Jorge Milanes’s Diary

Across the park, two women came staggering out of a bar attempting to cope with the usual effects of beer. One of them led the other a supposed hiding place, though from the bus everyone could see them.

In Cuba it’s customary to mop the floors of houses using a frazada (a medium thick, towel-sized cloth). This is one of the most common and never-ending duties in Cuban homes, thanks to the dust that inevitably blows in.

Recently I went to the Lawton neighborhood to visit my friend Clara. The taxi route dropped me just outside the house of this friend, who had been expecting me since early that afternoon.

Ayme Amargos is a journalist who for several years has reported the news from the city of Camaguey for the National Television News (NTV). Very serious about her work, I’m sure she could never imagine what my co-worker has done with her name.

Celia is a nice woman who works at a bookstore in Old Havana. I met her several years ago and from that very first time encounter, I knew that she was a good person. She’s also proud of her first name, which has several meanings – one of which is “smooth as silk.”

The first time I heard of Narcissus was in that book The Alchemist, by the Brazilian writer Paul Coelho. But as the painting before me had nothing to do with the story of Coello’s pilgrim, I concluded that it had to do with intertextuality, which is why I inquired about the myth that accounts for the great beauty of this young man.

I got a call from a friend whose oldest daughter had returned for a visit after having lived outside of Cuba for several years. She was happy to see her daughter, but that she was very concerned because the younger woman was afraid to go outside, especially by herself.

Not long ago my neighbor Robin, who has a lot in Havana’s Playa municipality, was cutting the tall grass and taking care of the rubble that had been dumped on his property. He plans to build a house there for his children.

If you’ve ever had the experience of finding yourself without a voice, I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s a confounding sensation, like involuntary confinement behind bars that are invisible to the eyes of others.

Alberto Garrandes is a Cuban writer who has earned prestige at the national level and even in other countries. I met him years ago just minutes before he left on a bus to attend a book fair in Holguin, where he had been invited as a guest.