Trust (19 page)

“
Well,
”
he says, a smile splitting across his
face,
“we
’
re in Canada, so why not take advantage
of it?
”

“
What do you mean?
”

“
Ever been to Cuba?
”

Saying
goodbye to Evelyn had been a tearful affair, and although we both promised we
would still see each oth
er as often as possible, and
of course keep in touch via phone calls and texts, I wonder how realistic it
is. 
She’ll
be working for the CEO of a billion
dollar company, likely putting in long hours and unable to get a lot of
vacation.  And I still have no
job or prospects, so
weekend trips to Chicago seem very unlikely.  Of course, Chase was quick to
offer to help with that, but I can
’
t keep asking for handouts from him.

I
’
m already feeling guilty enough for
agreeing to go on this trip.   It
’
s too late fo
r second thoughts
now, though, given that the pilot just announced that
we’ve
begun our descent.  Chase reaches over
and gives my hand a little squeeze, his eyes still focused on the magazine he
’
s reading.  He
’
s given me the window seat, and I can
already
see the little green island looming larger by
the minute. 

If I
don
’
t include Vegas as a vacation, this is
really the first one
I’ve
been on in years.  Not since Evelyn and I took a spring
break trip to Cancun during our first year of University.  I migh
t be feeling a little bit guilty about going away when I
’
m broke and jobless, having my wealthy
new boyfriend pay for me, but I
’
d be lying if I don
’
t admit to a little excitement as well. 
I’ve
never been to Cuba, but more
importantly, I
’
m looking forward
to spending some time with Chase where both of us are out
of our own comfort zones, completely left to ourselves in an unfamiliar world.

Unfamiliar to
me, anyway.  Chase told me he
’
s been here a couple of times, usually as a quick forbidden
vacation after
playing a tournament in Niagara
Falls.  The man loves to bend the rules whenever he can, but I can hardly fault
him. 
I’ve
never really understood the whole
American embargo thing, and I
’
m glad that lately the rules seem to finally be loosening. 
Chase se
ems to think it will be a while before travel
is completely free and unrestricted.  I wonder if, when it is, he
’
ll no longer be interested in coming
here.

I
watch the plane curve over the lush green hills and trees that are sparely
dotted with small house
s all built deliberately close
to the Atlantic.  It
’
s already beautiful, and my misgivings about coming are
quickly fading.  I slip my hand out from under Chase
’
s and put it on top, giving his a
squeeze of thanks.  I catch his eye and smile at him. 

“It
’
s starting to rain,
”
he notes.  It
’
s true, there are light drops on my
window. 
“Don
’
t worry, though.  It never lasts long.
”

By
the time we land and disembark, the shower is already over and the sun is
shining through the windows of the small terminal.  I
t
’
s already very hot as we wait in line to
pass through customs.

“
You can go through first,
”
he motions as our turn arrives.  There
’
s a small door in front of our line that
I have to go through, but the man behind the counter seems pleasant enough.  He
gi
ves my passport and tourist card a stamp, and then
I
’
m through and waiting for Chase. 

He
comes through the door right after me and speaks to the official.  When he
hands him his passport and card, though, I see that he also slips some paper
money along
with them.  He exchanges words with the
official and then gets his documents back before joining me.

“
Why did you give him money?
”
I ask, as we walk toward the baggage
carousel.

“
It can cause complications when I go
back home if I have a Cuban stamp on m
y passport,
”
he replies.

“
So that was a bribe?
”

“
I prefer to think of it more as a thank
you for not stamping my passport.
”

I
give him a little sidelong glance and he winks at me. 
“
I thought restrictions were easing for
you guys.  Do they still care ab
out that?
”

“
I don’
t know,
”
he admits with a shrug. 
“
But why take the chance.  Besides,
everyone here can use a little something extra anyway.  I don
’
t mind.”

I’ve
heard that, and in fact, despite the
fact that Chase
didn’t
bring a lot of clothes of his
own
since he
hadn’t
packed for Cuba initially, he brought two big suitcases on
the trip after filling one entirely with hundreds of dollars
’
worth of sundry items he picked up at
the dollar and drugstore.  I was happy to see him do that.  It
’
s common knowl
edge
in Canada that Cubans have very little and what is available to them is very
expensive, so travelers often bring toiletries or clothes to hand out to the
locals, but I
didn’t
know if Chase was aware of that custom.

Within
minutes we have our bags and
are outside the airport
looking for a taxi. 

“
Look at these cars,
”
I gasp in surprise.  All of a sudden I
have a weird feeling like
I’ve
been transported into a movie from the 1950s.  There seems
to be classic cars everywhere and all of them in amazingl
y good shape.  No signs of rust or dents, polished and
washed as if they
’
d just come off the showroom floor. 

Chase
laughs and leads me to one of them.  A dark and weathered man smiles at us and
opens his trunk before grabbing our bags and putting them i
n.

I
give Chase a questioning look.

“
This is our taxi,
”
he grins.

The
man opens the door and Chase says something to him quickly in Spanish before we
both get in. 
“
This is a taxi?
”  It
’
s odd that a people that have so little
would use expensive classic
cars as taxis.

“
The embargo started around 1960,
”
Chase explains as the driver makes his
way around the front of the car to his still open door. 
“
Before that, Cuba would import lots of
cars from the US.  But since then,
they’ve
had nothing new.  They ha
ve to just maintain everything they already had.
”

“But…
how do they get parts to keep them
running?
”
I ask.  The car seems to be in great
shape for something more than 60 years old.

“
They have to make them.  There
aren’t
really any junkyards filled with
old cars in Cuba.  Everything is reused and rebuilt by
hand.  You will see newer cars here, but not from the States.
”

He
’
s right.  As we drive, there are other
cars.  Some from Europe, many from Asia.  I see a lot of Hyundais.  But at the
same time, we al
so pass plenty of horse drawn carts. 
It
’
s an odd contrast to see the mix of
classic American cars, newer Asia ones, and then horse powered wagons all being
used at the same time for day to day activities.

I
stare out the window in wonder as we drive. 
I’
ve
never seen so much green.

“
What do they grow here?
”

“
Lots of stuff.  Sugar cane used to be
their primary industry.  It
’
s still their biggest export.  Canada and China are their
biggest trading partners these days.
”

“
You said it used to be their prima
ry industry?  What is it now?
”

“
Tourism.  At this point it employs more
workers than sugar cane.
”

We
drive for a little while and I
’
m in awe at the surrounding countryside. 
“It
’s
beautiful
,
”
I breathe.