Under A Cuban Moon
Below is a MRR and PLR article in category Arts Entertainment -> subcategory Humor.
Under A Cuban Moon
Title:
Under A Cuban MoonSummary:
HAVANA, May 20 (www.cubanet.org) - Cuban authorities have tightened security at Havana Bay's ferry departure points. Now, all passengers must pass through a metal detector before boarding. Newly posted signs warn against carrying furniture or birthday cakes.Article Body:
HAVANA, May 20 (www.cubanet.org) - New security measures are now in place for passengers boarding ferries crossing Havana Bay. Everyone must pass through a metal detector, and signs clearly state that carrying furniture or birthday cakes is prohibited.
Imagine a stormy night crossing Havana Bay: the uneasy atmosphere, the crashing waves, and the passengers' visible fear. The ferry captain, a little too familiar with spirits, nearly tumbles overboard multiple times before we even set off.
"The captain’s drunk again," I told my brother Ramon.
"Not on his salary," Ramon chuckled. "He's dizzy from the danger."
"Indeed," I replied. "But this danger doesn’t faze us."
"It’s a different kind of danger," Ramon mused.
We stood on the rain-soaked deck, just two among sixty-five passengers. A few minutes passed before Ramon spoke again. "It’s like a young chiquita visiting the city for the first time," he said, painting a vivid picture of her arrival. The scent of bananas and sweet oranges follows her, making old men sigh and young men straighten up as she passes.
As the rain lashed against us, we prayed for divine guidance over the captain's resolve. Five minutes went by before Ramon whispered, "La fiesta no es para los feos." That was our signal. I moved through the crowd to the front of the ferry, reflecting that while the beautiful get the invitations, the less so can make their own parties. Fidel taught us that much.
Approaching the captain, it was clear he was still out of sorts. I tapped his shoulder, revealing an armchair hidden in my shirt. "La fiesta es perdido," I said. "Es más perdido." The recognition in his eyes told me he was once a good man.
He belched mightily, sending a cloud of tobacco, tequila, and stew into the air, causing passengers to step back.
"Que pasa?" he slurred, like a man waking from a stupor. I positioned the armchair at his temple, feeling his body shake with fear. I called for Ramon, who instantly appeared. He carried an item that had been our lifeline for five years, traded for a mule, machetes, and a hundred bananas.
Ramon uncovered the item with great care. In the moonlight, it gleamed, even making the captain pause. He placed it on the shelf in front of the steering wheel.
"Mi Capitán," I said, commanding attention. "You will navigate us to this beacon. We will not stop until we reach it. There, we’ll sit together, drink fine rum with real Coca-Cola, and talk about life and dreams."
The captain stared at me, then grinned as if holding his cards close. "You have a light above your head," he said, smirking, "and a big armchair." He grasped the wheel, throttled forward, and we all watched the guiding beacon?"a shining angel leading us to a brighter tomorrow. Someone among us called it El Statue de Libertad.
Bill Dollar 2005
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