8.2 In the Deep

I got dressed without even washing and zoomed on my motorbike up the Havana streets to Orange Hill taking Camino Costero in the rush hour. I couldn’t locate the guesthouse on Maldivia Road. I entered six shops and asked but they never heard of a place called Guesthouse. They pointed few other lodges around there. I asked for the other place, Corales, and none knew. It was nightfall and dark in the areas around Mirador Cemetery which I circled for the next twenty minutes tracking on Orange Hill Road, Courthouse Road and Avenida Medio.

On Orange Hill Road, a long and winding sandy road like Courthouse Road, I stopped at the spot where I assumed that the wagon picked my mom and looked for tyre marks. I couldn’t find any. All I noticed was a row of skulls and bones placed on top of the tall wall, few spaces up by the back gate to the graveyard under a light post. Even the dead not respected here. Other than that, there was no sign of any abnormality. Everything was peaceful and quiet around here.

I motored to Fresco on Medio and arrived at my big sister’s place, Bonita, around seven in the evening. A good-looking woman in her late forties. She wore frocks and very old-fashioned.

“Mother has been out for a while,” sister said, “I think you should have dinner.”

“No, I cannot wait for dinner,” I told her, “I must go meet someone right now. Donna, call me when mother comes home.”

I raced to Salt Waters and finding nobody there, sat down on the promenade to watch the city lights in the battery park. I could see those six cannons pointed at the sea. Some years ago, somebody’s marvelling idea in the National Security Service thought to fix some gun turrets pointed to the sky installed with anti-aircraft guns. Every weekend they tested the guns firing into space. We know no enemy. We don’t have foes. Then one day ammunition exploded inside a turret and killed a soldier. Finally, they removed those gun turrets and replaced the cannons.

What I witnessed was clueless to me. I caught a visual snow in my eyes and it was heavy in the lights. My phone rang. It was my half-sister.

I returned to Bonita and met my mother. She was in perfect condition.

“Mother, I have been having bad dreams.”

“Are you praying these days?” asked my mother.

“Mom, please don’t start it now,” I begged.

“He smells like a cigar,” uttered my sister.

“That is why I don’t like to come here.”

“Oh Kawla! It’s nothing heavy on you.”

“Mom, why did you come?”

“I have a numbness in the legs,” she responded, “I want to see a doctor.”

“Did you bring your own tobacco?”

“I did,” she confessed, “my bottle of hookah and rose perfumed tobacco, a julep of marigold flavour and mint.”

“Mother!” I cried, “It’s bathed in alcohol!”

“It tastes good. The way it’s blended in Casadina, you don’t get it anywhere.”

“Mother! You are on an important medical tour, not on a holiday! You don’t have to bring that stuff.”

“It is medical stuff to relieve from pain.”

Mother’s excuse always was a medical trip to Los Varados and carried her own tobacco and water bottle to spend her days like in a dream vacation. There should be no reason to complain about my habits. Honestly, I can’t pull that pipe, not a single shot like she does, creating a loud noise in the bubbling water and her breath endless.

 

Next morning, I met the crowd at the prom and I told Asmr about all that hell that broke loose. “How the hell are you going to decode a dream like this?”

“Hang on!” insisted Asmr, “Are you saying that Natasha told Shalin that she saw you peeing and Shalin fell under the spell?”

“Am I? No, she didn’t say that Natasha said so,” I didn’t remember.

“Did you screw her in bed?” asked Jokey.

“Is that a question? I don’t remember at all. What is the name of Amelia’s home?”

“Corales.”

“Are you after the girl?” asked Murry.

“There is no such place called Corales,” I told my friends, “Where did you say it was located?”

“Near Mirador Cemetery,” replied Asmr.

“I’ve been around there on Maldivia Road. Asked several people. They don’t know that place.”

“See! He’s after that girl,” cried Murry, “I told you I can’t trust this guy.”

I shook my head, “I can’t trust myself either.”

“Sometimes old names are erased as new names are called since lots are divided,” Asmr suggested.

“Is Donato marrying this girl? Is she a nurse?”

“She’s a cop,” answered Half Tone.

“Thank you.”

Three days later, I came across coquette on the chat in the midnight hour. I typed, “I know you.”

“Tell me so,” returned this anonymous person.

“Sophie Nadz.”

“Nope.”

“Do you know her?”

“Not personally.”

“Do you know Simon’s sister?”

“Maybe.”

“You said you have a ten-storey house with sixty rooms and a Jacuzzi.”

“I do.”

“Sophie Nadz has a ten-storey house.”

“Does she have a Jacuzzi?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you call the ministry?”

“You are a mystery!”