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Part I
- The University of Alabama Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
I [3.91.203.238] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 12:30 GMT) i “this is your room,” the military commander of artemisa said to me with a hint of irony in his tone of voice. i stepped forward and entered the provisional jail, a wretched room situated in the yard behind a place that served meals, an inn, as they grandiosely call those taverns in Cuba. they must have arranged for me to be confined in a place apart from the jail before they arrested me because there was a pile of useless items stacked before the door: old trunks, rickety tables, broken dishware. the room’s earthen floor still bore the marks of a recent thorough sweeping with stout brooms, and gray webs fashioned by patient spiders in the months or even years during which the dwelling was uninhabited hung from the ceiling. i was still contemplating the narrow space they had given me as my compulsory accommodations when i heard the rhythmic tapping of boots made by marching troops followed by the sonorous voice of the officer in charge: “halt!” and then immediately after, a vibrant “haaaaalt . . . !” that put an end to the marching.1 Moved by curiosity, i went to the door. nearby, eight soldiers and a corporal stood at attention. the military commander drew aside the officer in charge of the detachment and, judging by his gestures, i understood that he was giving orders to his subordinate, who bent his head with that compliant deference every subaltern assumes when speaking to a superior officer. the corporal saluted the commander, stepped back two paces, and called out the guard. followed by the first soldier, he came to the door and, speaking in a very low voice so that i could not understand him, he passed on the orders he had received to the sentinel. Because of the distrustful, curious glances directed at me in turn by the soldier and the corporal, i suspected that something serious was afoot. Once the guard was in place, the soldiers proceeded in orderly fashion to another room not far from mine. the superior officer withdrew after advising them in a loud voice to watch me closely. they hadn’t left anything in the room that would allow me to rest: there was no bed, table, or chair. although i was extremely tired, i paced back and forth in the small room, never thinking to consider the unfortunate situation in which i found myself. in the face of irreparable misfortunes, my melancholy soul has always fallen into a state of vague dreaminess. i walked around the room abstracted, like an automaton, without connecting one idea to another. My wandering gaze slid in- 20 / part i differently along the old dirty walls, down to the holes rats had gnawed open at their base, or rested incuriously on the wretched roof of rotted cane and dried palm fronds through which i could see the pure blue sky. When i stopped my monotonous pacing for a moment, only trivial thoughts occurred to me, interrupted by involuntary shudders, secret hints of future calamities. the corporal came in, followed by a soldier. “if you need anything, this man will provide it for you.” it was three in the afternoon and i hadn’t eaten since the night before, but my body only craved rest. Each soldier had his own hammock. since it was necessary for someone to watch me at all times, they gave me the hammock that was not being used. it was ripped, stained with the red soil of the Cuban countryside. perhaps blood spilled in an act of bravery accounted for some of the stains. i tied the ends of the cords to big nails driven into the walls and lay down exhausted in that moveable bed of the tropics. hammocks predispose you to a dreamy state with their measured rocking back and forth, submerging the senses in a placid drowsiness. soft sensations like the caresses of invisible fingers move over the skin and disappear into the intimate places of one’s being; ideas emerge unformed like larvae, reminiscences become confused, and images float by without clear outlines, like the clouds of mist that sway formlessly in the twilight sky. Everything is vague, tenuous, and engagingly capricious in that condition of happy unconsciousness. i don’t know how long i remained in a state of beatific abstraction. When i regained the use of my faculties, i saw that it was light in my...