In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

145 • paradise lost Not a week had passed before Ana came to my house in a frantic state. “They’ve killed all the cats!” she screamed in horror. She told me that jovenes rebeldes (revolutionary youths) had relieved los milicianos from their posts at the Finca. Los milicianos had guarded and maintained the house well, but the jovenes rebeldes were different. They were uneducated young men who only recently had been given authority and power. They had police dogs with them and went to the tower, and there the dogs killed the cats. I was furious and wanted to go to the Finca and confront them. But there was nothing I could do. After leaving the Finca, I was forbidden from entering the grounds. I told her to speak to Roberto Herrera in Havana. A couple of days later she came back even more depressed. I could tell she had been crying for days. Roberto had told her “el muerto al hoyo y el vivo al poyo”—the dead to the hole and the living to the fowl. It loses the flavor in the translation, but what he told her was that he simply didn’t give a shit. A few days later, with the excuse of visiting my adopted brother, David, I walked past the Finca on my way to his house. David told me more jovenes rebeldes had arrived and were all over the house. They had brought heavy artillery and were taking target practice on the trees. I hated them all without personally knowing any one of them. Three months after leaving the Finca, Pichilo and Pedrito found employment. However, the position that had been promised to me in the Hatuey beer brewery never materialized. I went for over three 146 rené villarreal and raúl villarreal months without a job. Money was not a problem, since I had the money Papa had left me. Finally, in December, I found employment in El Cotorro at a steel mill, La Antillana de Acero. My brother Luis left his job with the water company and started to work with me in the processing line. It was hard work, but we soon got used to it. Late in 1962, Fidel Castro visited the Finca Vigía once more, this time accompanied by the captain of the African Paylor, a ship that carried medicine and supplies in exchange for prisoners from the failed Bay of Pigs invasion. The captain was a big fan of Hemingway’s work and wished to visit the Finca Vigía. Earlier that day, on a visit to David , I had seen several vehicles and more guards than usual by the gate of the Finca. I wondered what all the commotion was about. Not long into our visit, there was a knock on the door. An alarmed David returned and told me there were two armed milicianos asking for me. I had a clear conscience and had nothing to worry about. Calmly, I went to find out what they wanted. Los milicianos ordered me to accompany them into the jeep. I expected a long ride somewhere to a military station, but instead the jeep drove around the corner and stopped in front of the Finca’s gate. Once inside the property, the jeep turned up the incline road. I could see Fidel Castro and another man waiting by the steps of the house. As soon as I got out of the jeep, Castro shook my hand and introduced me to the captain of the African Paylor. “You didn’t want to stay. You left and look what they have done.” Castro was upset. He remembered how the house looked the first time he visited, but the jovenes rebeldes had fired their guns inside the house and there were bullet holes in the walls. There were also several trees riddled with more holes. And the dogs had torn the Philippine matting in the living room. Castro then asked me to show the captain the most important aspects of the house. After the tour, Castro was even more upset at the state of the house. He asked me to return to the Finca as director and administrator. He wanted me to restore it to the way it was. “Make-believe Hemingway is still alive,” he said. “You’ll have final word on everything. Come back tomorrow.” He said that first thing tomorrow morning there would be personnel waiting for me at the Finca to begin the restoration process. He...

Share