XIII
Roberto spent the next three weeks totally dedicated to his work with Colonel de la Guardia at Cimex. He was obsessed with the business and learned quickly, impressing the Colonel, the Colonel’s assistant, Andres, and in particular, Andres’ daughter, Alina, whom he first met the day he had been hired by the colonel. Roberto had become quite friendly with Alina, and the two had spent several evenings together after work strolling along the Malecon at sunset. Although they had little in common, they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.
Roberto had a particularly long walk to and from work each day which left little time at the end of the day for anything but a quick meal and some sleep. Alina was living with her father, close to work, and had hinted on several occasions perhaps Roberto should consider moving in with her. He thought about the offer but was concerned she would find out about his plan to buy and sell art. He needed to keep it a secret and the fewer people that knew about his plan, he thought, the better.
It was the last work day of the month, pay day, and Roberto was having difficulty concentrating on his work. All he could think about was his meeting with Carmen at Anabela’s, later that evening.
Earlier in the day, Alina had approached Roberto about going out after work to celebrate the new job and his first paycheck. He hated having to lie to Alina but buying the painting from Carmen was all that mattered to him, so he told her he had promised the money to his parents for food and would make it up to her the next time they were paid.
As soon as La Tienda Cimex Departamental had closed for the day, he was on his way to the home of Anabela in Habana
By the time Roberto had reached Anabela’s, it was beginning to rain, forcing him to run the last few blocks to her house. Running up the handful of steps two at a time to the entrance landing, he peered through the front window before knocking, and waived to Anabela who was sitting opposite Carmen facing the window.
Roberto, buenas noches! Que said Anabela, as she opened the door.
Anabela was wearing the flowered dress he remembered her having worn the day they first met and she had done her hair. She looked beautiful, thought Roberto, and he wanted to tell her but couldn’t find the words.
“What’s the matter, Roberto? You coming in or do you prefer standing in the rain?” she said. Anabela often spoke sarcastically, and he liked that about her. It made him feel comfortable.
“Sorry, I’m a little nervous,” said Roberto as he stepped into the house.
“Nervous? About what?”
“Well, tonight is kind of a big deal for me.”
“You sit with Carmen. He has something for you. I’m going to bring you something for your nerves.”
“Anabela,” said Roberto, as he took a seat beside Carmen.
“What is it?”
“You look lovely.”
“You’re learning, Roberto,” said Anabela, pausing slightly. “Thank you. Carmen, show him the painting.”
“Roberto. Sit over here,” said Carmen, pointing to the chair opposite the one he was sitting in. “The painting looks better from a slight distance.”
Carmen turned and reached for the painting which was leaning against the side of the sofa where he was sitting.
“What do you think,” asked Carmen.
“What I think is, I can’t believe this is finally happening. It’s more beautiful than I could have imagined,” said Roberto. “What do you know about the woman in the painting?”
“Nothing really, but that’s not why the painting is important. What is remarkable about this painting is how Romanach used light to suggest a feeling of melancholy. It’s as though the woman is longing for something or someone. It is very subtle. You may not agree, but that is how I see her,” said Carmen.
“Clearly I have a lot to learn, Carmen,” said Roberto.
“It takes time. The important thing is you have the passion, and you are young,” replied Carmen.
“Gentleman, a little something to celebrate with,” said Anabela. “I’ve been saving this for just such an occasion.”
“What are we drinking?” asked Carmen.
Quince said Anabela. “I’ve had this bottle for many years. For special occasions only. You sell a few paintings, Roberto, and maybe we can afford another bottle.”
“I’d like to make a toast if I may,” said Roberto.
“Please,” said Anabela.
“To Anabela, for all that you have done for me, and to the people of Cuba. May we one day be truly free,” said Roberto.
No one spoke and Anabela was looking down at her glass. Roberto could see that she was trying not to cry.
“I’m sorry, Anabela,” he said.
“No, no, it’s okay, Roberto. It’s not your fault. To the people of Cuba,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“To art, and to the great masters,” said Carmen, smiling.
said Roberto.
“What do you think of the painting, Roberto?” asked Anabela.
“I love it, of course. Carmen was just explaining to me about how Romanach would make use of light in his works to create feeling and emotion,” he said.
“Yes, he was the master. That’s why they call him el padre de la pintura she replied.
“So you think Mariano will want to buy this piece?” asked Roberto.
“Absolutely,” said Carmen. “Remember, you need to sell it to him as well.”
“What do you mean?” asked Roberto.
“You need to give him the full story. That’s what salesmen do,” said Carmen. “You know, how you fell in love with art, and how you met Anabela and the story of your painting, El Saxofonista. He’ll probably want to buy that too.”
“It’s not for sale,” said Roberto.
“I realize that. You see, for collectors, the story is almost as important as the work itself. When he returns to Spain he’ll surely want to impress all his friends, not only with his most recent acquisition, but the story of how he acquired it. To most Spaniards, Cuba is an exotic place. A tropical paradise of dreams and romance,” said Carmen.
“Roberto, when do you meet Mariano?” asked Anabela.
“I meet him tomorrow at my friend Luiz’s place,” said Roberto. “It’s not far from the marina.”
“We need to take it out of the frame then. It will be easier to carry and less conspicuous if we roll it up and cover it with paper. It will not hurt the painting, and the frame isn’t worth anything, and Mariano will want to have it properly framed when he gets back to Spain,” said Carmen.
“Carmen, here is the money. Five hundred pesos, right?” asked Roberto, as he reached into his pocket for the money. “I should be going. I’m anxious to show Carlitos the painting. And thank you for the rum. Carmen, I will remember what you told me about how to sell.”
“You’ll let us know how it goes tomorrow,” said Anabela.
“Of course. You’ll be the first to know,” Roberto assured her.
Before leaving, with help from Carmen, Roberto removed the painting from the old frame and rolled it up, careful not to crack the paint by rolling it too tight, before wrapping it in several layers of heavy brown paper for protection.
Anxious to return home and show Carlos the painting, Roberto was also nervous about what his parents might say. They knew nothing of his plan and would not be happy if they found out he was involved with making money illegally. He had to keep it a secret.
The rain had stopped by the time Roberto left Anabela’s and headed for home. The tree frogs that are common in Cuba, even in the city, were singing loudly as they always do after an evening rain when it is dark. The air was cool from the rain and made for a comfortable walk.
Arriving home Roberto was relieved to find his parents and Carlos sitting out back on the terrace. Not wanting them to see the painting he went straight to his bedroom, hid it under the bed next to the painting of El and went back downstairs to join the family.
said Roberto to his mother as he entered the kitchen. Rosa was preparing some fresh papaya and shredded coconut with cane syrup for Carlos and Guillermo senior.
noches, Roberto,” replied Rosa. “You are a little bit late this evening. We finished supper several hours ago.”
“I stopped off to see Anabela,” said Roberto.
“What about Alina? I thought she was your girlfriend,” said Rosa.
“I told you, Anabela is not my girlfriend. We enjoy each other’s company and we talk about art,” said Roberto.
“I will never understand your obsession with old paintings, Roberto. Would you like some fruta I’m making some for Carlos and your father,” said Rosa.
“Sure. You remember the books Carlos would bring each time you came to visit me when I was in prison at Censam Marin? Those books—with the old paintings as you say—they saved my life,” said Roberto.
“Take this to your father and brother. I’ll bring some for you,” said Rosa, as she handed Roberto two small bowls of papaya.
Roberto walked out to the terrace, said good evening to Carlos and Guillermo, and gave them each a bowl of papaya.
“Did you see Anabela today?” asked Carlos.
“Yes, I did,” said Roberto. Carlos knew about the meeting with Carmen, and the Romanach painting, and wanted to know if Roberto had bought it, but couldn’t ask about it in front of his father.
“How is the papaya, asked Roberto.
“It would be better with a little rum and coconut,” said Guillermo.
Roberto waited for the next moment that his father looked down at the bowl of papaya before winking at Carlos, letting him know he had the painting.
“What are you smiling about, Carlitos,” asked Rosa as she approached the table.
“I’m happy to see my brother. We haven’t seen much of each other the last few years,” said Carlos.
“I’m aware of that. He has a problem staying out of trouble,” she said.
“I’m all done with that, Madre. You don’t need to worry any longer,” said Roberto.
“I’m not so sure,” she said.
“How is Colonel de la Guardia?” asked Guillermo.
“Okay, I think. Although lately he seems a little stressed. He hasn’t been around the shop much lately. He spends a lot of time at the Presidential Palace meeting with Fidel, and sometimes Abrantes,” said Roberto.
“What about?” asked Rosa.
“I don’t know. His personal assistant, Andres, he’s acting strange also. The two of them are always talking in Tony’s office, and it’s not about diamonds,” said Roberto.
“Whatever it is, don’t get involved,” said Guillermo.
“My only plan right now is to stay out of trouble and save a little money,” replied Roberto.
“And what are you saving the money for?” asked Rosa.
“I’d like to have my own place,” said Roberto.
“You’ll be lucky to afford food nowadays,” said Rosa. “Everything is scarce.”
“We’ll see,” said Roberto.
Looking across the table at his brother, Roberto could tell the conversation was making Carlos nervous. He was anxious to show him the Romanach painting he bought from Carmen.
“Carlitos, we should visit Maykel this weekend. What do you say?” asked Roberto.
“See if he has any fish for sale,” said Rosa.
“I will ask him,” said Roberto. “What do you think Carlitos?”
“Sure, I’ll go with you. I spoke with Aroldis the other day and he said his father is catching a few wahoo, and he heard a story about a bluefin coming to the dock in Cojimar. I don’t know if that’s true,” said Carlos.
“I think I’m going to get some sleep if you don’t mind, Madre. It’s been a long week. Padre, until tomorrow. Buenas Carlitos,” said Roberto.
replied Carlos. “We’ll make a plan in the morning to see Maykel.”
Roberto had trouble sleeping that night. Repeatedly waking up, nervous about his meeting the following day with Mariano and Pedro. He kept thinking about what Carmen had told him that evening about how masterfully Romanach used light in the painting to convey emotion and how important it was to sell Mariano on the story behind the painting. He had never sold anything, he thought, and was beginning to have doubts about his plan.
Rosa and Guillermo often left the house early on Saturdays to wait in line for bread at the nearby government bakery. If you didn’t arrive early there was always a possibility the shop would run out of bread before it was your turn.
Before leaving the house, Roberto and Carlos made a plan to meet Maykel at the docks along the Rio Almendares where Maykel kept his boat, near the Malecon on the north side of the city, after Roberto returned from his meeting at La with the Spaniard, Mariano. With any luck, Maykel would have some fresh fish for sale.
La Pescadaria opened for business around midday, so Roberto, knowing first impressions would be important, left home early, determined not to be late.
When he turned onto the gravel road leading down the hill to the river, he could see at a distance a black Mercedes Benz parked directly in front of the restaurant. What if it was someone from the government, he thought.
To be safe, Roberto decided to enter first through the kitchen. Luiz would most likely be there and he could check with him to see who the owner of the car was.
Luiz,” said Roberto in a low voice as he looked in an open window beside the door to the kitchen.
“Roberto. Pedrito is waiting for you with Mariano. Come around to the front door. It will be better. I’ll meet you there,” said Luiz.
Relieved, Roberto walked back to the front of the building where he met Luiz and entered the restaurant. Pedro and Mariano were sitting outside on the deck facing the river, each with a beer and had not seen Roberto enter the building.
“Gentlemen,” said Luiz as they approached the table. “Mariano, my friend Roberto.”
Before Roberto had reached the table Mariano had gotten up from his chair and extended his hand to Roberto. He was younger than expected, thought Roberto, as the two men shook hands.
“Thank you for coming said Roberto to Mariano. Como
“Please, call me Mariano, Roberto. Sit down, sit down,” he said. “Pedro tells me you guys used to work together in special forces.”
“Yes, we worked at Punto for El More recently I am working for Colonel de la Guardia at Cimex,” said Roberto.
“Can I see the painting?” asked Mariano.
“Of course,” said Roberto. Carefully, Roberto unrolled the painting from the paper covering and after clearing a space, spread it out on the table for Mariano to see.
“It’s fantastic, Roberto. More beautiful than I had imagined,” said Mariano as he slowly examined the painting.
“You’re familiar with the artist, of course,” said Roberto.
“Oh yes. I have a number of his works, but not many this nice. How did you come by it?” asked Mariano.
“It’s a rather long story,” replied Roberto.
“Well then another round of beers for everyone, Luiz,” said Mariano.
“Coming up. What about something to eat?” said Luiz.
“Luiz, I don’t have any money and I already owe you,” said Roberto.
“No no, voy a pagar, Luiz,” said the Spaniard.
“You’re very kind, Mariano,” said Roberto.
“I have some fresh langosta from my friend, Joaquin,” offered Luiz.
“Fantastic. My favorite. The only time I am able to find them is when I am in Cuba,” said Mariano.
“Mariano, it is illegal for me to sell this painting. You are aware of that I’m sure. You must not mention this to anyone. Especially in Marina There are many government officials that go there,” said Roberto.
“I understand. You can trust me. I am no fan of Fidel. I come to Cuba because I love the country and I love the people,” replied Mariano.
“I have had the painting valued by two friends of mine who have collections and are experts on the subject of the Cuban Masters,” said Roberto.
“And what did they tell you?” asked Mariano.
“They said it was conservatively worth three thousand five hundred dollars,” said Roberto.
“It’s not really about the money, Roberto. You haven’t told me the story,” said Mariano.
. . . seven years ago my brother and I had a friend that needed help moving. He was an old man and had no family, so we agreed to help. When we were finished he couldn’t pay us. Instead, as payment, he gave us a painting. The only reason we took the painting was because he said it was quite valuable. It took many months of research to confirm what he had told us was true,” explained Roberto.
“If he was famous, there must have been some record of his work,” said Mariano.
“He was an opponent of the communists and had fled the country after the revolution. The government eliminated all record of him. It was by luck that we found an article in an old newspaper announcing he had been awarded the National Painting award in 1957.”
“You’re talking about Carlos Sobrino, the Cuban,” said Mariano, a bit surprised by what he had heard.
“Yes, you know of him?” said Roberto.
“Of course. He was well known in the expat art community in Spain,” said Mariano.
“Well, our research led us to his daughter who lives in said Roberto. “She introduced me to a good friend who I was able to buy the painting from.”
“Your friends, do they have other works for sale?” asked Mariano.
“I believe so,” replied Roberto.
“I would be interested to know what else they have for sale,” said Mariano.
“But first you agree to buy the Romanach?” asked Roberto.
“Yes, I would love to have it in my collection,” said Mariano.
“Something you need to know then. Everything goes through Pedrito. You pay him half and you pay me half. We are partners on everything,” said Roberto.
“Understood,” said Mariano. “I should tell you, Roberto, I have many friends in Spain who collect and are looking for important works from before the revolution. You and Pedrito could do well. I will contact them if you like,” said Mariano.
“I know that I can find other important works that would be of interest to them,” said Roberto.
“Gentlemen, your said Luiz, as he reemerged from the kitchen carrying a large tray of fresh grilled lobster, sweet plantains, and some yellow rice with
“You’re a national treasure, Luiz,” said Pedro.
“Tell that to El Congrejo,” said Luiz with a laugh.
“Thank you,” said Roberto. “By the way, I’m a business man now, Luiz, so no more free lunches.”
After finishing their meal, Mariano and Roberto made a plan to meet again at the restaurant in two weeks. From memory, Roberto had described to Mariano the three paintings Anabela had offered to Roberto years earlier, the first time they met at La Roberto remembered that one of the paintings had been done by Romanach and was certain to be of interest to Mariano.
Having been paid in cash Roberto was nervous about carrying around so much money. He was not afraid of encountering common thieves, but should he be stopped by the police on his way home with such a large sum of money, he was certain to be questioned about it and quite possibly arrested.
Feeling grateful to Anabela Sobrino for his good fortune, and thinking she would be excited to know how the meeting with Mariano had turned out, Roberto decided to deliver the news to her, before returning home.
It was nearly sunset when Roberto arrived at the home of Anabela. He stood momentarily at the foot of the stairs before walking up to the front door. Tired from the events of the day, he was relieved to see a light coming from the front window.
He knocked on the door, turned around slowly and faced the street. Looking up he saw, backlit against the pastel peach colored sky, the lavender colored cumulus clouds, typical of late winter, which had built to a great height above the hills to the south of Havana. It was as though someone had painted the sky, he thought.
“Roberto!” said Anabela, surprising Roberto as she opened the door.
“I wanted to come see you. I hope you don’t mind,” said Roberto.
“You always ask me that. Of course not. Come in, please,” she said.
“I have to tell you about my meeting with Mariano.”
“What did he think of the painting?”
“He loved it. In fact he wanted to know what else I had,” he said. “He also said he has friends in Spain who are looking to add to their collections.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him about your paintings. Remember the ones you wanted to sell?” said Roberto. “He’s particularly interested in works by Romanach.”
“He’ll buy the Romanach?” asked Anabela.
“Yes, I’m certain of it.”
“Did you give him a price?”
“No, because I wanted to discuss it with you. And besides, I don’t think money is an issue with him.”
“I will sell it for eight hundred pesos. I realize you are assuming all the risk and I know you have to split the money with your friend,” she said. “What do you say?”
“I say I’m living my dream, Anabela.”
“You are fortunate, and it’s no accident. You know they say living is better than dreaming, no matter how grand the dream, but living your dream is always best. I’m happy for you.”
“I can pay you tonight for the Romanach if you’d like. Mariano paid me today.”
“Well I could certainly use the money. My job, like everyone’s job, is not enough to live on.”
“I need to leave the painting here for two weeks until I see Mariano again.”
“You don’t want to take it with you?”
“If I take it home my parents will question me about it. I haven’t told them about any of this.”
“Not a problem, Roberto. How about a little rum?”
“Sure. We should be celebrating now.”
Let’s sit out back under the stars,” she said.