FROM
CUBA
Bar
flies
PINAR DEL RÍO, Cuba, August (www.cubanet.org)
- Bars are like museums of daily life. In a bar
you can see from the habitual drunkard (the type
who has decided to die in the bottom of a bottle)
to the type also who had the most hatred in his
life for alcohol.
Those indulging in saloon hours are like bar
flies. In these times of scarcity and misery in
the island, the bars have filled up with new characters.
Policemen fired for corruption and old guerrillas
from the rebel army come there. Those who until
yesterday were untouchable, former provincial
officials who, from the inside of a car were ignorant
of what occured outside, also come. People stripped
of rank or who, for one reason or another, look
for solidarity among the cigarette smoke and the
sweat soaked in alcohol.
In a city bar the official who once despised
is now a tearful protester against injustice.
Sometimes they shout their hatreds and more than
one has let a small government secret escape.
The policeman who hated the unemployed man until
recently is now drowning in a sea of concocted
love affairs. He has stopped being a cop to become
a confidante in solidarity of the saloon.
The unemployed man doesn't hold a grudge. On
the contrary, he is thankful because this time
the former policeman is paying the round of drinks.
As the days pass, these characters who suddenly
changed status adapt themselves to those who drink
and smoke daily in these places that have become
temples of quarrels, intrigue and regret.
You can see those crying in utter drunkeness
who until just yesterday looked at their own mother
from over the shoulder.
The bars of the city spoken of in this chronicle
are located in the part where the alligator hurls
its tail blows of desperation in the face of the
living reality, but you can be sure these affairs
constitute the routine in all the island's bars.
That is the Cuban bar of today, a swapping of
roles on stage. Nearly all the pieces on the board
are reversed. The bar is the best showcase to
see all of that up close.
A suggestion is that if you come to visit Cuba
and go to a bar of the common folk, don't be surprised
if you see at your side, sucking down a shot of
cheap quality rum, one who was once a high official,
whimpering nostalgically for the lost position.
Try talking to them and share their truth. Leave
the last ones crying by themselves. In that instant
they're in the place they always deserved. Yesterday
the untouchables, today the frustrated ones. Those
for whom the time to swell the losers' side has
come.
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