— 23 —

La Zafra

TIME DOES NOT pass in the countryside; it stands still until the sugar harvest, which was in full swing. The roads were full of loaded trucks carrying the green stalks of sugarcane to the mills. The railroads owned by the sugar mills had their trains rolling. The old rhyme used to teach children how to roll the Spanish r was alive: “R con R cigarro, R con R carril, rápidos corren los carros cargados de azúcar por el ferrocarril.” (R with R is cigar, R with R is track, and the trains loaded with sugar run fast on the railroad tracks.)

The vallas were packed with people shouting and gambling as cocks died in pools of blood. The bordellos were full every Saturday night, and the churches rang their bells, waiting for the faithful to pray for the best weather and higher sugar prices in the London market. Everyone was employed. Fernando worked his taxi every night. After driving the farm’s truck, heavily loaded with sugarcane, to the Florida sugar mill, he had enough energy to hustle customers for his girlfriends, who worked the slummiest part of the pueblo with its badly paved streets and all-night bars, operating under the protection of the Guardia Rural.

Mike drove his new car on the Central Highway and watched how the sugarcane was being cut. Night descended and the moon climbed, the road cleared, and he began to think of Maria Alicia and the last days they had spent together. This time he had not been ready to leave Havana. Now everything was different. He had to think of the future, of how he was going to balance his life between his two loves: Maria Alicia and the farm.

The next morning, Paulino woke Mike up with a cup of coffee in hand. “You don’t look so tired. Have you been taking some powerful vitamins?”

“No, I just live a clean life,” Mike said dryly as he took the cup from Paulino, who walked to the bedroom window and drew back the curtains, allowing the sun’s first rays to enter.

“Just two weeks at the best sin spot of the world and here you are—relaxed, with a guajiro tan. Why didn’t you wake us up last night when you came in? You’re becoming civilized,” Paulino gently chided.

“I didn’t want you to be too tired, because now you’re going to have to work.”

“Come on, I always work.”

“Ha, we’ll see—”

“The world wants to talk to you. I don’t want to talk. I just want action. I want a significant raise. I should talk to your Papa, who is the gentleman who hired me. You recommended me, I want to believe that we are friends, and I know it’s very difficult for you to show your friendship to me, because you may be now in charge, and you don’t have the money to afford my incomparable and sophisticated services as the manservant of a great estate. I have to formalize my relationship with an angel, and the only way I can progress with her is to spend guano, that mighty piece of paper you call a dollar. No money, no girl. So as soon as you’re fully awake with full command of your senses, your wit, and the creative juices of incomparable intellect again start to flow, we have to discuss what is vital to me—money, and more money.”

Mike, half asleep, sauntered into the bathroom. “Paulino, please, you hardly work. You spend as much time writing your stories as cleaning around the house. I know your shenanigans. I know you very well, please don’t make me get serious with you,” Mike relieved himself. “I appreciate your humor. I just don’t need a buffoon. I’m satisfied with my level of enjoyment. Please, find Ricardo. I have to talk to him.”

Paulino had gambled and lost. He knew that pursuing his request further would be counterproductive, and left, crafting his next plan.

Mike dressed and walked around the batey. No more groups of unemployed workers milling around the show barn. Mike now saw the batey through the eyes of Maria Alicia. He thought how she would fit and feel in this male-created environment. His mother’s last visit had been around six years ago. The big house needed a new paint job. The rocking chairs on the big porch looked tired, and the garden, what garden? The flower beds had started to show weeds; the roses, still flowering, needed pruning. The lime, grapefruit, mango, and avocado trees were in excellent shape. The garden was devoid of color and needed flowers. Everything was so green, so organized, and so drab. What about color?

Mike met Ricardo at the office. Cuca peeked in to ask about Don Miguel’s health and when he would return. Mike said, “Cuca, rest assured, he’s doing quite well. He’s very busy right now. He may come back to pick out the show string for next season. I’ll tell him that you miss him,” and then “Cuca, we need flowers in this house. Here, take twenty pesos and buy some potted geraniums. I think they would improve the portal.”

“Sure, if Ricardo ever takes me to town, I’ll buy them for you.”

Mike turned to Ricardo, “When?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Cuca said, “How long are you going to stay? I don’t think we have enough of the food you like.”

“I’ll stay around three weeks, but don’t bother to get any special food for me. I’ll eat whatever you cook for Ricardo,” Mike answered.

“I still need to buy more groceries. I could go with Ricardo to the store, but today I should send Paulino, because there’s a lot to do here, but I don’t trust him to pick out the geraniums. Are you sure you don’t you want anything special?”

“No, thanks, anything you decide to cook will be fine with me,” he said, and returned to his meeting with Ricardo.

Paulino was glad that Cuca had trusted him to pick up the groceries from the store. That way, he could stop on his way back and see his girlfriend. For the last three weeks, the sisters had been so busy with the sugar harvest that his nocturnal visits to their plantation were shorter every evening. His leisurely visits had been whittled down to mere minutes, a brief “How are you?,” a small peck on the cheek, and good-bye. Paulino honked the horn of the jeep as he passed a busy Manuel, waved at Arturo, and passed Nandito and his truck loaded with cane on his way to the sugar mill. Paulino was happy, full of life, driving a vehicle once forbidden to him.

In the pueblo, he found a spot in front of the main door of the warehouse, and in his excitement to see Mulato and tell him that he now was driving the jeep, he opened the front door in a hurry and hit the old army sergeant, who was walking on the sidewalk. The force sent him and the groceries he was carrying tumbling to the ground. Mulato, who saw the accident, came running out of the warehouse. The sergeant lost his composure as he struggled on all fours to get up. Mulato moved quickly to help him, as Paulino, kneeling on the ground, tried to repack the dispersed groceries. A group of nearby children laughed, further raising the sergeant’s ire. He stood up, and with all his might, kicked Paulino in the head. “No, no!” Mulato stopped the sergeant from kicking him again.

Paulino toppled over as he tried to hold the groceries he was packing. Despite his pain, Paulino was controlling his laughter as he replayed the scene of the sergeant’s pratfall in his mind. But the danger of laughing in his face was too great. Just get through this, he thought. “I’m sorry that I opened the door so fast. I didn’t intend to bump a member of La Guardia Rural. Please accept my apology.”

The sergeant huffed and stared down at Paulino with disdain. He brushed off his khaki uniform, grabbing his wide-brimmed cavalry hat from Mulato. The sergeant marched to his old army jeep, parked by a fire hydrant, and left in a hurry.

Paulino’s neck stiffened with fear. The encounter had spoiled his good mood. Still, he was consoled knowing that after he bought the provisions, he was going to see his girlfriend. Mulato filled the order, and they put the bags in the front seat of the jeep.

On his way out of the pueblo, just before he entered the Central Highway, Paulino had to stop at a military roadblock, now a common scene in the pueblo. The Guardia Rural was checking the vehicles’ registration papers and the drivers’ licenses. The rebel activity had increased both in the Sierra del Escambray and in Oriente province, and the army wanted Camagüey to remain isolated from the fight. Paulino stopped the jeep at the roadblock, and a Guardia Rural, whom Paulino had known for several years, asked him to step out of the cab. Paulino complied with a questioning smile. He was ordered to stand spread-eagled with his arms touching the front fender of the jeep. Paulino jerked his head back with surprise. He started to worry: What are they doing? Why? He managed to keep a calm, steady voice. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Suddenly, he was hit on the back of his head, then on his back by the flat of a machete.

“Hijo de puta, this will teach you how to open a door!” a man shouted. Paulino slowly turned and saw the sergeant standing over him, his machete drawn back.

“Get up! Arms back on the fender!” the sergeant yelled.

Paulino moved to the fender and grabbed it. He was dealt more blows. The machete cut through Paulino’s shirt and blood started to flow. “Cabrón, this will teach you not to go out with nice white ladies!” the sergeant shouted. “You don’t belong here, you’re just a mulatto maricón!” The Guardia Rural, whom Paulino knew as a friend, kicked him in his legs. Paulino collapsed to the ground.

The Guardias Rurales picked him from the ground and shoved Paulino back into the front seat of the jeep and left him barely conscious, surrounded by a mess of broken grocery packages. Suddenly the roadblock was lifted. Sobbing, bleeding, and hurt, Paulino carefully positioned himself behind the wheel and drove back to the batey. His manhood was sullied, his head hurt, and his back was bleeding. He stopped the jeep outside the kitchen entrance, his body slumped against the steering wheel, and he repeatedly sounded the horn. Manuel and Arturo came running and surrounded the jeep. Ricardo and Mike dashed out of the office. Paulino became unconscious. Manuel and Arturo pulled Paulino out of the jeep, took him to the employees’ dining room, and laid him on the table. Cuca quickly cut away what was left of his shirt and began to clean the cuts with soap and water. Ricardo ran to get the car for a trip into town to see Dr. Paco.

Paulino moaned and trembled as Mike spoke calmly into his ear. “You’re home. You’re among friends. We’re going to take care of you. You’re going to be okay,” Mike whispered as Paulino went in and out of consciousness. “What happened, Paulino? Who did this to you?”

Paulino initially offered no answer. Finally, he said, “I had a fight. I don’t know how to choose a good opponent.” Paulino turned his head away from Mike as Cuca continued to clean his wounds. Welts began to swell on his back.

Mike told Ricardo to take Paulino to Dr. Paco in Ciego de Ávila. Mike jumped into his car to go to the pueblo and find out what had happened. He first stopped at the warehouse. Mulato saw Mike and took him to the private office.

“What happened to Paulino?” Mike asked. “He was beaten up badly.”

Mulato paused, and then shook his head with clenched jaws. “Paulino was in a hurry and hit the sergeant with the jeep’s door. I heard that he was beaten at a roadblock.”

The men look at each other for a few moments without a exchanging a word.

“Those bastards! They can’t abuse people like this.”

“Mike, be careful,” Mulato finally said. “They’re out of control.”

“I know what I have to do. Thank you,” Mike said, and immediately drove to the sergeant’s barrack.

A guard stopped Mike at the front entrance. “What do you want?”

“I want to see Lieutenant Pozo. It’s urgent. Tell him that Mike Rodriguez is here. He knows who I am.”

As Mike waited, he saw the sergeant entering an office. He tried to follow him, but was forcibly stopped. Moments later, Lieutenant Pozo came out of his office.

“Mike, welcome back, how can I help you?”

Mike had met the lieutenant years earlier when his father had Mike deliver bottles of Scotch to him, not as a bribe, but rather as a Christmas present. “So he doesn’t forget me,” his father explained. Mike spoke firmly, “One of my employees, Paulino Rodriguez, was badly beaten by men under your command. He’s a very decent man, and my father and I absolutely trust him. He’s our employee, but he’s also my friend. I know he made a mistake, but he apologized and he’s sorry. It wasn’t his intention to harm your sergeant.”

The lieutenant invited Mike to his office and offered him a chair in front of a steel desk. “Do you care for a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks, I have to return soon,” Mike replied.

The men watched each other for a few seconds. The Lieutenant looked down and admired his highly polished shoes. He was tired of his tour of duty in this forgotten village in the middle of the island, whose claims to fame were having a sculpture of a rooster named after it and a good-sized sugar mill. He missed Havana; he could have had a better service post. However, he had to placate Mike. He could be moved to a worse post. He could have duty in the Oriente province. He did not want to chase guerrillas up and down the hills or be subject to ambushes while on patrol.

“I don’t know what happened. I’ve been out all morning. When did this happen?” the Lieutenant asked.

“About eleven o’clock. It happened at a roadblock the Guardia Rural had set up before you hit the Central Highway on the West side of the town.”

“Did you see it?”

“No, but I saw how badly beaten my employee is. He’s in bad shape.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing, only that he had made a mistake . . . but I got a report from a good source who saw the accident and heard his apology to the sergeant.”

“Well, did anyone see him at the checkpoint?”

An edge entered Mike’s voice, “I don’t know who saw it. But he was beaten.”

“I’ll thoroughly investigate. My people respect honorable citizens.”

“I want answers. You can’t go around beating up innocent people.”

“It’s a sad situation. I know you’re upset. I’ll find out the whole story. If my men were out of line, they’ll be held accountable. Be assured, I’ll personally conduct this inquiry.”

Mike said, “I appreciate it. Paulino is an exemplary citizen. I trust that his rights won’t be trampled again.”

“Of course, we’re only after the bad guys. We have to be very careful. There are a lot of undesirables roaming around.” The lieutenant decided to change the subject, lighten up the mood. “Now tell me, how is your father? I haven’t spoken with him in some time.”

“He’s in Havana. I’m running the farm now,” Mike said.

“We should have a drink. You may not enjoy this provincial atmosphere, but at least you don’t have to worry about bombs exploding near you. We have the situation under absolute control. That’s why I’ve instituted searches and the checkpoints. You have to be prepared, always prepared.”

Mike was not going to let him off the hook. “Lieutenant, thank you for your time. I have to return to see how Paulino is doing. I know that you’ll investigate this case to the fullest.”

“Yes, I will, be assured. Please give my regards to your father. Tell him that we need more men like him.”

“I will, thanks.”

The lieutenant escorted Mike to the door. They shook hands. Mike was not satisfied, but he hoped that from now on his employees would be left alone.

PAULINO LAY IN the backseat of the car, too proud to cry in front of Ricardo. His body hurt most when he breathed. He felt like he was wearing a tight corset with spines and hooks piercing his body. Paulino felt every bump of the road, every turn. When they reached the clinic, Ricardo carried Paulino in his arms, as if he was a small child. The nurse in the admitting office knew Ricardo, and when she saw Paulino openly bleeding, she rushed them to an examining room. Two nurses came to undress him, and wash and clean his wounds again.

Dr. Paco arrived and quickly examined Paulino. He instructed the nurses on the immediate measures that needed to be taken and ordered them to give him painkillers. He then motioned Ricardo to the side. “How did it happen?”

Ricardo explained and Dr. Paco nodded. To be safe, he ordered Paulino to be x-rayed. After analyzing the results, Paulino was admitted. Yet in the admission papers, Dr. Paco noted that the patient had fallen off a horse and had broken some ribs.

“I want him to stay for a few days. There’s nothing else to do. The ribs will have to mend by themselves. I’m giving him penicillin to fight any infection plus a tetanus shot. He can rest here. We’ll put him in a private room.”

“I’ll tell Mike and Paulino’s girlfriend,” Ricardo said.

“He won’t be dancing for a while. It’ll hurt too much,” warned the doctor. “Give Mike my regards.”

Ricardo drove home slowly, lost in thought. The sunset was especially beautiful that evening, yet he was clutched in the grip of trepidation. He had been very young the last time the army was so active on the island, during the last days of Machado. In those days, he had sensed the fear felt by the members of his family about the army and the police, even by his own father. Now he understood.

Ricardo drove up to the batey and found Mike waiting for him on the front porch of the big house. He walked up to the car as Ricardo slowed to a stop.

“How is he?” Mike asked.

“He’s going to be okay. He has several broken ribs, and he’s badly bruised and swollen. He has a small concussion in his head. The cuts will heal, but Dr. Paco put him on antibiotics to fight against infection and gave him a painkiller. He says it’ll be a slow recovery.”

They went inside to update Cuca. Seeing Manuel lingering in the employees’ dining room, Mike asked him to go to the sisters’ plantation and tell them what had happened. Bad news traveled fast, but worse news traveled faster, and Mike did not want them to get incorrect information.

Mike returned to his office and closed the door, exhausted. He sat at his desk, leaned back into the leather chair, and closed his eyes. He knew this situation could not continue. He was now more aware than ever of the differences between the States and Cuba. He had lived in a place, not perfect, but where one felt free, and you didn’t have to worry about being beaten or arrested for a crime you didn’t commit. If you wanted to be involved in politics, you could, and if you didn’t, no one cared. He thought about Laureano and his friends, their meetings, about the rebels in the hills, and the growing political opposition in the cities. Where did he fit? What could he do? Was he going to be a spectator who watched his world crumbling around him? Was he going to accept Paulino’s beating and the experience with Fernando as normal occurrences? How about his encounter with the sergeant?

Mike glanced at the stack of mail that Paulino had picked up at the post office earlier. A blue envelope with well-rounded script caught his eye. He carefully slid it out of the pile. It was from Maria Alicia. He smelled the envelope and lightly touched the heavy blue paper, as if touching it would make her appear before him. He opened the envelope and read:

Havana

September 15, 1958

Dearest,

I thought I could never feel like I’m feeling now. Do you know how much I miss you? How I want to be close to you, touch your hands and slowly kiss them and walk, walk on the beach and feel like we never, never had to leave, just stay there forever. I feel sad, dejected, abandoned, even though you never promised that you were not going to leave me. I so desperately want to see you and hear your voice.

There is something else that is causing me sadness. I made a terrible mistake. The luncheon I arranged with Patricia and your sisters at Kasalta was a disaster. Instead of helping, I created a mess. Adelaida was the better of the two, and in the end, she actually talked to Patricia, but Lourdes is another story. I had never seen her act that way. She even called my mother to say I was crazy, and she thought I had been brought up better than to invite her father’s mistress to have lunch with her!

And when I drove Patricia to her home, she told me that she and your father are only friends, and that we seem to be making too much of their relationship! She did say she liked him very much, that he is a true gentleman. I’ve only met Patricia twice, but I feel that she and I could be friends. I just wanted to let you know, as you may well be hearing from Lourdes about this.

I have to finish a paper now. It is the beginning of the term. I miss you. How I want this time apart to end so that we can always be together. Mother, who just came into the room, sends you her love. Dad is still in the interior, at his plantation, like you. He will be coming soon.

I love you. Write, and write, so that I can taste each of your words.

Yours,

Maria Alicia

At least he had one ray of sunshine in his life. But he was still upset, and he went out to the paddock where the black stallion was let out for the night. He put one foot on the fence and looked at him. The stallion came toward Mike and placed his head over the fence. Mike caressed his neck. “Yes, Lucumi, everything will be fine,” he whispered, while he stroked the horse behind its ears. “Everything will be fine.”

The next day, Mike went with Fernando to Ciego de Ávila to see Paulino. The patient was in his private room surrounded by the three sisters. Mike was amused when he saw how Paulino reveled in their attention and showed bravado by insisting that Dr. Paco had unnecessarily admitted him into the clinic. The sisters said how worried they were about Paulino’s “accident.” They had, of course, heard about it even before Manuel arrived at their plantation with the news. Mike visited briefly and left Paulino to be fussed over and doted on. Fernando stood outside the room, while Mike searched for Dr. Paco.

“Mike, I didn’t see you for years, and now almost every other day you visit me. Do you want to know about Paulino?”

“Yes, Doctor. How is he?

“He was lucky. No piercing of his lungs, three broken ribs, lacerations on the skin, and a mild concussion. The ribs will mend, but he’ll be in pain for at least three or four weeks. No lifting, no heavy work.” He shook his head. “What’s happening to our country?”

“I know. How long should he stay here?”

“Not too long. He can leave now really. But I thought he would be safer if he stayed for a few days.”

“That’s fine. I don’t need him at the batey. Thanks for taking good care of him.”

“Mike, be careful—”

“Yes, I understand. I have to go back. I hope the next time I see you is for a happier event.”

On the way back to the farm, Mike noticed that Fernando was especially quiet.

“What’s bothering you?” Mike asked.

Fernando kept his eyes on the road. Finally, he said, “I don’t feel safe in this environment. If it weren’t for your father, I would be rotting in a G2 cell in Havana. Paulino is lucky he survived his beating. You were, too! What’s happening? Really. You’re not political, nor I. I don’t care who the next president is or who my senator will be. They’re all the same. Just promises. They get rich and they forget about us. I don’t even care about that anymore. I just want to be left alone.”

“I understand the way you feel. I’m worried, about all of us. There is no letup in this fight, and things have to change. I still don’t know how.” He placed a hand on Fernando’s shoulder. “I know you’re a hard worker. You only want to have a better life, make more money, play a little, and what happens to you? They arrest you, they interrogate you, and they didn’t even give you a chance to call my father. You were only in a shitty park when a petard exploded. That sergeant hit me because I wore ratty clothes. That’s all wrong,” Mike said.

“It’s even worse for those of us who don’t count. We have no money or power. Imagine what could happen to me! Today, tomorrow, anywhere and anytime, and suddenly life would be so different. We aren’t free! We live through every day as if everything is the same, but it’s not! Does no one else see it this way?” Fernando had a haunted look in his eyes. “When I was locked in that cell, there was a young man with me. He was afraid of being there. He was taken out, and he didn’t return. Later, I saw his picture in the newspaper. He was murdered. I could have been him,” Fernando mumbled, remembering that awful time. He didn’t talk for the rest of the drive to the batey.

PAULINO RETURNED FROM the clinic a week later, leaving behind his private room with a courtyard view, especially attentive nurses, and the Gomez sisters’ daily visit with care packages in hand. Back at the farm, he couldn’t resume his usual routine. His ribs were mending, but he still had problems breathing, moving, and laughing. No lifting or cleaning. The Gomez sisters made trips to the big house at the batey to visit. At least that was an improvement, Mike noted wryly. The employees’ dining room became a social center. Manuel had never dressed better, and Cuca played the role of the perfect hostess.

Paulino started to talk about marriage. Yet his Elena wanted to wait until her sister Julieta, who was the oldest, married Manuel. Paulino worried that Manuel would get cold feet. He soon would have more immediate worries.

That Saturday night, Fernando was feeling good. He had a lot of money in his pocket. He’d had a busy week and business was excellent. He had twice driven the truck loaded with sugarcane to the sugar mill. At nights, he worked nonstop with his taxi service. Tonight was special. He had taken a group of the San Joaquin young studs to the various bars at the pueblo. He felt good, really good. He was laughing, shaking hands, slapping backs, and buying drinks.

At the last stop, where the prettiest girls sat, not at the bar but at small tables, waiting for customers to buy them watered-down drinks, Fernando met up with the sergeant, in uniform and drunk, accompanying two old, bored putas. The sergeant on occasion ordered another drink for his group and looked around with glassy eyes to see if there was someone with whom to pick a fight. He was too drunk to stand, and when he saw Fernando, he shouted, “Hey, negro, come here. I want to talk to you. Don’t you work at the Rodriguez farm? Yes, I know you. You and that little mulatito maricón own that dilapidated Chevrolet you use for your puterias. Yep, I know you, and I know your little boss. Tell him that he doesn’t have to cry to anyone. I’m the one he has to talk to. I knew him when he was in diapers. I’m not going to touch him. I know his papa. Yes, I know Don Miguel real well. But tell your friend and partner, that little mulato maricón, that he’s not man enough to have Elena Gomez as a girlfriend and that he’s not welcome in this pueblo. I don’t want to see him in my pueblo, and next time, he won’t be able to tell a tale and go back to cry on your boss’s shoulders. Here, you’re big enough. You, be a man, buy my ladies another drink. I won’t drink with you, but I’ll let them drink what you buy them.” He called the bar girl, “Hey, you, come here. The law is calling you. Shit, I’m the law. I order you to come here, now.”

The girl, accustomed to the sergeant’s drunken behavior, moved lasciviously from behind the bar and put one of her arms on the sergeant’s back. “Tell me, my little lion, what do you desire?”

“I don’t want anything. I want this man to be a gentleman and buy drinks for my women. Yes, a good drink, no beer, a good brandy.”

Fernando was angry, but he knew that if he showed it, nothing would be accomplished. “Sergeant, I’m more than honored to be able to share a drink with you and these nice ladies. Now, Carmelita,” he addressed the barmaid, “you know me well enough. When have I been cheap? Now, give the ladies a Felipe II. I’ll have one with ginger ale. It’s a pleasure to see you!” Fernando patted the sergeant on the back. “Now, if you allow me, I’d like to go be with my friends. We’re also thirsty and the night is young. We still have a lot of dancing to do.”

Fernando took a roll of notes out of his pocket and gave Carmelita a ten-peso note. “Keep the change. I’ll have my drink at that table with my friends. Excuse me, it’s always a pleasure,” and he left the sergeant with his two putas waiting for their fresh drinks.

Yet for Fernando, the charm of the night was lost. He didn’t want to leave early, because the sergeant might think he was afraid of him. He sat at a table with his customers, sipping his drink, hearing the music that blared from the Wurlitzer. His customers, friends for the night, started dancing with the girls. Later, the angst from the incident dissipated with the heat of moving bodies. They all had come to forget who they were, if only for a moment, in fleeting embraces inside dimly lit rooms at the back of the bar.

The next morning, Fernando told Cuca he had to talk to the boss. Mike heard Fernando’s voice and came to the door. Fernando told him of his conversation with the sergeant. Mike knew he couldn’t go back to see the lieutenant. Then and there, he decided to take Paulino back to Havana under the guise of wanting another doctor to check his wounds. He went into the kitchen, where Paulino was watching Cuca prepare his breakfast.

“Paulino, I need to talk to you,” Mike said.

A few minutes later, Paulino returned from his room with his luggage, a small cardboard box with his classic books, and envelopes with rough drafts of his new stories. “I’m ready to go.”