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Chapter 32: Salvador’s Three Wives
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[ 213 ] 32 salvador’s three wives We’ve come to Manzanillo to look for Jews. Salvador Behar Mizrahi, I’ve been told, is one of the registered Jews among the dozen or so who remain in this port city on the southern coast of Cuba. We arrive without warning at his home, and his wife, a gregarious woman in a housecoat, doesn’t seem at all concerned that some strangers are asking to speak to her husband. “What a pity! You just missed him. He took off on one of those horse carts that you see everywhere in this town. He’s going to try to find us a leg of pork. It’s not easy, I tell you.” We jump back in the car to go in search of Salvador, following his wife’s vague directions, but by the time we find the house where he has bought the leg of pork, he’s long gone. On our return to his house, Salvador is waiting patiently at the door. A lean man, his untucked shirt hanging loosely over his pants, he peers at us with curious eyes through an ancient pair of aviator glasses. “Welcome,” he says. “Come in. Sorry I missed you. I had to go on a little errand.” Inside, the walls of his house are painted a sun-baked pink. The living room is crowded with furniture—rocking chairs and an assortment of big stuffed chairs. The door to the back yard is open and light shines on the clusters of plastic flowers, which are everywhere, in vases and tacked to the walls. “How may I help you?” he asks, leading us into the dining room, where a Sacred Heart of Jesus in an oval wood frame hangs on the wall. I tell him I want to know about the Jews who lived in Manzanillo. I ask if he has any old photographs. Behar_3P-03.qxd:Behar design 7/30/07 2:27 PM Page 213 “Let me find my box,” he says, and excuses himself. He pulls aside the curtain hanging over the door to his bedroom and returns with a bulging box. “Would you believe it?This was me,” he says, holding up a picture of himself flexing his muscles. He was a body builder when he was young, and like other Jews in Manzanillo , he owned a store. “After the Revolution, all the Jews left. I lost my store, but I decided to stay. I was a math teacher until I retired.” Sifting through the things in his box, he pulls out an old letter. It is from his two sisters, Sara and Miriam, who are in the United States. He shows me the return address and I do a double take—it turns out they live on West Avenue, a block away from where my grandmother once lived in Miami Beach. How strange are the bonds that unite us, I think—not to mention that he’s another Behar. Salvador starts to thank us for our visit, and I realize that he and his wife An Island Called Home [ 214 ] Behar_3P-03.qxd:Behar design 7/30/07 2:28 PM Page 214 [18.206.12.31] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 16:22 GMT) are probably waiting for us to leave to have lunch—he must have stashed the leg of pork in the kitchen when he heard we had come to see him. He gallantly comes to the door to say goodbye and wish us well on the rest of our journey. As I am walking away, he takes hold of my elbow. His grip is still strong. He whispers, “There’s something I have to tell you. That was my third wife you met. My three marriages have been with women who aren’t Jewish. What choice did I have? There isn’t a single Jewish woman my age left here in Manzanillo.” [ 215 ] In the Provinces Behar_3P-03.qxd:Behar design 7/30/07 2:28 PM Page 215 ...