and we agreed long ago that we weren’t going to do that. So I clowned around with it, and the littlest kids loved it, they thought it was some kind of game. Oia ‘oño, ’o sabe ’nde se ’ompra lo ‘uego pa lo niño en ete ’ueblo, ’orque esos niño nesitan lo ’uegos ma que yo.
In Tico you’d say it nice and clear: Oiga, coño-—only you wouldn’t say coño here, it’s not a good word for kids-—no sabe donde se compra los juegos para los niños en este pueblo, porque estos niños necesitan los juegos mas que yo. Which of course the kids liked when I let them figure it out, that they were the ones who ought to be getting the presents.
After everyone went home, Clare jumped right on me. If I went on talking Cuban like that, the family was going to figure something out. And of course, Clare had me figured out almost before I did—-because I’d started to wonder if enough damn time hasn’t gone by.
I haven’t cared for decades if I ever saw Cuba again. But recently, with all this talk about the U.S. and Cuba normalizing relations, I thought, We could go back for a visit. We could see what’s happened to that country.
“Yes, we could start with that,” Clare said. “And then maybe you’d want to tell everybody the whole story.”
I wasn’t quite ready for that—but I had been thinking it over. It’s because of Obama and Raúl lining up to talk to each other. They’re going to “normalize relations”. Of course that’s a joke. In a hundred and fifty years there’s never been anything normal about how the U.S. and Cuba have gotten along, so normal is not what’s coming. But driving home from the clinic the other day, I had a kind of dream, or a vision: how normal it would be for me and Clare, and maybe our kids, and maybe some of their kids, to go look at the world I grew up in.
After I said that, Clare and I sat around for awhile listening to the night, just thinking about the idea.