One Way to Cortorro, Amigo

Back in the 80s, Henry and Lucia were living in Key West. One day their phone rang, and it was Lucia’s mother who says, 

Chica, I’m dying, you need to get here pronto, 

sí Madre, I'll be there soon.

Henry books a flight to Havana on Aero Mexico departing in the afternoon.

They drive their Vespa scooter to Key West International Airport, park, then roll their suitcase to the checkout counter, and pay by credit card. 

There's an hour to blow, at Jungle Cafe they drink cafecitos and eat buñuelos, imported from Cuba. 

In a few minutes, Aero Mexico’s flight 243's announced, and they board. 

After taking off they fly for 30 minutes and land at Jose Marti International Airport.

At Cubano Customs they show their passports, getting through without a hitch. 

Outside at Arrival, they walk to a sitting taxi, an old 54 Chevy. Lucia tells the driver in Spanish, 

Chico take us to the Vapor Inn. 

At the inn they pay the driver in dollars, get out of the car and walk to the front desk, pay again, and go to their room.

The room's nice, with antique furniture and a window view of a grotto covered with gardenias and roses. Lucia calls her brother Miguel, 

were’s mama staying? 

Hospital Navos, here’s the number. 

Lucia calls her mother in room 167, she answers, speaking Spanish,  

darling bebé, I’ve missed you, good news, good news, my cancer is in remission and in stage 4, bring Henry to the plantation. 

Oh, great news mama, we'll take a taxi to the plantation. 

Lucia's mama Maria lives in a commune on a sugarcane plantation outside of Cortorro.

The couple goes shopping at State Run Store #13, buying paper bags full of essentials— dried black beans, rice, canned pork, loaves of white bread, beer, and a sack of coffee beans.

Back in their room, they pack the supplies in canvas bags and go out to a waiting taxi,

one way to Cortorro, amigo.

They go south on E 117, driving for 45 minutes then reach the  Orthia Castro Commune where they meet Lucia's brother, Pedro and walk to mama’s small wooden house. 

Inside, Lucia packs away the provisions and Pedro says, 

mama will be home tomorrow.

We sit in the living room, sipping hot cubacristo and rum, Pedro says, 

tomorrow you’ll be expected to work in the cane fields, this is a socialist commune. 

At sun up Henry and Lucia ride on the back of a Russian tractor. 

In no time they’re pruning cane plants with hooked knives, cutting off side shoots and leaves. 

Henry cuts his hand, so, he and Lucia walk to mama’s house, collect their shit then make their way to the highway, catching a taxi back to the Vapor Inn.

After showering and taking a nap, they go to the El Tropico Disco, ordering Rum Cocas at the bar, specialty drinks mixed with coca oil, rum, and quinine. 

They turn, holding their drinks, watching hot Latins gyrate pelvically, north and south. Henry who has his arm around Lucia says, 

the Latins sure can move, white people are stiff, it’s as though they have a corn cob up their ass. Chinese are the same, they have a Longan up theirs.

Estas muy loco, Henry, sometimes you need to keep your thoughts to yourself, the bar is filled with Latinos, burro,

you should feel guilty for skipping out on chores at the Orthia Castro Commune, you can’t be depended on Lucia. 

Let’s dance darling, 

the couple’s glued to the present, feeling on fire as they dance. Lucia’s bra and pantyless in a knit skirt, moving like a snake on the dance floor dress, seductively, where every male eye in the place is on her.  

By midnight Cinderella and her bo are tired so they catch a taxi to the Vapor Inn, lay in bed, and pass a 1/5 of  Trader Vic’s Chocolate Liqueur back and forth, then swallow a cup of shrooms from the commune, feeling like they can raise their arms and reach up to the moon, pulling themselves up into the galaxy. 

When life is good, it's good anywhere, even in Cuba.