Sofrito. Phillippe Diederich
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knocked on the door. A brindle pit bull barked at them from the roof of the house. “Huracán,” he called and glanced at Frank. “That is one mean dog.”
“But only to other dogs,” Orlando added.
A pretty blonde wearing tight red shorts and a Cubanacan T-shirt opened the door.
“Hola, Guajira,” Michi said. “Is Eusebio home?”
Guajira rubbed her eyes. “’Pérame.” Then she closed the door.
Michi turned to Frank and smiled. “And you didn’t believe me.”
When the door opened again, a man who was a darker, heavier version of Justo studied the group.
“Eusebio.” Michi offered his hand, but when Eusebio didn’t take it, he made a self-conscious gesture and dropped it at his side. “We brought you some friends.”
Eusebio’s drowsy eyes inspected the group and landed back on Michi. “¿Y? Who are they?”
“Frank and Marisol. They were calling for you at your sister’s house on Concordia.”
Frank offered his hand. “I’m Frank Delgado, a friend of Justo’s in New York.”
Eusebio’s eyes grew, and his lips parted in a large white smile. “I don’t believe it!” He embraced Frank. “What a pleasure. I had no idea. What a terrific surprise, but tell me something, Frank.” Eusebio glanced over at Michi and Orlando. “How did you hook up with these two comemierdas?”
“Óyeme, Eusebio,” Michi complained, “por favor. We were doing them a favor.”
“Here.” Frank dug into his pocket, counted out five dollars and offered them to Michi.
Eusebio frowned. “¿Qué fue?”
“Coño, Eusebio. We need it for gas. The Moskvitch is almost out.”
“Michi, he’s my brother, por el amor de Dios.”
“I didn’t know.” Michi glanced at Frank, then at Eusebio. “But, coño, there seems to be a minor discrepancy in the color, no?”
“I tell you he’s my brother. What else do you want, a fucking birth certificate?”
“It’s okay.” Frank pushed the money into Michi’s hand.
“And this mulatica,” Eusebio stared past Frank at Marisol. “Is she with you?”
“She’s with your brother,” Michi smiled. “Candela, no?”
Eusebio buttoned his shirt. “Come in then. We’ll have some coffee. You drink café, no?”
Eusebio led the way into the house with his arm around Frank’s shoulder. They walked through the living room. A bulky Panasonic television dominated the room like a special prize. On the wall was a poster of Fidel Castro in the midst of a fiery speech.
“Guajira, coffee for six, mujer.” Eusebio turned to Frank. “We better go out to the patio, it’s too hot to sit inside.”
They found places around a plastic table under the shade of a large ceiba tree. A gentle breeze stirred the smell of jasmine.
“Coño, Frank, it’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Eusebio said. “Tell me, how is my brother? And Pepe, right?”
“Everybody’s fine. Working all the time. You know Justo’s married.”
“I know, I know. With a Dominican, no?” Eusebio leaned forward and frowned.
“Yes. She’s a wonderful woman.”
“Good for him.” Then he glanced at Michi, rubbed his nose and turned to Marisol. “And you, my love, how do you fit into all this?”
Marisol shrugged and crossed her legs. “Nothing. We met last night. I’m just helping him get around.”
Eusebio laughed and clapped his hands. “You’re a tourist guide, qué bien. I like that.”
Frank found his tone intrusive. He placed his hand on Marisol’s leg and changed the subject. “So, this is your new house?”
“Yes. I am finally coming into some modest money. You know, with Esperanza getting married and the twins on the way, I got together with Capitán and we, I, acquired this place so they could have the apartment on Concordia to themselves.”
Guajira appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray with tiny blue coffee cups.
“And this beauty here is Yemanki.” Eusebio pulled her by the hip and sat her on his lap. “But we call her Guajira because she’s from Cabeza, in Pinar Del Río. And besides, Yemanki, what an ugly name, no? Poor woman, another victim of Cuba’s generation Y.”
A green parrot in a large wire cage squawked. Eusebio turned to Michi. “And you two?”
“Nothing, Eusebio, we just wanted to see you. Since you moved to Vedado we don’t see as much of you as we used to. You should stop by the old neighborhood once in a while.”
“I stop by all the time when I visit Esperanza and Capitán—and that little devil Pedrito.”
“Well.” Michi turned uncomfortably. “I suppose we figured we could kill two birds with—”
“You wanted the money,” Eusebio interrupted.
“Coño, Eusebio.” Michi waved. “But we wanted to visit you too. How was I to know he was—”
“Bueno.” Orlando drained his coffee and stood. “I think it’s time, no?”
“Coño, Eusebio.” Michi pressed his hands against his chest, “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Next time just say it like it is.”
After Michi and Orlando left, Eusebio leaned back on his chair and sighed. “Those two never stop. I know it’s not easy, pero, coño, one must have a little dignity.” Then he smiled at Marisol, “Coño, But what a beautiful mulata you have here, Frank. For real.”
Frank smiled. Marisol looked away.
Eusebio turned on his chair and drank what coffee remained in his cup. “So, how long are you here for?”
“Just a week. I leave on Sunday.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Sevilla.”
“Coño, the Sevilla. It’s a great place. But next time you must stay here in our house,” Eusebio declared. “La Habana has a housing shortage, but we’re lucky we have plenty of room for guests.”
“Gracias, that’s very hospitable, Eusebio.”
“Coño, you’re family.” He spread his arms. “I would not expect any less from you if I was to visit New York. Us Cubans, we prefer the warmth of a home and family to the coldness of a hotel, no matter how luxurious.” Eusebio leaned forward and frowned, “But Dominican? Coño, are there no good Cuban women in New York? I mean, Dominican?”
“If you met Amarylis you’d understand.”
They shared a brief silence. Then Eusebio clapped his hands. “Coño, you’re right, Frank. And besides, the Dominican Republic is like a sister country, no? Máximo Gómez helped us fight for independence. He’s buried right over there in the cementerio Colón.” Then he paused and glanced at his empty cup. “And you, are you married?”
“No.” Frank laughed. “I was close, but we broke up right at Christmas.”
“Was she Cuban?”
“No, American.”
Eusebio waved his index finger. “That’s good, Frank. But you know, a Cuban man needs a Cuban woman. With American women it’s just not the same, eh?”