CURSE THE MOON (23 page)

Bob lounged on a barstool when Atcho arrived in mid-afternoon the next day, and had already struck up banter with the bartender. “Hey Atcho!” he called, “C’mon over here and meet my buddy, Aengus. I promised to introduce you if I could ever get you down here.”

Aengus extended a massive hand. He towered above Atcho, and was even a few inches taller than Bob. His dark hair was short, oily and disheveled, and he showed a day’s worth of whiskers over a block jaw. “So pleased to meet you, sir,” he enthused. “Your son-in-law has told me so much about you. This is such an honor. Won’t you please accept a pitcher of ale on the house?” Animated and lively, he rolled his rs as he spoke.

Atcho felt slightly embarrassed, but took the praise in stride, and simply said, “Thank you.” They chatted for a few minutes, and then Bob asked for a table in the far corner.

“Not a problem, Bob,” Aengus said. “I’ll bring over somethin’ to wet the whistle and some pub grub, and keep the other customers away.” He grinned and winked at Atcho. “I know the two o’ you must be ginnin’ up somethin’!”

Bob and Atcho moved over to the table. “Why do I feel like I’m being taken to the woodshed?” Atcho asked with a slight wry smile as he took his seat.

“Not at all,” Bob laughed. “OK, so I asked you here because of what happened the other night. I don’t think that’s going to cause the Berlin Wall to come down.”

Atcho smiled sheepishly. “You’re right. So, what do we hope to accomplish?” Just then, Aengus brought over a pitcher of Smithwick’s Ale, two frosted mugs, and a platter of corned beef and cabbage. “This is the best ale from the Ol’ Country. I know other people talk about that other ale, but for my money … ” He gestured, indicating no equal.

Sergeant Schultz, Atcho thought. He’s a dead ringer for Sergeant Shultz of Hogan’s Heroes!

“And this corned-beef … ah,” Aengus continued. He rolled his eyes towards the top of his head in mental bliss. Looking back down, he caught Bob’s eye. “Oh yes,” he said as though recovering himself, and then lowered his voice, “I’ll leave you alone to talk.”

Bob laughed as Aengus walked away. “Sergeant Schultz,” he said.

Atcho chuckled. “I just had the same thought!” He poured ale into the two mugs, and took a long swallow. The cool beverage felt great going down his throat, and then he felt the spread of that peaceful feeling. He held the mug in both hands at eye level while he leaned on both elbows, and appeared to contemplate the dark liquid. Then he looked at Bob. “So, what are we going to discuss?”

“Don’t look so serious,” Bob said. “This isn’t an inquisition. I have far too much respect for you for that.” He grinned broadly at Atcho. “Now, I’m not gonna say that I like you, and if anybody ever tells you that I do, you’ll know it’s a flat-out lie!” He reached across the table and clapped Atcho on the shoulder. “Seriously, you know how proud I am to be your son-in-law.”

“You’ve done fine till now,” Atcho said with a slight smile. “Don’t start getting sappy on me.”

“All right, all right, fair enough!” Bob took a deep gulp of ale. “Look,” he said, getting serious, “we have a strong mutual interest.” Atcho nodded in agreement. “I’m gonna get sappy for a moment,” Bob continued, “but only for a moment.” He shifted in his seat, and Atcho perceived that he was uncomfortable expressing whatever he was about to say.

“I love your daughter very much,” Bob said, “and I have the highest regard for you.” He grinned slightly. “I’ll even admit to a little affection.”

Atcho smiled, “That’s good, but go on about my daughter.”

“Yeah, your daughter. Isabel.” He looked like he was searching for words. “Help me out, Atcho. I want to understand you so that I can help Isabel. Frankly, it hurts to see my wife and her father so estranged, and they are both wonderful people.”

Atcho felt the blood drain slowly from his face and the gnawing at his stomach that had become so familiar over the years. “What would you like to know?” he asked quietly.

Bob contemplated him a few moments. “I understand why you fought for Cuba, and I’m fine with that. I’m a soldier.”

“You’re a captain, soon to make major,” Atcho interposed.

Bob waved away the comment. “What I don’t understand is, why did you assume another identity and stay hidden all that time? You could have left Cuba years ago. Your classmates would have helped. They thought you were dead!”

Atcho sat in silence, and sipped his ale.

“Look Atcho, I’m not here to make your life more difficult. I really want Isabel to be happy. She had a rough time, too. I’m not saying her resentment is justified – but these are the same questions she’s asking. If I could understand, maybe I could help her understand.”

Atcho continued his silence. His emotional warnings were blaring. Bob looked frustrated. “Is there anything you can tell me?”

Atcho tried to deflect. “I hardly know where to start,” he said. “So much happened to so many people.”

“All right, then let me ask some questions. I’ve spoken with many of the former political prisoners, Atcho, many who remember you. The stories about you really are legendary.” He paused, and Atcho looked away. “I’ve read reports that included mention of ‘Atcho’ and ‘Eduardo Xiques’ … ” He stopped as he saw Atcho react.

“You checked me out?” Atcho asked with a tinge of anger.

Bob drew back. “Atcho,” he said. “I’m an army officer. I have access to information. Yes, I read reports about what took place in Cuba during the invasion. I was a cadet when I met Isabel. She thought you dead, and I had no reason to think otherwise. I was curious about a West Point graduate in action during the Cuban revolution. Don’t you think that’s a normal curiosity?”

Atcho nodded tiredly. “Yes, I suppose it is. Go on.”

“I was about to say that those reports mentioned you both as Atcho and as Eduardo, but the two were not linked as the same person, and only Atcho was in action. Then, at the Bay of Pigs, you just disappeared.” Atcho’s mind headed towards darkness, but he steered it away. “Then, nineteen years later,” Bob went on, “you resurfaced. I know you were in prison, because your fellow prisoners remember you well, and some knew you were Atcho. The question is, why? Why didn’t you let anyone know that you, Eduardo Xiquez, were there?”

Atcho felt rising anger again. “Why is that important to you? And apparently, you have asked other refugees about me. Were you checking on me? What do you think? That I am a spy?”

Bob drew back. He scrutinized Atcho a moment, and then leaned forward. “Atcho, I’m your friend, not your enemy. Because my wife is Cuban, we mix with a lot of Cubans, many of whom are refugees. They tell their stories, and generally they love life! They party! They dance to salsa and merengue. You don’t.”

Atcho looked at him morosely, and had the strange feeling of being a cornered animal. “I don’t know what to say. I lost my family, our farm … ”

Bob shook his head, “Don’t go there, Atcho. You are too well known for bravery. You’re deflecting. Lots of those refugees lost as much. They’ve moved on. In actuality, you’ve had financial success beyond most of them, despite the fact that they’ve done very well. But you still carry a sense of being anchored in the past, and until we can get over whatever it is, I don’t think things will change with Isabel.”

Atcho was quiet a moment, and then shifted in his chair as if to stand up. “Maybe you’re right,” he whispered, “and maybe I should leave.”

“Please don’t,” Bob said quickly but firmly, and reached across to put a restraining hand over Atcho’s. Atcho stared at it, and Bob removed it. “Sorry,” he said. “Please don’t leave.” He leaned forward and looked Atcho directly in the eye. “I love my wife. I love her father. I want to see them both happy.” He lowered his voice and enunciated his words. “I will do anything to protect Isabel, and take anybody apart limb by limb that makes her unhappy.”

“Meaning what?” Atcho snapped.

“Meaning that something is going on that you won’t talk about, and it’s affecting the lives of two people whom I care about deeply.” His voice had risen, and he stopped as if just realizing that, and looked around. Then he looked back at Atcho. “If you won’t tell me anything,” he said, “I can’t help you. But let me tell you this. If anything comes around that could harm Isabel, I won’t leave anything lying around but blood ’n’ guts.”

Atcho had to smile. “I know that,” he whispered. “And that’s why I love you, and am so proud and happy that Isabel married you.” His spontaneity surprised even himself, and he felt embarrassed by the emotion that threatened to dump moisture from his eyes. He felt his throat constrict and his mouth twitch involuntarily, and he hoped that Bob did not notice.

Just then, Aengus came over. “How’s the ale?” he asked.

“The best!” Atcho quipped awkwardly, welcoming the release of tension, and holding up his mug. Aengus beamed, and then eyed the untouched pub grub.

“You didn’t like the corned beef?” he asked.

“You know I love it,” Bob said. “Bring some more, but warmed up.” Aengus picked up the plate and looked at it. He seemed unable to comprehend how it could have been left uneaten. He looked back at Bob.

“I will have to charge you.”

Bob laughed. “Yeah, of course,” he said, “I’ll pay for all of it, including that pitcher of ale.”

“No, sir! I could not allow that.” Aengus looked indignant. “The first pitcher is on the house.”

“Fair enough,” Bob laughed, and Aengus went back to the bar.

Atcho looked around. More patrons had entered, and the place was filling up. But, true to his word, Atcho saw that Aengus had left vacant the seating area in their immediate vicinity. His mug was nearly empty, and so was Bob’s, so he filled them both.

Atcho leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs, and Bob followed suit. They sat in silence a few minutes. Aengus brought the fresh plate of corned beef and cabbage, and refilled the pitcher. When he had gone, Bob asked, “Do you mind if I ask about your time in prison?” He saw Atcho tense with apprehension, and held up both hands, palms forward. “No pressure here, just curious. There are so many stories floating around about you, it’s hard to separate fact from fiction.” He saw that Atcho was still hesitant. “You’re my father-in-law,” Bob said, “I’d just like to know about you from you.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’ll help.”

“I’m sorry,” Atcho replied. “What would you like to know?”

“The tank hijacking in the swamp, did that really happen?” Atcho nodded, and Bob shook his head in amazement. “Wow! And did you really punch out a guard your first night on the Isle of Pines?” Atcho nodded again. “Criminy! You were a regular hell on wheels!” He leaned his chair back and sprawled his legs in front of him. “And the thing about the escape attempt. Did that happen?”

Atcho nodded again. “You saw how successful that was,” he said wryly.

“Are you kidding me?” Bob’s eyes widened, and his normal broad grin crossed his face. “I know the guy that actually made it out of there, and he says that there is no way he could have done it without you.”

“You know him?”

“Well, I’ve met him. Bernardo Martin, right?” Atcho nodded. “We met him in Miami while we waited for you to arrive. He wanted to see you, but I guess in the rush of things, it slipped. He was meeting family members, too, so … ” He held up his palms and shrugged. “I guess it just didn’t happen. We tried to get him here for the reception, but he had another engagement.” Bob looked sheepish. “I should have told you. Anyway, I spoke with him for quite a while before your plane arrived, and he was emphatic that without your experience and training, none of the prisoners would have had a chance. People don’t widely know this, but his reports of conditions there played a large part in raising awareness, and brought pressure to close that dungeon.” He leaned forward and allowed the front of his chair to fall to the floor with a slam. “You see, Atcho, you succeeded!”

Atcho looked startled. “A friend of mine in prison said the same thing. His name is Domingo.” Atcho felt bewildered. He looked around. Other customers were looking at them, apparently reacting to Bob’s enthusiasm.

“Yes, Domingo. I met him at the reception. He told me the same thing!” Bob reflected a moment. “Is that it? Have you been beating yourself up all these years because you thought you’d failed?”

Atcho was startled. He stared at Bob a moment. That doesn’t answer why I hid my identity, he thought, but it might be a good excuse for why I keep to myself. He stared a while longer, and then nodded without saying a word.

30

Bob looked genuinely relieved. “Aw, geez, guy! That’s what you’ve been carrying around all these years! You think it’s your fault because the others didn’t make it out!”

“And some died,” Atcho said quietly. He thought of Jujo.

“Atcho, you can’t put that all on yourself.” Atcho was silent. He kept his head down and sipped his ale. Bob watched him.

“Look,” he said, “I think I can make things better with Isabel. There’s so much I’d like to ask, but I guess that can come with time.” He took a large gulp of ale. “Do you mind if I ask you about your time in prison?”

“Prison? Which prison? There were three of them. What do you want to know?”

“Anything you feel free to tell me, about any prison where you were.” Atcho remained silent, sipping his drink. Finally, Bob said, “Tell me about the box.”

“The box,” Atcho said softly, “La caja.” He felt his muscles tighten, and heard his own voice as though from far away.

“I’ve heard of the box, Atcho, but I’ve never heard a first-hand account.”

“What is your purpose, Bob? You were in Grenada. Do you like talking about your combat engagements?”

Bob thought a moment. “Fair enough, but I’m not just your son-in-law. I’m also a military officer trying to understand things.” Atcho looked up at him sharply. Bob grinned facetiously. “Okay,” Bob said, “you caught me on both sides of an argument. I won’t lie to you, Atcho. I think talking about it might help, and also, I’m curious.”

Atcho sipped his drink quietly. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you about la caja. You probably know I was in one for extended time after the attempted escape.”

Bob nodded. “So I’ve heard. Domingo told me just a little bit at the reception.”