It’s not that I particularly like stories of conflict or people’s love lives in crisis; it’s just that without me searching for them, they find me. This is why I write about them so often, especially if economic issues are the defining elements.
Maritza is a woman who has lived her life with great intensity. At sixteen she was already dating a man who was over thirty, and no one asked why a man so much older.
With a long cut on her face, she seemed to have nothing to do with me; nevertheless the two of us were entering the church. Maybe she’d pray for her husband who beats her. I was going to make devotions for my partner who left me without leaving a trace.
Like many Cubans, I went to La Caridad’s sanctuary (“El Cobre”) without promising anything. Maybe it was because I was there on a day when mass wasn’t being conducted, but what I came upon was the grayest church I’d ever seen.
Mireya and Ernesto have spent a year contesting the handling his case involving corruption. Housing Department officials in the Marianao neighborhood cheated him out of the right to receive what’s his.
There was a deeper and more illogical explanation: The fear of doctors deserting. This is a reality that is imposed over and above any basic human concern. This is the side of the coin that shows how much Cuban family unity is really worth.
“My son is at the age where he reads everything,” commented Juliette, a French friend of mine who’s married to a regular Cuban guy. In love with her husband and this country, she wants their son to be educated and grow up thinking like a Cuban.
My relationship with the culture of Eastern Europe is almost genetic. I admit that I’m of the generation that was raised with the cartoons and espionage series from the socialist camp, as well as extraordinary universal Russian literature.
Talking about the Havana International Book Fair is always a pleasure, at least for me. I can explain, for example, that this year the event is spread out between the Casa de las Americas, the ALBA Center, Pavilion Cuba and the Cabaña colonial fortress.
I had already been in its archives, where I received never dreamed of treatment. I told myself: Nah!, no way! After I’d criticized librarians so much for their gossiping and longing for power, I’d found the ideal library.