The Black Pen – Matias Travieso-Diaz

Things were starting to get testy when my father cleared his throat and confessed sheepishly: “I know where the book is.” He led a procession to our small bathroom, opened the door, and pointed to the top of the toilet. “It’s there.”

I went over and picked the large paperback tome, whose pages were yellow with age. “Dad” I exclaimed, “I didn’t know you liked Spanish literature.” He cleared his throat again and explained: “With all the excitement, I have been constipated for several days. I took the book to the can to pass the time while nature took its course.”

He handed the book to Crispina, who opened it and let out a tiny scream: “But this book has been mutilated. The first 78 pages are missing!”

My father turned crimson and went on to explain: “This is not the first time I take this book to the bathroom. I like it because the pages are thin and brittle with age and crumple easily.”

I could not repress a chuckle. “Señora Vázquez, I am very sorry, but this is all we can give you. The rest of the book is no longer available.” In my mind, I added: “Dad found a perfect use for Pérez Galdós.”

13

On Wednesday morning cousin Pablo drove us to the Havana International Airport and dropped us and our bags at the entrance. Unlike an earlier era, the airport was mostly deserted – except for a side corridor where a trio of Interior Ministry officials, in full uniform, sat at a wooden desk inspecting the documentation of the hundred-plus passengers that were to depart that day for the United States. They made no effort to conceal their disdain for us worms seeking to leave for the land of the imperialists. They looked at all our documents in meticulous detail, trying to find something that would justify keeping us from getting away. The leader of the three looked at the pen-inscribed entry that had me on the approved departure list. He frowned: “This is very irregular. How come you were approved to travel? You don’t look like a child.” I tried to remain calm and replied icily: “Don’t ask us. You need to take this up with the Swiss.” I thought he was going to strike me; he turned red and replied: “I most certainly will. In the meantime, you can proceed with your family to the examination room for the physical inspection.”

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