John Thorndike | The Last of His Mind |

Posts Tagged ‘Costa Rica’

Message from Camilo 6

Sunday, November 27th, 2016

ancient-fidel2

I’m glad I’m not in Miami. All that cheering and banging on pots and pans and dancing around in the street. My heart couldn’t take it, because no matter what they say, they’re cheering for Fidel’s death.

At the same time, I wouldn’t care to be in Havana now either, headed for nine days of mourning. Raúl, please, we could use a little pura vida here. A whole lot of political blather is what we’ll get, without a word from those Cubans who’ve been secretly fed up with Fidel for years. Official speeches and mourning for nine days! I suppose Fidel might appreciate it, wherever he is now—but don’t ask my opinion about that kind of thing.

It’s the opposite of all this posturing that I loved about our years in the Sierra: the rawness of it, the simplicity and violence. I know I’m not supposed to like war, with people getting killed all the time. But people were getting killed all the time before the Revolution started, murdered by Batista’s secret service and his Guardia Rural. Celia Sánchez had it right when she said we were better at war than domestic life, that we didn’t know what do do with husbands and wives and children, or with tranquility of any kind. And politics, to me, was more difficult than domestic life!

I do wish I’d been there when el jefe was dying. Not so I could take a side, but to be close to him in his last minutes, and remember him the way we all knew him at the start, as the great light of Cuba. Many who came to hate him, started out by loving him.

Living here in Costa Rica, I have some distance on all of it. And what I think about now is that anyone who cheers, either for Fidel or against him, is bound to be cheering against members of their own family. Because inside every Cuban family—every one, if you spread the net wide enough—is someone who loves Fidel, and someone else who’s glad that he’s finally dead.

Coño, I could make some trouble. All I’d have to do would be to go back to Havana, let them know it was me, and start telling the truth as I see it. I’m just about the only Cuban that both sides love, so I’m sure they’d listen. But Raúl would also listen, and after I’d talked about him for a while, I’d probably be back in jail.

The next thing that will actually happen, of course, is that Clare will read this and jump on me for ever imagining that I could put myself in that danger. But that’s how it goes with Fidel: even beyond the grave, he stirs everyone up.

Tags: , , , , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Message from Camilo 5

Saturday, October 29th, 2016

camilo-with-cigar

Yesterday, on the anniversary of my disappearance, I had a surprising visit here in Costa Rica. An American writer named John Thorndike has been putting a book together about my life, and came to see me, unannounced. Of course I was glad to see him–how could I resist someone who’s fascinated by my story and wants to write a book about it? Who has written a book about it. Who says he might have a publisher, and wants to ask me a few more questions.

We’ve talked before, here on the Villamano family farm. I don’t know how he tracked me down the first time, but he was most respectful. He was going to write a book, but he wouldn’t expose me, wouldn’t use my Costa Rican name (it’s not Villamano, that’s a pseudonym), wouldn’t disrupt my life. I don’t know why I trusted him, but I did. I guess I had to, since he’d already figured everything out. It’s a novel he’s writing, anyway, so when he wants to change a few details, he does. When he tells the story of my flight out of Cuba, for example, he includes my pilot, Luciano Fariña, but omits my escort, Félix Rodriguez. I felt this was disrespectful, but listened to the writer’s explanation about the demands of fiction. Well, okay.

I’ve read a draft of the manuscript, and he got most everything right. Some of the scenes with me and Clare in bed are kind of embarrassing–but at the same time I love thinking back to that time in our lives. What passion! And this Thorndike has a grip on the dilemma I felt in those days, when I was caught between my passion for the beautiful Clare, and my passion for the Revolution. I don’t know if I’d ever have resolved that if someone hadn’t put a bomb on my plane and banished me from my country.

We sat last night under the coffee trees in back, the yanqui writer and Clare and I, talking late into the night. He has brought the latest draft of his book, and I’ll be reading it soon. None of us could get over the fact that my flight out of Camagûey–and Clare’s from Havana, a year and a half later–happened almost sixty years ago. At the same time, everything we talked about fed into a debate that’s gotten stronger in my household: Why should I go on hiding my past? Why not tell the truth and let people live with it? Let me live with it.

So much discussion these days–these decades, actually–about the failures of the Revolution. And life isn’t easy for Cubans, I understand. Of course, I see it from the position of an almost-retired physician in a most civilized country. But I won’t ever forget the poverty and injustice, the disgrace that was Cuba in the nineteen-fifties. People can criticize Fidel for plenty of bad decisions, because he’s made them. But his basic changes for Cuba were long overdue, and admirable. Socialism, Communism, I don’t care what you call it, we had to pay more attention to the poor of our country, and that’s what Fidel devoted his life to.

Ah, I can still go off on a rant. I went off on one last night, with Clare listening quietly and that writer, Thorndike, taking notes. Then Clare went off herself, all about the retrograde health system of the great U.S.A., and in the end we broke out some mangos and started laughing as we ate them, because it’s always such a mess.

A novel about my life! And Clare’s life, too. I have to say, I look forward to seeing it in print.

Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments »

Message From Camilo 2

Friday, February 6th, 2015

Camilo2

Letter from Camilo:

It’s my birthday, February 6th. The whole family came: Alameda and Ernesto and Clarisa, along with their husbands, wives, kids and grandkids. They were trying to surprise me, but I read all the signs. Eighty-two years old, going on twenty-two. Well, perhaps not quite. I can’t remember what I felt like at twenty-two. I hadn’t met Clare, I wasn’t burned, I didn’t have any kids. Okay, thirty-two.

I pulled a little stunt after Clare brought in the cake. I pretended as if I didn’t have the wind to blow out the candles. And then, as if my mind were going, I started to speak in the most exaggerated Cuban accent, making it almost impossible to understand. The grandkids looked at me like I had a sudden attack of Alzheimer’s. I could tell Clare wasn’t too happy about it, because I was kind of giving away the Big Secret, and we agreed long ago that we weren’t going to do that. So I clowned around with it, and the littlest kids loved it, they thought it was some kind of game. Oia ‘oño, ’o sabe ’nde se ’ompra lo ‘uego pa lo niño en ete ’ueblo, ’orque esos niño nesitan lo ’uegos ma que yo.

In Tico you’d say it nice and clear: Oiga, coño-—only you wouldn’t say coño here, it’s not a good word for kids-—no sabe donde se compra los juegos para los niños en este pueblo, porque estos niños necesitan los juegos mas que yo. Which of course the kids liked when I let them figure it out, that they were the ones who ought to be getting the presents.

After everyone went home, Clare jumped right on me. If I went on talking Cuban like that, the family was going to figure something out. And of course, Clare had me figured out almost before I did—-because I’d started to wonder if enough damn time hasn’t gone by.

I haven’t cared for decades if I ever saw Cuba again. But recently, with all this talk about the U.S. and Cuba normalizing relations, I thought, We could go back for a visit. We could see what’s happened to that country.

“Yes, we could start with that,” Clare said. “And then maybe you’d want to tell everybody the whole story.”

I wasn’t quite ready for that—but I had been thinking it over. It’s because of Obama and Raúl lining up to talk to each other. They’re going to “normalize relations”. Of course that’s a joke. In a hundred and fifty years there’s never been anything normal about how the U.S. and Cuba have gotten along, so normal is not what’s coming. But driving home from the clinic the other day, I had a kind of dream, or a vision: how normal it would be for me and Clare, and maybe our kids, and maybe some of their kids, to go look at the world I grew up in.

After I said that, Clare and I sat around for awhile listening to the night, just thinking about the idea.

Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »