Cuba Libre

I

ABOUT noon the government declared martial law, and the cavalry clattered into the streets of Havana. They patrolled the main avenues in groups of six. That put an end to the street fighting for the day. I bought a special edition of the government newspaper — all the others had been suppressed — and sat at my desk reading the President’s proclamation and the account of the early-morning riots. After a while Mr. Wilson came out of his office.

‘Good morning, Warren.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ I said.

‘They’ve declared martial law?’

‘Yes, about an hour ago.’

‘Hm.’ He stared out of the window. He looked tired. Everybody looked tired. There was n’t any business any more. Wilson had the best automobile agency in Havana, and he had n’t made any money for five months. The last month we sold two cars; only the repair shop paid expenses.

‘Here’s a copy of the Heraldo with the President’s proclamation, if you would like to see it,’ I said.

‘Does he say that he will continue to lead Cuba to prosperity on the basis of liberty and order?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Mr. Wilson made a slight noise, but remained standing at the window without comment.

After a while he asked: ‘Where’s Luis?’

‘He has n’t come in this morning,’ I answered.

‘He’s getting himself into trouble.’

‘He feels very strongly against the President.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mr. Wilson sharply. ‘I mean, he can feel as strongly as he likes, but this is an American firm, and he must not involve us in Cuban politics. Last week the Secret Police sent me a warning about him. I called him in and told him that if he took part in any more revolutionary activities I’d fire him. If he was in those street riots this morning, out he goes. I can’t take the risk.’

He made a step toward me nervously and then turned. ‘I’m going out to lunch,’ he said. ‘I want to see Luis when I get back.’

‘I’ll tell him, sir.’

II

I waited for Luis. He arrived in about half an hour. His face was drawn and excited, and his eyes were a little wild. He was only a boy, really, but all the young students were like that now. The University had been closed for some time because there had been three outbreaks there.

‘ The great butcher! ’ Luis said. ‘ He’s got the troops out.’

‘Yes, I saw them,’ I said. ‘Have a cigarette, and don’t get so excited.’

He took a cigarette, but continued walking up and down.

‘The Chief was looking for you this morning,’ I said.

He stopped. ‘Is he here now?’

‘No. He’s coming back after lunch.’

‘Well, I shall not be here. I’m going to resign.’

‘I thought you were going to earn some money, so you could go to America and study in a university.’

‘That’s all over now,’ Luis said. ‘There’s only one duty for Cubans now.’

‘You mean breaking street lamps?’ I said scornfully. ‘That’s all you can do without the army.’

‘After a while the army will join us.’

‘After you are all dead, you mean.’

‘Well, we are not afraid to die,’ Luis said. He meant it, too. Most of them did n’t mean it — that was the trouble. The good ones, like Luis, would be killed. The rest of them would continue to talk about it over their cocktails at the Yacht Club.

‘Listen,’ Luis said, bending forward to whisper. ‘You are my friend, and I will tell you this: there are ten thousand students in Cuba, and by the end of the week they will all be armed.’

I wanted to swear at him, I was so fond of him. ‘Shall we have lunch, Luis?’ I asked.

‘Thank you, I can’t now. I’m going over to join them. I shan’t sec you for a while, Jimmy.’

I stood up, and then wanted to sit down again, so I sat on the edge of the desk.

‘I wish you would stay,’ I said.

‘You’re an American, and you don’t understand. You don’t care.’

‘ I care about you, Luis. And it isn’t a question of whether you’re right or wrong. It’s a question of what you can do about it. It is n’t going to do any good to have you parade around the streets and get shot or get put in jail. You have n’t any weapons or money, or any real leaders, and the army is loyal to the President. Every month now for a year we’ve heard that story about the students getting armed.’

‘It’s true now,’ Luis said. ‘The arms are stored in an empty factory in Havana.’

‘Maybe a few,’ I answered. ‘You can’t fight an army with them.’

‘We shall do what we can.’

‘I wish you would wait awhile.’

‘I am going now,’ Luis said. ‘Goodbye, Jimmy.’

I put my arm around him. ‘Goodbye. Good luck,’ I said.

III

In the afternoon Mr. Wilson closed the office early. I drove my car out through the town. It was very warm. There were blotches of sweat on the brown uniforms of the cavalrymen. The broad Prado with the tiled walk in the centre was almost deserted by cars and people. Now that the city was quiet, the shops had rolled up the steel shutters from their doors and window fronts, but there were few people going in.

I went up the Malecón along the sea, then through the residential section of the Vedado, toward the bridge over the Almendares River that separates the city from the countryside and the bathing beaches. The police were stopping the cars on the bridge and searching them. One of them looked at me, muttered ‘Americano,’ glanced at the back seat, and motioned me on. Here, too, the avenue had a promenade down the centre with palm trees and fancy hedges and plots of many-colored flowers. The road was lined on both sides with Spanish laurel trees. The world lay clean and bright beneath the sun, and the sea was at my right hand, all the way, very blue. It seemed too bad.

At the Yacht Club only a few people had gathered. The crowd would come at six. Then the club would gleam with lights, the young señoritas would throng the terraza and sip sweet drinks, the young men would talk to them or join the group at the bar, the sailors would tie up the boats. The sea would grow quiet and dark, and the club noisy and glowing.

This was the way it always was when I returned from my sail and plunged into the water, swimming beneath the surface and rising to head slowly toward the pier. This was the way it was now as I came back to the locker room to dress; only everyone was talking more than usual, and the bar was jammed.

Rumors ran thick and fast: so-andso was in jail, three opposition leaders had been shot in their rooms in Camagüey, a student was being tortured for the names of his comrades — lies, most of them, but gaining credence with each repetition. They were all against the government and were waving their hands and explaining what they would do to free Cuba from tyranny. They became excited with their drinks and said they would kill — kill — the President, and, when he was dead, they would drink champagne.

I had heard it before, and so I went home very soon. In the night I was wakened by two distant explosions. They were small bombs, probably; every other night we heard them. They did a little damage and kept people restless; but it was a mean way to fight. Luis said the opposition leaders were against it, but they never condemned it in public. Luis ought to leave the country. . . .

I tried to go to sleep, but kept waking up at intervals, and in the morning I was tired. It did n’t make so very much difference, because there was n’t anything to do at the office, and Mr. Wilson closed it early again. I went to the Yacht Club because I thought I might pick up some news of Luis, but I heard only rumors.

IV

The next afternoon the office boy brought me a visiting card which bore a man’s name and in the corner the words Policía Secreta.

‘I’ll see him,’ I said.

He was a slight man with one of those faces that assume an honest expression like a torn mask through which dishonesty is only too apparent. He was very polite. He was sorry to bother the Señor.

‘That’s all right,’ I said.

‘ You have working here a young man named Luis Riva?’

‘Not any longer.’

‘Ah.’

‘He resigned Tuesday afternoon. We have not seen him since.’

‘I should like to get a little information about him, and perhaps search his desk.’

‘It would be better if you spoke to the manager of our company,’ I said.

I led him to Mr. Wilson and explained. We sat down.

‘Before we begin,’ Mr. Wilson said, ‘perhaps you will tell us why you want this information about Luis Riva.’

‘ Conspiring against the government,’ the man recited. ‘Inciting to revolt. Violation of the law of explosives.’ He pulled a handbill out of his pocket and gave it to Mr. Wilson. ‘This is what he and his friends are distributing.’

Wilson glanced through it and then passed it to me. It was headed: ‘STUDENTS — To ARMS!’ It exposed the crimes of the President and called upon every young Cuban to arm himself and prepare to overthrow the government by force at a date to be announced later. It was signed by a committee of six, of which Luis was one.

They had him now. While this administration lasted, he would be either a fugitive or a prisoner, or maybe dead. I probably should n’t see him any more.

‘Four of the committee we already have,’ the man said. ‘We do not expect difficulty in getting the other two. Perhaps you can be helpful.’

Mr. Wilson said nothing. The man asked a few questions. It was easy, because we did n’t know anything about Luis’s plans anyway. I could sec that the police agent did n’t believe us.

‘Where was it you saw him yesterday?’ he asked as he rose.

‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me,’ I said. ‘I told you we had n’t seen him since Tuesday when he resigned.’

The man nodded and looked at Mr. Wilson. ‘I shall have to search his desk,’ he stated, ‘and my assistants your office and shop — both floors.’

‘You have, of course, a warrant for this search of my property?’ Mr. Wilson said.

The man smiled thinly. ‘The Sehor will remember that the Constitutional Guaranties have been suspended.’

Mr. Wilson went back to his desk. The agent and his assistants searched the office, but did n’t find anything.

V

That was Thursday. On Friday night the opposition leaders proclaimed the revolution and sailed away from Havana in a yacht to collect their forces down the coast. They landed the next morning. The country did n’t follow them. The army stood by the President, and the people did n’t seem to want to die for liberty, even those who talked about it. It was n’t my country, and I did n’t care. But I was wondering about Luis.

That morning Mr. Wilson did n’t come to the office. I let it remain open for a while just to keep the workers calm and give them something to do besides talk. There was continual firing on the outskirts of the city. At first they said an opposition force was attacking the town. Later I was told that the police had discovered an arsenal with some rebels in it and had surrounded them. Then I remembered what Luis had told me about the arsenal.

I closed the shop and drove out toward the firing. Several blocks away the police had established a cordon, and no one could pass. I parked my car, and as I turned toward the sidewalk I saw Emilio Fuentes sitting in a café opposite. He was Luis’s cousin. I entered and spoke to him. He had some coffee in front of him. He looked nervous and scared.

‘Sit down, Jimmy,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to have an American sitting next to me. They don’t bother you, do they? ’

‘Sometimes,’ I said. ‘What’s happening?’

He apparently wanted to tell me something, but he didn’t know whether he should.

‘Where’s Luis?’ I asked. ‘Is he doing this shooting?’

He looked around and nodded.

‘Is he defending the arsenal?’ I inquired. ‘He told me his plan.’

‘Oh, he told you,’ Emilio said, relieved. ‘He told me not to tell anyone outside the group. He’s going to be killed.’

‘Where is the arsenal?’

‘It’s in that abandoned cigar factory on the water front. They’ve been shooting for two hours.’

‘How many are there with him?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe twenty or thirty. He said that last night two hundred students were going to meet there and get their guns, and that the police would join them.’

‘And nobody came?’

‘We were going, but the police got there first.’

‘And you were afraid they would n’t join you?’

He did n’t answer. He looked as if he were going to cry. But he made me sick. They all made me sick.

‘Discreet,’ I said, ‘but not courageous.’ I got up.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to watch it from our warehouse.’

‘The police won’t let you through.’

‘I have a military pass, and besides, I’m going there on business. Do you want to come?’

He shook his head. ‘They would arrest me. You ’re an American, and that’s all right.’

I went out and spoke to a policeman. Before I finished I was talking to five of them, but they let me through.

‘It’s dangerous,’ the captain said. ‘There are lots of bullets flying around. There must be twenty men in there.’

‘The warehouse is between me and the rebels, and it’s two blocks away,’ I said. ‘There’s no danger.’

VI

The warehouse was deserted. Everybody was in a café across the street. On the first floor there were about a dozen cars draped in white coverings.

The shooting outside sounded thin and sharp.

I continued upstairs, and then up a ladder to the roof. I lay down on the edge of the roof and looked out.

The factory was a limestone building set more or less by itself. The windows of the second story were all broken. As I watched, a gun pointed out of one of them and fired. I could hear the bullet spit on the sidewalk or the street.

There were police and soldiers everywhere. They had machine guns on two houses, and every time a shot came from the arsenal they would hammer away. There must have been a hundred and fifty police and soldiers. Not one of them was taking any chances. They stayed behind something and fired when they saw a gun in a window.

Since it could end in only one way, I thought it would be better if it ended quickly. I thought the soldiers should use bombs. But they just kept on shooting. The men in the arsenal rarely fired from the same window twice in succession. That seemed to bother the soldiers. Once I thought I saw Luis, but it was so far away that I could n’t be sure. I saw four soldiers hit. Apparently the soldiers were given orders after a while to fire at the windows at definite intervals. There was a lot of shooting.

I became very stiff and lay on my back for a few minutes staring at the sky. The shooting from the arsenal was less frequent. They must have killed off a few of them. I supposed that the rest would not surrender now because they thought they would be shot anyway, once the soldiers entered the building. Besides, I did n’t think Luis would surrender. He was the best Cuban I had known.

It was getting late. I looked at my watch and found I had been there six hours. The lack of lunch and the persistent rat-tat-tat of the rifles and machine guns had given me a headache. The men in the arsenal were still firing, one shot at a time, and from different windows. If there were more men like that, like Luis, they would win their revolution. But there were n’t any more. It was all such great folly, such great waste.

Then the gunfire from the arsenal stopped. The soldiers and police continued theirs intermittently for about half an hour. They were afraid of a trick. Then they stopped, too. After a few minutes about twenty of them ran across the street to the door of the factory. Nobody shot at them. They broke in the door, and about fifty more soldiers ran across the street and joined them. They disappeared in the building. There was n’t any more shooting.

They found only two men in the building, both dead. The doctors said that one of them had been killed at the start. The other was Luis. He had been hit eleven times. That was what slowed him up at the end. He had kept a hundred and fifty men at bay, running from window to window to fire his gun, as if there were many men in the arsenal. He had done this for eight hours until he died.

The sun was down when I went back to the car. The soldiers were still standing around the two bodies in the street.

I drove out to the Yacht Club slowly. The bar was pretty well filled. Some of them were the men Luis had been waiting for. I went on down to the pier, which was deserted at this hour, and where there was no sound except the chopping of the moored boats in the dark.