libertad miami part three

        Down the avenue from Jesu was an open-air corner espresso joint filled with Cuban men who loved to argue, laugh, play card and domino games. Tomas passed it each afternoon on his way to Burdines. One day he stepped in and bought a demitasse of Bustello. A small space was made for him at the formica bar. He listened to everyone, not saying a word. He had everything to hear.
        The TV showed President Kennedy speaking about Cuba, pronouncing it: Kew-ber.
         "Coo-bah!" voiced Tomas. No one seemed to hear.
         Some men were gathered around a copper-skin man with a barrel-chest mounted on stubby legs. Thick crow-black hair was shorn in the round-head style. The face was arrogant and cruel, with a nose like the beak of a condor. Horrendous slash scars adorned his forearms.
         He was called, to no surprise, Indio.


                                                                                 *


         Spatters of conversation. Cigar smoke. Mention of Alpha 66. Tomas knew of those clandestine patriots training in the Everglades for an assault on Fidel Castro. He felt his ears prick up like those of a donkey.
          "Hey-Boy!" Roberto the coffee grinderman whistled. "When is your pretty girl coming?"
          Tomas had been noticed, now a part of the gang. They were all laughing.
          In about thirty minutes a diminuative ninth-grader would pass by with shy eyes cast down toward the sidewalk, on her way to Flagler Street. Like clockwork.
          One day her path had been blocked by a covey of pigeons and she inadvertantly made eye-contact with Tomas. A deep blush smudged her olive face and they all saw it.
          "Look at that. The ugly thing has a crush for Hey-Boy."


                                                                                             *


          It was commonly agreed that Carmen Diaz was far from pretty. Her mousy hair always looked unwashed. Her forearms were furry. She had a faint moustache and her eyebrows met. It was too early to tell if she would develope a greater bosom. She walked without grace or confidence. Her school uniform appeared to be hand-me-down.
          Roberto wickedly sniggered, "Can you imagine the bush on that girl in a few years? Hey-Boy, you better be nice to her now."
          Tomas joined the chorus of cat-calls.