Waiting for Snow in Havana Read Online Free PDF Page B

do so many other things, such as typing out full descriptions of each and every one of his art objects on little cards, or building dioramas, or driving us to the seashore.
    Once, after the world had changed and my father had been reassigned to a remote rural courthouse, we rode there on the train. It was the farthest I would ever get from Havana until I flew away for good. The train ride was very exciting, especially because the train was almost derailed. It took us about two hours to travel what must have been about thirty miles. Once he got to his courthouse, a small wooden building, Dad signed a few papers and back home we went. There were only two men working for him at that courthouse, and they were just as obsequious as the men at Regla. The only difference that the Revolution made was that there was nothing they could offer me. No sodas, no chewing gum, no comic books. Nothing. Not even a guarapo, a cold drink made from crushed sugarcane. Yet they still brought papers to my dad to sign, and took them away, and sought his approval.
    Power is always power, and men are always men.
    What a nice job being a judge. What a nice thing being the son of a judge. What a place, my Cuba. Lucky me.
    Long before I rode the water taxi to Regla, many wise men and women had already discerned how best to approach such luck. One of these sages was Saint Jerome, the man who translated the Bible from Hebrew and Greek into Latin in the fifth century. Legend had it that Saint Jerome used to say, “Have mercy on me, Lord, I am a Dalmatian,” while he beat his breast with a stone, struggling to suppress his own will and make his soul ready for God’s abounding grace. What a wise man. He knew how deeply sin dwells in our skin. My own worst instincts still lead me to turquoise water, tangerine sunsets, and the judge’s seat. I, too, find myself clutching jagged chunks of granite, beating my breast, seeking redemption. But I have to make a slight alteration in Jerome’s prayer—a small change that makes a world of difference:
    Miserere mei, Domine, Cubanus sum.
    â€œHave mercy on me, Lord, I am a Cuban.”

4
Cuatro
    W ho discovered Cuba?”
    Easy question. Nearly all of the boys raised their hands. Except those who thought it was too easy, and froze.
    â€œFelipe…can you tell us?”
    Felipe had not raised his hand.
    â€œChristopher Columbus, in 1492.”
    â€œVery good,” said our teacher, “but I didn’t ask for the date. Good to know you weren’t daydreaming. Now here is a tougher question: what was the first thing Columbus said when he set foot on Cuba?”
    A couple of brownnosers thrust their hands into the air with more enthusiasm than anyone else. One of them even grabbed his upraised right arm with his left, as if to push it farther into the air. The teacher, as usual, called on someone who was sitting on his hands.
    â€œDaniel, what did Columbus say?”
    Daniel winced, and stuttered: “Uh…uh…uh…Thank God for land…at last?”
    Laughs and snickers. A few more hands went up. The teacher shook his head and pounced on another seemingly distracted boy who hadn’t raised his hand.
    â€œMiguel, can you get it right?”
    Looking the teacher straight in the eye, Miguel answered: “Columbus said, ‘This is the most beautiful land ever seen by human eyes.’”
    â€œExcellent. I’m glad to see not only that you were paying attention, Miguel, but that at least some of you have had a proper upbringing and were told about this at home, before we got to today’s lesson. You know, what Columbus said is very, very important. It may be one of the most important things ever said about our island, and one of the most true.”
    â€œYes, Cuba is a paradise,” said Ramiro, unbidden. He was the one who had been holding his arm up higher than anyone else. “My dad told me that the Garden of Eden was here in Cuba, and that