Habana vieja

Sitting in my porch somewhere close to your Antipodes, I look up at the nightly sky and see the amazing full moon - the same you see from your window in that old decadent continent - and when I look down again, my eyes start seeing images from Cuba, bringing me into new unexplored realms of imagination…

I see us in Old Havana, wandering around the empty streets holding hands under the star-lit night, the music and the laughter of a busy salsa bar being heard in the distance and gradually fading as we go deeper into the city; deeper into ourselves. After being drinking and dancing the whole night, we now stare at each other and discuss the way we are going to save the world this time. I love to hear you speaking passionately, being carried away by your emotions. I try to make you look at it from a more diplomatic perspective. You get angry. I pull you towards me, putting my arm around your neck. You smile.

The local rum is starting to kick in, clumsing our steps, taking some good laughs out of us and awakening our desire. At some point we fall silent, and so the complicity in our eyes lights up the fire.

We melt in a heated kiss in a dark random alley of Old Havana. Our lips dance together to the sound of Cuban salsa and I realize I don’t have enough hands to touch at once all the parts of your body that I would like to. I explore your body eagerly, liking you more by the minute, wanting you more by the second.

©David G. Fernández

An old Chevrolet from the 50s stands still next to us, as it stood still during the repression years of Batista, the revolution and the communist rule. The polished surface of the car, that once reflected the struggle of the Cuban revolutionaries, now reflects the image of a kissing couple; perhaps two revolutionaries of modern times.

Our passion grows like an uncontrollable fire; a kind of passion that cannot be contained for too long and will eventually overflow, flooding the city with a new revolution. Your lips, you eyes, your ears, your hands… all of them contribute to the inevitable sign of male horniness. You smile at me, teasingly, when you notice it. So you pull me towards you, I push you towards the old Chevrolet, and we let us go.

Smiling, you undo the buttons of my shirt slowly, while I look into your eyes. With my shirt open, you feel my hairy chest with your warm hand. I get grip on your legs and sit you on the hood of the car. You circle my waist with your legs and trap me, indicating that you are not going to let me go. I hug you strongly and smell your essence on the delicate skin of your shoulder. I kiss you from your neck to your ear, licking it with the tip of my tongue, biting it softly. Your hands are holding my neck and my back pulling me towards you, while you shudder trying to close your legs; however, I’m in between them. Then you whisper into my ear: “Fais-moi l’amour now… as if there was no tomorrow”.

And we make love in a quiet night, on top of a 50-year-old car in a forgotten part of the city.

Meanwhile, Batista still cries from his grave in exile, the locals continue dancing until dawn to the sound of salsa, and the majestic moon watches us from above, shedding light over our half-naked bodies and becoming the only witness of our furtive, passionate love affair.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNpUyQ68BKo

This one is for E.

Ocean water, caramel and spices

Their first date took place on a 14th of February. She gave him chocolates. He gave her a CD that he had burned. For hours, they talked about past, present and future. They laughed together. There were moments of silence. They told secrets to each other. They cursed, passionately, all the evils of the world.

Later on, they kissed ardently at the train station. Maybe it was just the night’s inertia, or perhaps they intentionally tried to give the night a final touch. One reason or another, the sleepy passengers who walked around, woke up from their drowsiness, for a few seconds only, as they passed by that mixture of hands, eyes, tongues and lips; a mixture that was turning more and more homogenous as the time came closer. The instant when the day would immolate itself to allow the birth of a new one; the moment when Cinderella would cease to be a princess and lose her glass slipper; the time when the last train would take apart the pieces of that perfect puzzle that nature had put together.

“Shūden desu! Shūden desu!” (last train!, last train!), cried the old rail worker.

He took the last train home with a stupid smile on his face and a feeling of void as his only travel companions. It was strange… only a few minutes had passed and he was already missing her. He tried to cover that feeling of void with music, listening to one of Brubeck’s most amazing songs on his mp3 player. Obviously, he didn’t succeed, so he made his mind fly back to Mirato Mirai, trying to fill in, by remembering, the crevice that had suddenly opened on his chest.

And so his mind flew over railway tracks, bridges, shopping malls and coffee shops. It stopped by Starbucks, took a ride on the majestic Ferris wheel, and when it came down, and after recovering energies in a nearby restaurant, it stopped at the gates of the train station, just before their lips made their first encounter.

He felt the sweet brushing of her skin on his arms once more, produced accidentally, while they wandered the city aimlessly. The feeling was so real, that every pore in his skin shrank like it had shrunk an hour ago. The sweet brushing gave way to a shy search of each other’s hand, that unavoidably, turned into a complete success when every one of their fingers found its own dancing partner, entwining in such a way that it seemed physically impossible to unwind them again.

Waves of unknown origin travelled through his body at the speed of thought. Feeling them in his feet, they run through legs and thighs, reaching his spine and ramifying on arms and neck to end up dying at his fingertips and the most hidden spots of his head. Even though he hadn’t had butterflies for dinner, he knew that at least one was playing cheerfully in his stomach at that very moment.

He forgot the words he used in the farewell, just knowing that they had been clumsy and typical. However, he didn’t stop even for a second to feel the shame of it, since his concentration avoided the words to focus only on the events. He remembered how a murderous hug tried to put an end to that beautiful evening sonata. And he also remembered how, far from surrendering, tired of losing many nights like that, he remained close to her after the hug, in a desperate attempt to change the course of the events in the last minute.

He stayed very close to her after the hug tried to kill that wonderful evening, making the distance between their faces so small that he could feel how after every exhalation, a fresh breeze crashed on him and slipped around his nose and his lips, following his facial contour. It was then when he got his green eyes, that still showed the beauty of childhood but also some hints of maturity and experience, to help him in his mission: stealing the Japanese heart that was beating hastily a few inches away of his own.

She had demonstrated to feel relaxed and confident during the whole evening, proving that she had not only more experience but was also older than him. At that moment, she was still showing confidence, however, the speed of her breathing and her slightly trembling fingers, betrayed her.

The seconds they stood there looking at each other felt like years, if not decades, and he believed that he had learnt more about her in that instant, than in the whole evening.

When he realized… they were already kissing. There were neither more waves of unknown origin nor more deep reflexions. The naughty butterfly ceased its wing-flapping, falling quietly asleep in a hidden spot of his stomach. His mind just went blank. And everything collapsed into one single reality: his lips, and hers. Forgotten feelings flourished again, mixing perfumes with flavors, life essences, hopes and desires… and all of a sudden, he found himself saying:

- Ocean water, caramel and spices…

- What…? (she asked with a cute smile)

- That’s the way you taste. Ocean water, caramel and spices.

- You know, that’s the nicest thing someone’s ever told me after kissing me…

- Really? What about I lov…

- Shhh… (she said, while placing a finger on his lips). Don’t use those words… they burn.

(And they kept on kissing)

That night, emotions got mixed-up with magic in that part of the city. Yokohama gleamed in their hearts, as beautifully as ever. A new bond between two existences had been conceived.

Many seasons would pass by. Spring, summer, autumn, winter and spring again, an endless cycle. The events of that night would probably be forgotten by the sleepy passengers even before arriving home. However, at least two souls would keep the memories of that 14^th of February, even after the trees had lost their leaves and gone naked when the snow appeared, covering them in white to the point of nearly freezing them to death. Even after they blossomed again, showing off their beauty. Even after they offered their cool shade to another couple who, running away from their parents and from the burning light of the summer, found shelter beneath its crown to continue expressing their love furtively.

Hundreds of season would pass by, however, they would always remember, that magical night.

- Tokyo, May 2008

McDelivery

It was getting late. That night was going to be another of those nights of loneliness, online porn and masturbation. Everything was pointing in that direction. It felt like that. Failure, he thought. Failure…

It had been a really tiring day at the office. As always, after a day like that he didn’t have the chance to go home and chill out at his favorite coach while watching TV like the majority of the people. He just had that expensive hotel room paid by the company, which was very far from being home. That was consultancy all about… He was paid for designing cost-cutting plans for other companies, what meant that he was paid for firing people that he didn’t even now.

The job was attractive for most of the youngsters: the pay was good (hell it was very good…), it implied travelling abroad almost weekly, all expenses on the company, meeting new people daily, going to expensive hotels, flying business class… However, the fact of being a man in his late 30s, spending his life on planes, airports, hotel rooms, and not being able to set roots anywhere, was driving him crazy…

That is why he had to drink the shit away from him.

**************

It was the last shift of the week for her. She really hated that call center job, just taking orders and orders for eight hours a day… but oh well, what could she do? At least she had a job. The pay was shit, the shift was shit, but she didn’t have to starve and didn’t depend on anybody. If there was something that she couldn’t stand was dependency.

3am… just 3 more hours were separating her from her day off. But thinking about it gave her a bittersweet feeling. On the one hand was happy because she didn’t have to attend hundreds of phone calls repeating the same conversation for 8 hours. But on the other hand she feared the weekend… since she got that job, her social life was reduced to repetitive silly chats with her colleagues in front of the coffee machine at the office and the fights with the landlord to get some extra days before the monthly rental payment. Working at night time, sleeping during day time… It was impossible to keep any friends or relationships outside the call center circles.

She was really missing to have some long and good talks… and gosh, she needed to get laid so bad… but with a real man. Last time it was with that weirdo she met in Yahoo Messenger who finished in 2 minutes and fell asleep in the next 2. And that was more than 5 months ago…

Beep… beep… beep… and the freaking red light. Another incoming call or the train back to reality… She had to go back to work.

**************

He finished the remaining red wine and violently, threw the empty glass to the wall of that expensive hotel room. Then he laughed seeing the glass breaking into pieces while the music of Cynthia Witthoff worked in the background as a perfect macabre soundtrack.

He started to think and think. And to worry. He needed to do something or else he would end up masturbating in front of his laptop and taking 3 benzodiazepines with a glass of whisky to fall on Morpheus arms in a matter of minutes… So finally, with determination, or maybe inspiration, or maybe just because he was drunk, he grabbed the cell phone, lay down on the sofa and dialed 8…6…2…3…6…:

Beep… beep… beep…

- Thank you for calling McDelivery, this is Matt, how can I help you?
- Matt? Are you a guy?
- Ehh…. Yes sir, I am.
- Hey buddy, I wanna speak with a girl…
- Sorry sir, the system automatically assigns the calls, we cannot put you with a lady now sir. I will be the one to take your order.
- Are you suggesting that I’m gay??!!
- Ehh… no sir, I’m just saying that…
- Go and fuck Elton John!

He hung up. Then he dialed again 8..6..2..3..6:

- Thank you for calling McDelivery this is Anthony, how can I help you?
- What the hell is wrong with the world today??!!
- Sir?...

Hung up. 8..6..2..3..6…… this time she got the call:

- Thank you for calling McDelivery, this is Sheena, how can I help you?
- Oh thanks God! (she had a nice voice…)
- Hello?... Good evening sir, how can I help you?
- Good evening Sheena. How are you?
- Excuse me sir…?
- Do you speak English Sheena?
- Yes sir, I do. But…
- So, how are you?
- I am fine sir… Please could you give me your name so that I can address you and get your order?
- I like your voice, so you can call me honey. Are you really fine Sheena? You sound like if you weren’t…
- Yes I am fine Mr… Honey… so what is your order? Please let me suggest our special sale, the value meal number 4 consisting of a double cheeseburguer deluxe, 4 nuggets and…
- Sheena baby, I am hungry but I already had dinner… do you know what I mean?
- Excuse me Mr…. Honey, do you want to order any food? This is not a hot line…
- OK baby OK, don’t get angry… I’d like that value meal you said before…
- OK that is value meal number 4. What is your drink Sir?
- Can I drink directly from your pussy Sheena?
- Excuse me? Are you drunk sir? I’m going to hang up… this is too much already…
- Hahaha I was just joking dear, I will order your favorite drink. What do you like Sheena?
- Sir…
- I’m serious, just tell me what you like.
- Is it OK to have regular Coke Mr. Honey?
- Regular Coke is perfect.
- Anything else sir?
- Yes, I want you for dessert…
- (Smiling) I’m sorry but I’m afraid that is not possible Mr. Honey.
- Is your phone number available then?
- (Smiling even more) Not available either sir…
- It’s really a pity because I was planning on eating your pussy for dessert until you cum in my mouth… and then also to…
- (Closing her legs tightly) Sir please, stop that… I will repeat your order: value meal number 4 and regular coke for drink. Is that alright sir?
- You forgot to ask me what do I want for dessert Sheena…
- Sir, I already told you that I’m not going to tolerate more indecent proposals…
- No no, I just wanted a fried apple pie… what are you talking about? You have such a naughty mind…
- (Holding her laugh) OK sir, an apple pie too.
- It will be 213pesos. Please can you facilitate me your address?
- Sure I can… I hope you are the one delivering it as well… Excelsior hotel at Eastwood City, room number 1604.
- Contact number Mr. Honey?
- 0908*****21
- OK, your order will be delivered in 20 to 30 minutes Mr. Honey.
- I love you Sheena…
- Hahaha…Have a good night Sir.
- Oh you laughed! (but she had already hung up) Sheena??! Sheena?!...

Bee-bee-bee-beeeep… bee-bee-bee-beeeep…

**************

“Such a weirdo” she thought… But there was something in his voice that was telling her that he wasn’t crazy. Maybe it was his confidence or maybe his deep masculine pitch. At some point she realized that she had even gotten a bit turned on. She knew it was against the rules of the company, but she decided to keep his phone number.

**************

After she hung up on him, he took 4 tablets of Xanax, a powerful anti-depressive and sedative medicine, and swallowed them lubricating his throat with one of the little bottles of whisky from the mini bar, doubling its effect this way. He opened his favorite porn site and after downloading a few videos, started to masturbate without any mercy.

Twenty minutes later the delivery boy was waiting at the front door of his hotel room with the value meal number 4 and a fried apple pie. The guy rang the buzzer trice, but he was way too deep in the embrace of Morpheus to notice it.

The picture was grotesque… He had fallen asleep in the sofa with his cock still hard and the porn videos playing repeatedly since the settings of his media player were still configured for music playlists.

**************

At 6am she clocked out and went home taking the always crowded bus. While securing herself holding onto one of the bus poles with her left hand, and watching out the pervert-look-a-like guy behind her, she used her right hand to text him:

hi mr. honey~
this is sheena…
gud am!

She arrived home an hour later, but her cell phone inbox was still empty. She re-sent the text again, just in case… the network was not always trustable. Waited for half an hour, but still no news from him.

Finally she fell asleep in the sofa while watching a cooking TV show. She had 2 nightmares that morning.

**************

He woke up after 27 hours of a self induced coma. The hangover was killing him, and the disgusting sound of the porn movie that was still being played was just worsening his headache. This time he had crossed the line… he had mixed alcohol with sedatives before, but never got to the point of eating 4 tablets. He promised himself that it was going to be the last time, as he promised himself just a week ago that he was going to stop drinking…

He checked his Blackberry and saw 2 new text messages from an unknown number and a few emails from work. He opened the first sms:

hi mr. honey~
this is sheena…
gud am!

Sheena? Who was that? Maybe it was one of the prostitutes he was drinking with 3 nights ago… He had the bad habit of giving his number away like priests give blessings, especially when he was drunk.

The second sms had exactly the same content. He hated when people double sent messages. So after deleting them, he took a long shower and dressed up getting ready to go to work.

That morning when he arrived to the office of the outsourcing company that he had been working with for the past week, he presented the cost-cutting plan and facilitated the list of procedures that had to be changed and his recommendations for the staff reduction.

In the afternoon, he took a plane back home. When the stewardess was serving lunch, he remembered… “Sheena! Damn it… the girl from McDelivery”. He really regretted deleting her number. But it was too late.

**************

Her real name was not Sheena, it was just a nickname. Her real name was actually being called by the Human Resources manager in that very moment.

It had been only a week since she got that awkward, disturbing but at the same time exciting phone call, however, she had already forgotten about him. Maybe that was the reason why she couldn’t relate the words “economic crisis”, “cost-cutting”, “staff number reduction” and “low productivity” with him, after hearing them from the dirty mouth of that HRM jerk.

Maybe that was also the reason why she could not relate her dismissal with him.

**************

Days and months would pass by, and eventually, she would find another job. Perhaps one with a better pay and a better shift.

Days and months would go by, and eventually, he would be named the best consultant of the year by the company, invited to be an associate, and get a 7-figure end-of-the-year bonus.

Maybe.

The only certain fact was that the unstoppable city, would keep on wolfing down every single soul who was not ready to fight for survival.

She knew that. And so did him.

The lost children

It was a cloudy, grizzly afternoon of February when I saw him. It was not cold since that place could be well considered as tropical; however he was wearing a dirty, thick jacket that was probably making him sweat the hell out him. I guessed he was around 10 years old, although his facial expression, apathetic and indolent, suggested that he was already in his forties.

He was dirty from head to toe, and his clothes were worn and old. Roaming around that dusty bus station, he seemed not to have a specific destination. Until that day, I thought you could feel hunger only in your stomach. However when I looked at him, I could see the concept of hunger represented in a young and damaged human body; in a pair of lifeless eyes.

The pity I started to feel for him just grew bigger when he put his hand inside of his jacket taking a plastic bottle out. He unscrewed the tap, put the bottle to his nose and took a deep, long breath. He repeated it two or three times and then put the bottle back inside his jacket’s inner pocket. He sat down resting his back in one of the columns that withstood the weight of the bus station roof, between two buses.

His facial muscles were more relaxed now, but his eyes were gone. That shit had taken him to another place, far from the bitchy reality he had to deal with everyday, making him feel more comfortable while taking a nap on the hard cement. I was staring at him from my window seat, on one of the old buses that was going to take me back to the province as soon as the clock’s hands drew 2pm. After a few minutes, he sniffed again from the bottle. This time I noticed a light brown paste inside of it, after taking a proper look. I was wondering what the hell that drug was when the person sitting beside me said:

- That’s Rugby.

- Rugby? Is that a local drug? – I asked

- It is a brand of rubber cement. The street children use it as a drug because they can get high for less than 20 pesos (US$ 0.40) and they can use it for more than 4 days. You know, these children…

He kept talking, but I was not listening anymore since all my attention was in the Rugby boy. He was sleeping now after calming his hunger down by sniffing the rubber cement. I realized how horrible had to be to sleep in the street every day, waking up alone in some random corner, street or bus station, and not having anything to eat for breakfast or lunch. I wondered if he could even remember his parents, if ever he had ones.

And it was then when I understood that his numbness after doing Rugby was just the necessary and sweet oblivion that allowed him to forget about loneliness, hunger and filth. It was the last direct train to Neverland.

By the time the bus started to move, the sky began to cry, parsimoniously, the premature loss of another childhood that could have been, but has not.

And so I whispered: good night Rugby boy, good night.