Chapter 09

“Kiss me, Kiss me many times/As if this night were for the last time.” My father was lost in the song, and the expression on his face heart breaking.

My grandfather was buried in the well-tended Jewish cemetery in Guanabacao called United Hebrew Congregation, Centro Macabeo de Cuba.

Visiting the cemetery gave Miguel a last chance to recite Kaddish, the Jewish prayer of mourning, at the foot of his father’s gravesite, A3 #15.

Michael was talking about the time he stayed at Jacobo and Eva’s apartment when their firstborn, Esther, was born more or less the same time Manolo had his first, a boy named Wilfredo. He talked about the jealousies—this one got a boy, that one got a beauty. David was filming when he suddenly gasped and pointed.

Above the decaying door were the painted words, now faded and chipped: Waserstein & Co. El Figurin—my uncle Jacobo’s old storefront in Havana still there after forty years.

It was stunning, literally. In this world unfamiliar to us, there were no stores. There was no Encanta, no Tropico or Figurin, no Imperio. There were also no Starbucks, of course, or The Gap. The only display on the old shop window was a small poster, announcing upcoming festivities. In just a few days, Cubans would be celebrating the 47th anniversary of the 26th of July Movement.