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And then I hang up.
He must be furious. The cell rings again. Eric. I decline the call, and when he insists, I turn it off. I don’t care if he gets mad. As far as I’m concerned, he can bash his head against the wall. I join the conversation and try to forget about my German.
Marta’s friends are lots of fun, and, on leaving the pub, we go get something to eat at a restaurant. Like always, everything is delicious, or, like always, I’m just furiously hungry. When we leave the restaurant, Reinaldo suggests we go to a Cuban place, so we head there.
As soon as we get to the Guantanamera, Reinaldo introduces us to some other Cubans living in Munich.
Marta and I drink a bunch of mojitos. Marta’s so much fun. She’s the complete opposite of her brother when it comes to having a good time. We make a good pair. Anita isn’t too much farther behind. When the marvelous Celia Cruz’s “Quimbara” plays, Reinaldo invites me to dance, and I accept.
Reinaldo dances superbly, and I let him lead. I move my hips. I raise my arms. Step forward. Step back. I turn. Move my shoulders. Azúcarrrrrr!
Time goes by, and I’m in a better and better mood.Viva Cuba!
Around eleven o’clock at night, Marta, a little drained from the pace we’ve been keeping, hands me her cell.
“It’s Eric. I have about a thousand missed calls from him, and he wants to talk to you.”
I sigh and take the cell.
“Yes, my little bore, what do you want?”
“‘My little bore’? Did you just call me a bore?”
“Yes, but if you’d like, I can call you something else,” I say, laughing.
“Why did you turn off your cell?”
“So you wouldn’t bother me. There are times when you’re worse than Carlos Alfonso Halcones de San Juan when he tortures poor Esmeralda Mendoza.”
“Have you been drinking?” he asks, not understanding what I’m talking about.
Well aware that at this moment there are more mojitos than blood in my body, I reply, “Of course, my love!”
“Jude, are you drunk?”
“Noooooo!” I say mockingly. “Come on, Iceman, what do you want?”
“Jude, I want you to tell me where you are so I can come get you.”
“Don’t even think about it. You’ll ruin my good time.”
“For the love of God! You left this morning, and it’s eleven o’clock at night and ...”
“Over and out, handsome.”
I give Marta’s cell back to her and watch her talk to her brother for a few minutes.
“I want you to know my brother has given me two options,” she says as she pulls me away from the group. “The first: I take you home. The second: I get him even madder, and understand that, when we go home, the earth will tremble.”
“Well then, let the earth tremble!” I say, laughing, determined to continue having a good time.
Marta bursts out laughing, and the two of us dance to “Bemba Colorá” as we chant, “Azúcar!”
We get home at dawn, more inebriated than sober.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask her when we get to the black gate.
“Don’t even think about it,” says Marta, laughing. “I’m going home to pack my bags right now and flee the country. Once Eric catches me, he’s going to skin me alive.”