I remember I promised some herba buena for the girl's night tonight (trans: good herb, but not in a smoking sense) ... to put in the mojitos, it's kind of like mint. But where would I find it, that is the question.
With the usual great trepidation, I called Ara's house. Her dad always answers the phone, and we have the problem that he doesn't feel the need to open his mouth when he speaks. Often you see his wife and daughters looking at each other mouthing 'what did he just say?"
The conversation usually goes like this:
"Hi, it's Michelle.. how are you?"
"Blawshwishubulabahibuniasd" which I take to mean "Good thanks"
"Oh good"
"Quisesmweithensdawekrj?" which I take to mean "And you?"
"Good thanks."
Then, the dreaded moment when he tries to make conversation.
" Wweinbihtrw gvmiwerghab erfds fd?"
".... um, pardon?"
"werwgjdfkgerisdnkwdhgiewry?"
Uh oh. When will Senor Casas learn that this is a pointless exercise? I just want to talk to Ara. Please?
Eventually I ascertain that he's secured me a guitar - part of my elaborate plan to enter Cuba - and is asking when I'll drop around and collect it. 'Dropping around' is a three-hour round trip plus a couple of hours for kissing everyone hello and goodbye.
I thank him profusely and he takes mercy on me and goes to find Ara. Thank. The. Lord.
Senor Casas doesn't seem to like anything much, but I'm pretty sure he likes me despite (or perhaps because of) my apparent stupidity. He doesn't open his mouth, but he does sometimes smile at me through his moustache-on-steroids. I suspect he's actually laughing at me, but either way, let's say I make him smile.
Moving on. Ara says I can find herbs at the market - which I already knew so I'm not sure why I called. I set off.
In this particular moment, I have just finished a particularly unpleasant work-related exchange with one of the sources of despair. I feel wretched, so through shit-coloured glasses, when a man actually says to my face 'Wow, hooooooola. Lady." I have a vision of myself grabbing his shirtcollar, putting my face an inch from his and saying,
"Get a f@#&ing eyefull.. did you? Human being, mate. That's right. I am a human being for whom Wow is not a sign of respect motherf@#*er."
I settle for remaining expressionless and after he's passed, scowling.
Then I see two little boys playfighting and they're delightful. Even despite the fact that I know they're honing their macho skills and in 20 years they will be the 'Wow' guy... showing women no respect, I find myself smiling.. then smiling at their proud mum... and then the world in general.
Despair. Hope. Wretched. Joy.
I secure a massive bunch of herba buena at my favourite market stall, belonging to the people from downstairs in the apartment block. Juanita whispered conspiratorially that she's got something of mine.
What's that? I bellow.
She recoils. Puts her hand near her mouth and then mentions the word for sustainer. Oh, right, she's got my bra. I can tell she knows it's mine because I"m the only person in the whole block with boobs that small but whatever.
Our whole roof is dedicated to washing. There are cages for each apartment, so that you can shut your washing in to dry. On this basis, I have no idea who my underpants always end up in someone else's possession. There'll be a knock at the door, and there's the little girl from downstairs holding a pair saying 'they fell down'.
So, to take stock. I have a bunch of the good herb, a prodigal bra, and a guitar coming my way.
Hope wins.
Señor Casas gets up close and personal with Marina...
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