He’s just like him, just like the satyr Pan, complete with a smile, wine and a cute paunch that he likes to maintain. However, he’s never played the flute … or any other musical instrument.
Tato is the owner of a few pigs and a handful of goats-and in Havana, that’s something. However, it’s still not as much as he’s always wanted; like the chains he wears around his neck, which appear to be made of silver, but they aren’t.
Likewise, the women that he usually has around are-like his chains-fakes. At least that’s what he tells the goats and pigs, when he’s in the mood to converse with them.
I believe it was a ram that told me about Tato’s problem. Although it’s probable that at some moment I myself have listened to the confession of satyr Pan, bottles of wine between us.
Satyr Pan is as enormous as Goliath, but with David’s penis.
Not all men are like Julio Iglesias’s son, admitting to the world the extraordinary minuteness of their sexual organ, and without even blushing.
A good part of the men in Cuba, whether they admit it or not, grant more importance to the size of their penis than the roundtable could have to King Arthur.
And Tato-strong, tall and passionate for all types of women-has never understood why nature betrayed him like this.
Nor have some of the women that he’s been with ever understood. In fact, they’ve felt cheated and have treated him like what he is: a fraud. Without giving him time to demonstrate what sexologists, Europeans and good lovers never get tired of repeating-size is not so important.
Neither Tato nor the women he’s cheated believe that tale. The image, the appearance, the fetish has a lot of weight.
And it’s incredible how fetishistic we are here.
It’s such that poor Tato has found no other remedy than retaliating against those so-demanding women, allowing them to only sleep with him for a single night.
I recall hearing a sow say (or perhaps it was Tato himself on a night with abundant wine present) that there was indeed a woman who slept with him more than one time. It seems it was to put him to the test.
He is sure that she had some hidden agenda, so he retaliated by slapping her around. This went on until one night she admitted he was both a very bad lover and didn’t even know how to give a good slap.
He can’t be blamed having been so unjustly treated by nature (which surely is female), if at least it had made him less handsome…That isn’t understood by his nephew, who shaves his legs, plucks his eyebrows, spends hours in front of the mirror and has a penis even more microscopic than Tato’s.
The nephew can have the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, disappear into the bedroom for hours and hours, and then we look at him as if he were the most masculine man in Havana.
And Tato knows it’s just not so.