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FROM
CUBA
Bitter drink
Rafael Ferro Salas, Abdala Press
PINAR DEL RÍO, November (www.cubanet.org)
- Ángel raised the glass of rum and
said to me, "Let's drink to the good
times."
We were seated at one of the tables of
the only bar in my neighborhood. Despite
drinking a pretty cheap rum, I got up from
my seat and joined in the toast with my
old friend.
My friend Ángel Baró García
is 63 years old. He was a chauffeur for
hire his entire life. That afternoon we
talked about many things and I realized
that Ángel is a sad man. He looked
like someone who had what was missing taken
away from him in order to comprehend that
it's worth it to go on living. I got these
ideas in my head while assessing the things
of which Angelito spoke as we drank that
cheap rum.
"Now they don't want to give me a
job. I have no retirement pension and I'm
going to die of hunger. I still have a little
money left from when I visited my relatives
in the United States. When I came back,
bad luck came to me in loads."
He stared at the trees that grow in front
of the bar. They're nearly always filled
with sparrows.
"If only I were one of those birds.
I'd like to fly away and get lost from here.
I'd never come back. At least as long as
things don't change in this country. What's
wrong with going to the United States to
visit your family, buddy? It seems as if
that rubbed someone the wrong way and they
decided to take my chauffeur's permit away.
The only thing I know how to do is to drive."
He continues talking and I remember the
good times to which Angelito made the toast.
I see him in his old car in the streets
of the city. The afternoons when we went
to the Pavito bar also come into my mind.
It was a place where you drank and ate well.
Those were other times and it's worth saying
they were good. Ángel was a guy who
looked happy and full of confidence in those
days. He earned money from his job, and
when a man earns money in an honorable way
he feels confident in himself. But Ángel
forgot something: he was in Cuba.
In Cuba, dreams suddenly become cloudy
and crumble like a house of cards. Ángel
went to the United States to visit and when
he came back, the authorities treated him
like a "traitor."
"The policy of the Cuban government
has changed," my friend tells me. "All
those who go to the United States are now
viewed differently. Even many of those who
are there don't need to request permission
to return. But for some time now they've
shut me out and I lost my job. And they
don't like to look back or admit the damage
they do to people."
When we said goodbye that afternoon, Angelito
admitted to me he was sorry a thousand times
over for not having been on the side on
which one day I set myself. The side that
doesn't accept that they take away our fundamental
rights.
I told my old friend that his toast had
been worthwhile, and that it was also worth
it to be on the side of our faction. It's
never too late if you're looking for a better
future, and that future is being fought
for. On this side we always have our arms
open to receive those who understand us
and even to drink with them to the good
times; not for the times that have passed,
much less for the times in which we're living,
but rather a toast of hope for the better
times to come.
Versión
original en español
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