on the phone, heâs lived for years near Grasse growing flowers for the perfume industryâhe canât leave because of some warrant, I donât know for what . . . the man I want to speak to here is wanted for murder and robbery, though of course he says itâs a frame-up.â
âIt probably is.â
âWell, maybe Iâll find out. Iâm going to see him today for lunch.â
âBut youâve been here several days?â
She nodded. âI came early, so I could get a feel for the place. And I wanted to see Castroâs Primero de Mayo performance in the Plaza de la Revolución.â
âI went, too. I wanted to see himâyou know, to be able to say Iâd seen him.â
âWhat did you think?â
âI was glad I went, but I didnât think it was very good public relations. Chavez, the man from Venezuela, seemed so much stronger.â
âI know,â said Mathilde, âin his red shirt. I thought Castro looked silly in his guerrilla uniform and that cap. Like an actor dressed up for the part.â
âAn actor who doesnât know when to get off the stage!â
âBut you are a supporter of the regime?â Mathildeâs voice, asking the question, was clearly uncertain of the reply.
âI suppose I am. I support Cuba. Cubans . I think the Americans should leave them alone.â
âThe trouble is, theyâre Stalinists. I have problems with that.â
âWell, Murray always said that the Cuban revolution was a failure, but an honourable one, and he still put the emphasis on the âhonourable.ââ
âI suppose I would agree, but I might put the emphasis the other way around.â
Lorraine finished her coffee, and Mathilde followed suit. It was clear they were leaving. Lorraine said, âWeâre quite a pair. Iâm seeing a priest, and youâre having lunch with a Black Panther.â Mathilde laughed. She could see, at the moment of parting, bashfulness coming over Lorraine, the shyness that was probably an important side of her character. It seemed to leave things up to her, and as they stepped into the lobby she said, âPerhaps we should meet every morning to keep up to date with each otherâs adventures?â
Lorraine was pleased, and the pinkness sheâd picked up from the sun deepened. âIâd like that very much.â She turned away, then looked back: âAuâvoirâà demain.â
Mathilde, again, was surprised: not quite . For Lorraineâs French had been quick, her accent not so much correct as natural. She seemed to be a type, someone you could sum up fairly easily; but it didnât turn out that way. She watched as Lorraine went down the steps, into the brightness of the hotel entrance, and disappeared. I am everything Adamaris desires to be, and Lorraine is everything I donât wish to become. But this thought was only a test, formulated to be denied. She would have believed it yesterday, on the basis of seeing Lorraine around the hotel. But now she knew it wasnât fair; it wasnât even true. But it was interesting; whether thinking of Adamaris or Lorraine, she was faced with the fact that you did become someone , not just for yourself, but for other people. A âcharacter.â Who would she be?
2
The address Lorraine had for the church was on Calle 13, but when the taxi dropped her, she discovered it was on the corner of Calle K, so it wasnât far from the house where Almado had lived and wheresheâd been the day before; which made it slightly more plausible that Almado had actually gone to the church and was known there.
The church charmed her at once. This was Vedado, so it was almost impossible to see, lost in a plantation of palm, magnolia, and oleanderâand even one scraggly pine; but when she stood back, on the other side of the street, she could make it out, white, Spanish Mission in style, through the
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