Page 16 of Dom 4
Her eyes dropped into tiny slits. “You just got comfortable again, now you leavin’?”
I stepped close and lightly kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back. You know how this go. Keep the house tight and keep my baby safe. The security ain’t goin’ nowhere either.” I told her. I wasn’t leading Keondra on; I just couldn’t really hate her ass ‘cause that would make it harder for me to build the bond I was trying to build with Amour.
She nodded with an attitude, but I could still tell she was sad. Although my life was what it was, I still came from a two-parent household and experienced a love Keondra never did. She didn’t have much family so what she was getting from me meant everything to her even if she didn’t want to say it. “You better call,” she said sucking her teeth.
“I will.” I glanced down the hall where Amour’s little nightlight glowed under the door. “Kiss her for me when she wake up.” Then I walked out locking the door behind me leaving my little family behind ‘cause truthfully, she had my child, so she was indeed family.
The Cuban sun was plain out mean this morning it did more than just shined; it burned and was much different from the Miami heat that I’d grown to love. As soon as I landed in Cuba, I started to miss Miami and what I had there, my own place, my own job, my own money. Besides the shadows, I had more freedom in Miami than I ever did in Cuba. Even still, here I was doing what I felt was right. Even through the thick black veil over my face, I could feel it pressing down on me, and it all just felt heavy. The streets of Havana were quieter than usual and the music that normally blasted out of every doorway replaced with a silent mourning. The sound of old church bells could be heard from the rooftops, with a deep, slow sound through the humid air.
El Blanca was dead, my uncle, my blood and the man who raised me, yet punished me, shaped me, and then disowned me. His body lay in a gleaming white coffin lined with gold trimming surrounded by thick bouquets of white roses and tall candlesflickering against the walls of the old cathedral. The scent of roses, tobacco, and rum lingered in the air as well. People were piled in every corner of the room and his soldiers, businessmen, politicians, and priests who’d once sworn they didn’t know him were in attendance. They came in wearing nice, pressed suits and linen guayaberas, with rosaries hanging from their hands, and sunglasses hiding their eyes. The women dabbed the tears from their faces and eyes with lace handkerchiefs while whispering in Spanish that the kingdom had fallen.
I stood near the front with Marisol beside me with her arm looped through mine. She was just a little older than me. Her black dress was fitted perfectly and her gold jewelry shined through the candlelight every time she moved.
“Everyone is watching you,” she whispered leaning in close enough that I could feel her breath practically against my ear.
“I know,” I sighed keeping my eyes on the coffin. “They’ve been watching me since I got off the plane.” I told her and that was the truth. It was beginning to make me extremely uncomfortable, especially all of the press.
Marisol squeezed my hand. “They expect you to speak today. You know, to stand for the family.”
My throat all of a suddenly felt tight. I hadn’t even wanted to come, but tradition wasn’t you had the opportunity to ignore here especially not when the most feared man in Cuba was being buried today. Up at the altar, a priest muttered Latin verses while swinging a thurible that sent thick waves of incense rolling through the church. The smoke filled the room and every time it looped around me and every time it reached me, I felt worse. I’d seen death before too many times that I could no longer count but this one felt different because this wasn’t a stranger in the war nor was he a rival. This was the man who used to braid my hair as a child and tell me stories about loyalty, honor, and blood. This was the man who turned his back on me whenI chose my freedom over his empire and now his empire was mine.
The thought of it all made my stomach twist into knots. The same soldiers who once wouldn’t look me in the eye were now standing with their hands folded across their chest and their eyes focusing between me and the coffin like they were measuring if I was strong enough to replace him.
Marisol adjusted her veil and whispered again. “They will follow you if you speak with his fire. You have his face and his eyes. They see him when they look at you Victoria.”
I didn’t respond because I couldn’t even bring myself to words. The music started to play, and I watched as two men stepped forward and closed the lid of the coffin sealing his face forever. The sound of it echoed through my entire body making me quiver.
People began lining up to walk past the casket leaving behind cigars, flowers, and money which were old rituals meant to be blessings for the dead. When it was my turn, I hesitated and my hands trembled, but I forced them to be still.
I touched the top of the coffin with my fingertips. “Tío,” I whispered. “You made me who I am, but you also made me what I hate.”
Marisol’s eyes were soft on me when I turned back to her. “He’s gone, prima,” she said quietly. “Now it’s your turn.”
I slightly shook my head. “You sound like them.”
“Because I am one of them,” she replied. “Our family doesn’t fade into the background. We lead even if it kills us.”
We walked out into the courtyard where the funeral procession waited for us. The hearse was an old black car polished so good you could see your reflection like a clear mirror. There were a long line of motorcycles, trucks, and luxury cars all the way down the block with the engines rumbling andready to go. The Cuban flag and the family crest which was the black eagle over white hung side by side.
The streets were filled with people silently watching as the coffin was lifted into the car. Some used their fingers to cross themselves over the chest, while some whispered blessings, and others just stared at me. I could feel the weight of every gaze at this time, and it made me uncomfortable. Some were curious, but some were cautious as well and I could tell a few held quiet resentment towards me but wouldn’t dare to say it aloud. Marisol guided me toward our car which was a deep navy vintage Mercedes that used to belong to El Blanca himself. She got in first while motioning for me to follow. I sat in the back with my fingers playing with the gold cross around my neck.
As the cars began to move along the drums started in the distance behind us with a slow, steady rhythm that became louder as we passed through the narrow Havana streets. Men on the balconies threw white flowers down, while women waved handkerchiefs, and children stood barefoot holding candles. The whole city seemed to pause to watch the king’s final ride. I looked out the tinted window with my heart pounding loudly. Everywhere I looked, people bowed their heads when they saw the procession and every time their eyes lifted, they found me once again and not as the niece, not even as the girl who disappeared to start a new life either. They saw me as the one who was supposed to take his throne.
Marisol turned to me speaking in a calm but knowing voice. “When this is over, the generals will expect a word from you. They will want to know what comes next. You can’t run from it anymore, Victoria.”
I kept my eyes on the road ahead where the hearse was rolling extremely slow, leading us toward the family mausoleum. “I’m not running,” I hissed. “I’m just not sure if I’m ready.”
“You were born ready,” she told me. “He made sure of that.”
I wanted to tell her she was wrong and to hush. I wanted to tell her that power was poison and that every empire ended in blood, but the truth was already written on the faces outside the car. They weren’t mourning just him… they were waiting for me.
By the time we reached the cemetery, the heat had settled in even more, causing my skin to be sticky and I was just ready to get this over with. The Cuban sun didn’t just shine in the sky; it was almost as if El Blanca himself wanted to punish us. The cemetery stretched wide for miles, filled with mausoleums built from stones and each one was stacked with generations of men who ran this island from the shadows like ghost, exactly like they were supposed to do.
They didn’t put Kings in the dirt here, instead they put them in walls. The procession stopped in front of the Blanca family mausoleum. It was tall, white, and carved with the black eagle crest right above the arch as well. It was beautiful and it was terrible at the same time, like everything my uncle ever touched. Men opened the iron gate causing a slight creak from the hinges. Inside it was a little cooler, but only by a little as the candles flickered. The walls smelled like stone, the scent of smoke and old blood. Marisol stood on my left, wearing all black lace with a rosary wrapped around her wrist. Her jaws were tight and although her eyes were red, they were dry. She wouldn’t cry here in front of all these people, and neither would I.
Three of my uncle’s generals lifted the coffin without a strain in their muscles beneath white linen shirts they wore. They slid him into the open crypt space looking focused with blank expressions. They had seen death enough times to no longer fear it or feel anything by it and if they did, they wouldn’t show it. The priest began praying in Spanish, and his voice was extremely deep and showed his age as well.
“Que el Señor lo reciba en sus manos…”
