The Girl Who Watched: A Night in Cuba That Turned Tragically Wrong

By Lyn Funnell

When obnoxious journalist Don Collins was sent to Cuba on a Press Trip, he got drunk and attacked a young Cuban girl. Life completely changed for their two families, although neither of them were aware of the other family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Jul 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781781661123

Book preview

Title Page

THE GIRL WHO WATCHED

A Night in Cuba That Turned Tragically Wrong

By

Lyn Funnell

Publisher Information

The Girl Who Watched published in 2012

by Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Copyright © Lyn Funnell 2012

The right of Lyn Funnell to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The Girl Who Watched

‘Isabel, where’s my coffee?’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Adolfo, as if I haven’t got anything else to do! I’m busy! Susana, take your father a coffee. And take one into the bedroom for your grandmother too. And wake her up from her siesta.’

Standing on a chair, Susana’s mother gently rubbed the crystal chandelier with a damp cloth. Only one bulb worked now. The candle-shaped glass bulbs had stopped giving out light long ago. But they were irreplaceable, so they remained as decorations where they’d been pointing proudly upwards for years. Mini phallic symbols of Cuba’s opulent, corrupt past. It would probably be almost impossible to remove them now.

When the huge, elegant, but now crumbling mansion had been divided into apartments, Isabel’s parents had been lucky. They’d managed to be allocated a generous-sized upstairs flat with four massive bedrooms and an ornate living-room. It had a patterned tiled floor and plaster cornices on the walls. One section was hanging off at the corner and a white horse had a chipped muzzle where a carelessly-swung chair had caught it many years ago. Adolfo couldn’t afford to buy the nails or replace the plaster. They were hard to find in the shops, and the prices were high.

Adolfo was luckier than a lot of his neighbours. He had a good job as a porter in one of the Havana hotels. Sometimes he brought home articles forgotten or abandoned by tourists with overweight luggage; clothes, shoes, sunglasses, and the occasional ball-point pen.

Isabel worked there too, leaving home as dawn glowed a soft pink on the horizon, to clean up the debris in the public areas, including the toilets. It was a job that she hated with all her heart. The used bars of soap that she managed to rescue from time to time when she emptied the full rubbish bins into bags to carry out to the skips were hoarded like treasure. On rare occasions one of them might be given to a desperate neighbour when they couldn’t find any in the supermarkets. Neighbours helped each other whenever they were able to. Everyone was in the same boat. The Periodica Especial had thrown them all into a severe economic crisis with a regular shortage of basic necessities.

Sitting on the narrow wrought-iron balcony, Adolfo leaned his old wooden chair backwards against the wall. A thin cushion covered the worn woven seat. Every few minutes he shouted and waved to passing neighbours and they called back, usually pausing for a quick chat about life. It was a regular evening ritual.

Susana carried the cup outside and handed it to her father. It had a hairline crack down one side. There was no saucer. The tiny cup disappeared in his huge hairy hand. He didn’t bother holding the handle. He loudly sipped the hot liquid, savouring the rich flavour at the back of his throat.

A deafening cocktail of sound filled the dimly-lit streets, emerging from open doorways, travelling upwards and invading every corner of every room of all the apartments. Radios, televisions, cassette players and CDs, all playing at full volume, all tuned into different channels or blasting out different tunes, attacked the uninitiated eardrums of some passing tourists who were stepping delicately along the derelict, darkish road. The rhythm of the night.

Laughter, singing, conversation and light-hearted arguments echoed out of windows, front rooms and the few shops, spreading around in the still-hot night air. Nothing was private or hidden away. After all, what did they have to hide?

‘Hey Susana, watch me!’

Maikel performed a jerky moonwalk across the uneven pavement. He glanced up at her for approval and she clapped her hands. His heel went down one of the crevices and, his arms windmilling wildly, he fell off the kerb, with his feet in the air. But he was used to a lifetime of falls on the unrepaired surfaces, so he managed to twist sideways before his head hit the ground.

Leaping to his feet again, he performed a mock bow to his admiring audience on the balcony above, ignoring the other jeering watchers. He only had eyes for Susana.

Susana grasped the balcony’s wrought iron and laughed with delight.

Adolfo shouted, ‘Idioto!’ Handing Susana his empty cup, he said loudly, ‘The sooner you two are married and he settles down with a good job and a family, the better for all of us, before he finally breaks something serious!’

‘Papa, stop it!’ Susana pretended to be shocked. But she smiled hopefully at Maikel. She’d known him since they were babies They were good friends and completely at ease in each other’s company. But they weren’t a couple yet, although everyone took it for granted that they soon would be any time now, when they were a little older. There was no hurry though. Susana was only 16. Maikel was 18 and studying hard to be a doctor. He was lucky as he could use his father’s books. Other students weren’t so fortunate. They had to share the few available old books and study in shifts, often in the night if that was the only time when the books could be borrowed.

‘Where are you going, Maikel?’ she called down to him.

‘I’ve been to see the baseball and now I’m going home to study.’

‘How did your team do?’ Adolfo asked, suddenly interested.

‘They lost.’ Maikel sighed dramatically. ‘They haven’t won a game for ages. I don’t know why I bother going to watch them.’ He kicked at the edge of the kerb, his hands jammed in his too-tight trousers, trying to stretch them to make them look longer. He had recently shot up again and filled out after several years of staying at the same height. He stood there for a few seconds, awkward; not knowing what to say. ‘Oh well,’ he called up, I have to go home for my dinner, and to study.’ He waved to Susana, performed a short moonwalk, and dashed off, overcome by a brief bout of embarrassment, whistling loudly. He veered theatrically into his open doorway with a final wave, and walked in backwards.

Adolfo sighed and shook his head. ‘My grandchildren will all be fools with a father like that,’ he said. Then he waved to a passing neighbour.

Susana went through the living-room and into the kitchen. She placed the empty cup on the table beside the sink.

‘What’s the matter, Mama?’ she asked, although she knew the answer already. The tap usually dripped. There was a rusty stain on the sink underneath it that wouldn’t come off, however much it was scrubbed. Every now and then Adolfo tried to find a washer to fix it, but there weren’t many in the Ferreterias. And the few that were available wouldn’t fit their ancient tap. That needed replacing too.

Isabel was turning the tap on and off and tut-tutting loudly. ‘The water’s gone off for the third time this week,’ she complained, ‘Start serving the cena, Sus, I’m going down to the standby tap to see if that works at all.’

Grabbing her bucket, she went down the stairs, outside, and into the alley. There was a small queue of women beside the tap.

‘Any water?’ she asked the group.

‘Just a trickle,’ they told her, all speaking at once, ‘We’ll be here all night at this rate. Come on, don’t take the whole lot!’ someone called out to the woman who was bent over the tap, holding out her bowl, ‘Save some for the rest of us!’

Susana drained the Moors and Christians into a rusty colander and stood it back in the saucepan on the cooker to drain. The black beans and rice were a regular dish on the family menu, and on the menu of the whole area too. It was a Spanish addition to the Cuban diet. The rice was locally grown on nearby farms, and the beans were imported.

Carefully, she lifted the tray holding the roast pork out of the oven with an old, threadbare, but clean cloth. She placed it on top of the cooker next to the beans, then she took four plates off a shelf and stacked them on the oilcloth-covered table beside the cooker. Taking the cutlery out of a drawer, she carried it into the living-room and laid their places on the large rectangular table, which was also covered with an oilcloth to protect its precious shiny surface.

Every week, the cloth was folded up and the table was lovingly polished, then the cloth was carefully positioned over it again. Isabel held one end of the cloth and Susana held the other. When the cloth was placed back on, Isabel ran her hands over it, smoothing it out, and checking that the ends dangled evenly at each side.

Mentally ticking everything off, Susana went back in the kitchen for four glasses and a bottle of water out of the bulky cream-coloured fridge. She lifted up the long handle and pulled the heavy door open. It was nearly empty apart from a couple of plastic bottles of water and some salad. The shelves were rusting, but immaculate. Then she lifted the handle again and pushed the heavy door shut.

The old appliance dated from the late 1950s. It made a lot of noise now, and smoke occasionally billowed out the back of it. No doubt it was due to pack up again soon. Luckily the local engineer could perform the most amazing repairs, without any available spare parts. He was highly-respected.

Angrily, Isabel came into the kitchen and banged the bucket down on the ground. A few drops of the precious liquid shot up into the air, then dripped down again.

‘Just look at that!’ she yelled, gesturing theatrically with her hand,’ How are we supposed to manage with that – puddle? And it’s yellow. It’s a wonder that I don’t go MAD! Right, let’s eat. At least we have plenty of food.’

Pulling open the rickety drawer in the small table she took out