Ganado: a novel Read online

  GANADO

  A Novel

  By Manolo Mario

  Published by

  Cycloptic Theorist

  Miami, Florida

  Copyright © 2016

  First Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-0997257403

  ISBN-10: 0997257407

  Historical Fiction, Cuban History, Economics

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016933695

  Ganado is purely a work of fiction. Characters, places, situations, descriptions and incidents are derived solely from the author’s creative imagination or are presented fictitiously. Any semblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements:

  First, None of this would have happened if Manolo & Elisa did not have the courage to leave it all behind, start from scratch and give my siblings and me an opportunity to fulfill our dreams. There is no greater inheritance one could hope for at any time. I am eternally blessed.

  I would like to express my sincerest thanks to my writing coach extraordinaire, Bill Greenleaf for having the patience to guide me through the creative process with pointed comments and gentle tugs.

  Likewise, my dear friend Lynne Tweardy pulled a heavy load in editing the book. Never short to pull a punch, she kept me grounded and survived a higher level of bi-cultural education that Penn St could not have provided. I know she can’t wait for the next one!

  Last and most, the love of my life who fits every love song ever written was an incredible influence in getting me focused on this project. Every day with Pily is a day filled with pure adventure! Thanks for coming along with me!

  This novel is dedicated to Mario & Marcello, as inspirations to all that could be. It should have been written long ago, but everything has its appropriate time. You have all my love!

  CONTENTS

  Chapter I

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter I

  Not unlike this corner of the world, the smallish room sat away from the main building. Galo Bartolo dangled a cigarette on his lips and had a towel thrown over one shoulder as he carried his buckets into the room. He noticed it was dark, made more so by the streams of light that broke through the wrought iron on the windows high on the wall. It seemed the drab brown-gray walls took whatever light and sucked it up. It was a quiet place considering the traffic on the street along this side of the building and the clogging on the cobblestones. Irrespective, the drone of the flies constantly exercising their rightful existence in such a place would have drowned out an awful lot of noise. This cool January day kept their number restrained and Galo merely waved a few of them away.

  Though close to midday, his apron carried the stains of the prior seven hours. He was a small man and thin at thirty-two years of age. He squinted at the beams of light and wrinkles crept at the corner of his eyes, forehead, and around the edges of his mouth.

  He moved to the center table that wore the scars of many years and placed a bucket on the floor, then threw the water from the other bucket on the table in an effort to wash it to some extent. With a swift wipe of his arm, he cleared the excess that accumulated on the table and allowed for it to settle. The splatter on the floor made little difference to the appearance or cleanliness of this place. He took a full drag, blowing the smoke out in curled ripples and flicking the ashes to the wet floor.

  From his apron pocket he took several sheets of newspaper and laid them out on the table. From another pocket he produced a flat squared stone and reached to the small of his back for his ever-present knife. Though not large, it was a sharp and handy tool. Galo would be considered a master with the knife in many ways. And as though an artist, he carefully sharpened it with the stone in a smooth back and forth motion.

  Once satisfied, he pulled a stool from underneath the table and before climbing on, he lifted the one bucket onto the table. And so he perched; the empty bucket to his right, the newspapers in front, and the other bucket on the left where he had collected two-dozen or so kidneys. Ah yes, he thought reaching for the first bloody kidney and cutting off the softer tips with a surgeon’s skill. He delivered the cuts to the newspaper, and flipped the remaining organ into the empty bucket. What remained were mostly the tougher fibers. He continued kidney after kidney, amassing a small mound over the newspaper.

  He allowed his mind to drift, and thought how fortunate to be part of a good enterprise with trusted associates. Yet, it was gory and smelly. One had to get used to the flies, the blood, and the bellow of steers that seemed to be cognizant they were going to die. Not to mention the worst situation: when one of the men missed the spot on the steer’s neck and the animal wasn’t killed right away. It would bellow, shiver, buck, and jump in an attempt to evade the inevitable. Someone had to knife the animal deep into its heart so it wouldn’t founder in pain. More than often the task fell to him.

  Galo would not be one to complain. The work provided him a decent, steady living. He even earned a small participation in the company as a result of his abilities. The participation did not come without cost. He had to lead men that generally were illiterate and further hampered by an overdose of testosterone. This element produced a combination where his tone and his knife played their respective part. Perhaps this would be his calling, but he thought and would think there could be something better.

  Nearing the last few kidneys, Elio Gomez walked through the door. “There you are. I should’ve known when I saw a bucket of kidneys on the line. I think we went through thirty steers today.”

  Galo did not lift his head one bit, but turned away to spit out the expired butt from his lip.

  Elio barely took a breath. “What a life we lead. I bet the girls made like bandits with The Three Kings yesterday! Well, here we are back at it the next day. Where is time going?”

  Galo half smiled. “Light me another cigarette, will you?” His voiced bounced off the walls loudly.

  Elio stumbled back. “Coño, after all this time I still get surprised at how such a roar comes from such a little shit!” He took a pack from his shirt pocket and picked one.

  “We slaughtered thirty three steers,” Galo said. “I figured today would be a good day to collect these kidneys. The storm last night cleared the air and cleaned the streets. I’m in a good mood. We’ll eat these this afternoon and the protein will be good for Rona.”
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  Having lit the cigarette Elio placed it on Galo’s lips. “You are a fine butcher, watching how you cut those. How is Rona feeling? ”

  Galo kept his eyes on the bloody kidney in hand and his knife. “Large and uncomfortable, but as ever doesn’t stop. I need to make sure she remains strong.”

  “When is she due?”

  “Any day now.”

  “You’re eating shit. There is no stronger woman! Hell, she could whip your tiny ass without effort! You know, I don’t understand what she saw in you.”

  Galo noticed Elio’s hands on his hips. Though he felt his friend was baiting, he would bite. “It was simple once I took her to bed.”

  “Ha! You’re so full of shit! You’re a puny little squirt!”

  “Elio, the horse piss you drink is clearly affecting your mind! First, my voice comes from somewhere meaningful, my cojones1! Second, a dick is not a rifle to shoot from a mile away. It is to shoot at a close distance. Third, women have the worst sense of depth perception so long as you’re moving right.”

  “Ha, very funny! But my friend, why find a much larger woman?”

  Galo paused before answering and looked up wrapping his arms around an imaginary large object. “I like women who put up a fight.”

  “Right. As to me, I like to win my fights, and that’s why my Fiona is fine.”

  “Besides, I want strong healthy children. I figured if it worked for cattle, why wouldn’t it work for me. So, a bigger woman makes sense.”

  “And that’s why you’re having a fourth after three girls. Chasing a boy will lead you to ten kids.”

  “Na, this is it, whatever it is.” Galo pointed and waved the tip of his knife. “And don’t let anyone know, but you’ll probably end up with a shitload of kids yourself.”

  “True enough.”

  Elio took a deep breath and thought for a moment before continuing. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation this morning. What you discovered before the holidays is tricky at best. Interesting and useful, but could also backfire if we’re not careful.”

  Galo curled his eyebrows. “Elio, have you ever seen a cowardly dog screw a bitch2? Don’t tell me you are losing your cojones now?”

  Galo looked up from his work to find a pensive Elio staring at the sky through the window. He shifted his jaw to produce a smile and flicked the ashes off his cigarette. Elio was eight years younger and somewhat of an idealist. Since he arrived from Valencia, his drive built the business with the other partners Rico Sosa and Alonso Velez. Galo felt fortunate to have found him as well. Would Elio find the wisdom in what needed to happen in order to progress? He had not seen it as yet, but Galo’s newfound information on their banker was their ticket. Of that, he was sure.

  The voices of Galo’s other partners could be heard outside, growing louder as they approached the little room. Galo and Elio turned toward the door as Alonso and Rico burst in, arguing loudly.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?” Elio asked.

  Rico, wearing a similarly stained apron towered over Alonso. “You know I’ve been negotiating heavily with, Camilo Ortiz. You recall him. The tall, ugly guy that sells us steers. Well, right when I had him ready to commit to deliver more regularly, Alonso here called him an asshole!”

  The bookish Alonso waved his pencil in Rico’s face. “No, no. That’s simply not true! An asshole is useful and Camilo Ortiz is a useless piece of shit, which is what I called him.”

  Galo chuckled, and Elio smacked his arm. As Elio approached their two angry partners, Galo returned to his kidneys. He had no problem letting Elio play referee.

  “Alonso,” Elio said, “you need to find a way to keep your mouth shut. We need all the cattle we can get and that individual has a knack for getting cattle with good yields.”

  Galo looked up to see Alonso nodding sheepishly, like a little kid who’d been scolded.

  Typically, Elio’s voice would never reach a decibel higher than a pleasant conversation, but his piercing blue eyes would cut right through you. He was younger than the others, but had an education and a keen mind, so Galo encouraged the others to follow his lead.

  “Now listen all of you,” Elio snapped his finger to gain their attention, “there’s a war in Europe and though the North Americans have stayed out, it won’t be long before they’re forced in. We’ll soon follow, and then shortages are bound to happen.” He pointed his finger to emphasize and paced a few steps. “Supplies from Cuba will take on a greater importance. There will be a need for sugar and cattle.” He stopped and widened his eyes. “That’s assuming anything can get across the sea. Remember the Germans sunk a big ship full of people because they suspected it carried weapons to England. We need to secure our source of cattle if we’re going to stay in business.”

  A confused Rico shook a hand at Elio. “But Elio, Spain isn’t in the war. King Alfonso will not get involved. Why would we?”

  “Spain doesn’t matter much anymore. In any case, I don’t think the Germans are going to be charitable or interested in what ship is carrying what cargo to what country. Some poor dumb bastard is looking through a contraption after being many hours entombed in an oily machine with a lot of smelly men. The sooner he gets rid of his bombs, the sooner he can return to port and get a bath and a woman.”

  Galo looked up. ”Hopefully in that order, for her sake.” He wiped off his knife and his hands with the towel he carried turning it a streaky red.

  It was Alonso’s turn to speak. “Why would the Americans join? I thought the war was among a bunch of spoiled rich cousins trying to outdo each other. Why would Cuba? We have nothing to do with them. Hell, we still have people from Europe coming here?”

  Elio shook his head. “This is the problem when you teach someone to read and write, but he still can’t think. Do you really think the President is in charge of Cuba?” He paused and looked at his partners before finishing, “No, he isn’t. It’s their ambassador! “

  Alonso opened his eyes wide. “You’re shitting me! That can’t be true. The Americans left in ’09 and we had an election afterwards.”

  “The Golden Rule, Alonso; whoever has the gold makes the rules! Besides, our current President Menocal is a typical politician doling out favors. Mind you, if one of those favors is not to the liking of our friends with the gold, you will see their army parade through the town.”

  A quiet Rico broke his silence. “Well as for me, I rather have the Americans in charge than any of the stupid crew of deported Spaniards, Canarians, Africans and other creeps that have infested this Island.”

  Alonso clapped loudly and pointed at Rico. “Why you imbecile, Elio is a Spaniard and you’re a Spaniard!”

  Rico pursed his lip and gave it a smack. “Save for Elio, who is one of the decent ones, it should tell you that I know what I’m talking about. All that’s good remains in Spain. They don’t send the cream to the New World!”

  When another comeback from Alonso formed, Elio interrupted. “There may be some truth in it, but the day is wasting and we still need to finish up. Alonso, you make the rounds today and deliver the cuts to the church, and the hospital.”

  “But I made the run throughout the holidays! It’s Rico’s turn, or yet, Galo hasn’t made the run in a long time. He was nowhere to be found right before. Why doesn’t he make the run?”

  Galo folded the newspaper around his kidney tips when Elio stepped in to cut off one of his impending remarkably crafted strings of expletives involving animals, irreverent acts, and disgusting types of bodily fluids in a manner that would be difficult to understand and impossible to outdo.

  “Don’t go after Galo. He needed time to investigate a matter for us. I asked him to take the time. You go Alonso. Rico and I have to go find Camilo and walk him back to our graces so we can have our cattle tomorrow and the next day. Speaking of today, you need to watch your mouth before somebody takes exception and shuts it for good!”

  Galo hopped off the stool with his cigarette dangling still, his folded newspap
er bundle and the two buckets in hand. “Shit-eaters3, I am washing my hands and leaving until tomorrow! It’s time to go home and deliver this for our supper!”

  Elio gave a slight grin to his friend. “Until tomorrow, then. You’ll open up as usual?”

  “Yes, of course! I’m gone.”

  * * *

  1 Balls

  2 Dialog is being presented as close to a literal translation from Cuban Spanish as possible. Footnotes will help clarify. This particular phrase comes from a casino in which the croupier uses the phrase to entice gamblers to bet.

  3 Very common insult amongst Cubans denoting a lack of brain power; but can also be used in other occasions with other meanings.

  Chapter 2

  Elio and Rico walked the five blocks to La Sirena, located on the street bordering the wharf. Approaching the bar, they noticed the captain of police and two guards speaking with what looked like some overdressed new arrivals. It wasn’t hard to tell, since no one dressed like that in Cuba unless attending a funeral. They would have stopped to watch the goings on, but they were in a hurry to find Camilo Ortiz.

  The bar had been in this location for many years. The mirror in the back reflected the stacked liquors from around the world along with many local brews. Gaining favor with the locals was the rum that came from Santiago. The bottle from the company of merely fifty years of age distinctively displayed a bat as its symbol.

  A dark forty-foot-long stained oak plank served as the counter of the bar. Painted and lacquered over it was a mermaid with a long tail and perfect breasts. Patrons stood shoulder to shoulder despite it being the middle of the day, and were mostly concentrated near her breasts. Many of them just arrived and were engaged in talk of Spain, friends, family, the storms, and so on. It was noisy.

  Along the tables of fours that ran down the main room, Camilo sat with another man at the third table from the end. His company, who sported a gnarly bear, looked ragged compared to Camilo’s groomed look. His face seemed to have a dent behind the beard that gave him a dangerous air. Elio looked at the bartender, Francisco, who nodded and mouthed, “The usual?”