Edge of Eternity (35 page)

‘We’d better get up,’ Dimka said; and he immediately regretted it. Khrushchev would not be awake yet. And even if he was, Dimka did not have to bring this delicious moment to a premature end. He was bewildered, but happy. Why the hell had he suggested getting up?

But she was not ready. ‘In a minute,’ she said.

He was pleased by the thought that she liked lying in his arms.

Then she kissed his neck.

It was the lightest possible touch of her lips on his skin, as if a moth had flown out of the ancient hangings and brushed him with its wings; but he had not imagined it.

She had kissed him.

He stroked her hair.

She tilted her head back and looked at him. Her mouth was slightly open, the full lips a little parted, and she was smiling faintly, as if at a pleasant surprise. Dimka was no expert on women but even he could not mistake the invitation. Still he hesitated to kiss her.

Then she said: ‘Today we’re probably going to be bombed to oblivion.’

So Dimka kissed her.

The kiss heated up in a flash. She bit his lip and pushed her tongue into his mouth. He rolled her on to her back and put his hands up inside her baggy sweater. She unfastened her brassiere with a swift movement. Her breasts were delightfully small and firm, with big pointed nipples that were already hard to his fingertips. When he sucked them she gasped with pleasure.

He tried to take off her jeans, but she had another idea. She pushed him on to his back and feverishly undid his trousers. He was afraid he would come right away – something that happened to a lot of men, according to Nina – but he did not. Natalya pulled his cock out of his underwear. She stroked it with both hands, pressed it to her cheek, and kissed it, then put it in her mouth.

When he felt himself about to explode he tried to withdraw, pushing her head away: this was how Nina preferred it. But Natalya made a protesting noise, then rubbed and sucked harder, so that he lost control and came in her mouth.

After a minute she kissed him. He tasted his semen on her lips. Was that peculiar? It felt simply affectionate.

She pulled off her jeans and underwear, and he realized it was his turn to please her. Fortunately, Nina had tutored him in this.

Natalya’s hair was as curly and plentiful here as on her head. He buried his face, longing to return the delight she had given him. She guided him with her hands on his head, indicating by slight pressure when his kisses should be lighter or heavier, moving her hips up or down to tell him where to concentrate his attention. She was only the second woman he had done this to, and he luxuriated in the taste and the smell of her.

With Nina this was only a preliminary, but in a surprisingly short time Natalya cried out, first pressing his head hard against her then, as if the pleasure were too much, pushing him away.

They lay side by side, catching their breath. This had been a totally new experience for Dimka, and he said reflectively: ‘This whole question of sex is more complicated than I thought.’

To his surprise, this made her laugh heartily.

‘What did I say?’ he said.

She laughed all the more, and all she would say was: ‘Oh, Dimka, I adore you.’

*  *  *

La Isabela was a ghost town, Tania saw. Once a thriving Cuban port, it had been hit hard by Eisenhower’s trade embargo. It was miles from anywhere, and surrounded by salt marshes and mangrove swamps. Scraggy goats roamed the streets. Its harbour hosted a few shabby fishing boats – and the
Aleksandrovsk
, a 5,400-ton Soviet freighter packed to the gunwales with nuclear warheads.

The ship had been headed for Mariel. After President Kennedy announced the blockade, most of the Soviet ships had turned back, but a few that were only hours from landfall had been ordered to make a dash for the nearest Cuban port.

Tania and Paz watched the ship inch up to the concrete dock in a shower of rain. The anti-aircraft guns on deck were concealed beneath coils of rope.

Tania was terrified. She had no idea what was going to happen. All her brother’s efforts had failed to stop the secret getting out before the American midterm elections – and the trouble Dimka might be in as a result was only the least of her worries. Clearly the blockade was no more than an opening shot. Now Kennedy had to appear strong. And with Kennedy being strong, and the Cubans defending their precious
dignidad
, anything could happen, from an American invasion to a worldwide nuclear holocaust.

Tania and Paz had become more intimate. They had told one another about their childhoods and their families and their past lovers. They touched each other frequently. They often laughed. But they held back from romance. Tania was tempted, but she resisted. The idea of having sex with a man just because he was so beautiful seemed wrong. She liked Paz – despite his
dignidad
– but she did not love him. In the past, she had kissed men she did not love, especially while she was at university, but she had not had sex with them. She had gone to bed with only one man, and she had loved him, or at least she had thought she did at the time. But she might sleep with Paz, if only to have someone’s arms around her when the bombs fell.

The largest of the dockside warehouses was burned out. ‘I wonder how that happened,’ Tania said, pointing.

‘The CIA set fire to it,’ said Paz. ‘We get a lot of terrorist attacks here.’

Tania looked around. The quayside buildings were empty and derelict. Most of the homes were one-storey wooden shacks. Rain pooled on the dirt roads. The Americans could blow the whole place up without doing noticeable damage to the Castro regime. ‘Why?’ she said.

Paz shrugged. ‘It’s an easy target, here on the end of the peninsula. They come over from Florida in a speedboat, sneak ashore, blow something up, shoot one or two innocent people, and go back to America.’ In English he added: ‘Fuckin’ cowards.’

Tania wondered if all governments were the same. The Kennedy brothers spoke of freedom and democracy yet they sent armed gangs across the water to terrorize the Cuban people. The Soviet Communists talked of liberating the proletariat while they imprisoned or murdered everyone who disagreed with them, and they sent Vasili to Siberia for protesting. Was there an honest regime anywhere in the world?

‘Let’s go,’ said Tania. ‘It’s a long way back to Havana, and I need to tell Dimka that this ship has arrived safely.’ Moscow had decided that the
Aleksandrovsk
was close enough to reach port, but Dimka was anxious for confirmation.

They got into Paz’s Buick and drove out of town. On either side of the road were tall thickets of sugar cane. Turkey vultures floated above, hunting the fat rats in the fields. In the distance, the high chimney of a sugar mill pointed like a missile at the sky. The flat landscape of central Cuba was cross-hatched with single-track railway lines built to transport cane from the fields to the mills. Where the land was uncultivated it was mostly tropical jungle, flame trees and jacarandas and towering royal palms; or rough scrub grazed by cattle. The slim white egrets that followed the cows were grace-notes on the dun landscape.

Transport in rural Cuba was still mostly horse-drawn, but as they approached Havana the roads became crowded with military trucks and buses taking reservists to their bases. Castro had declared a full-combat alert. The nation was on a war footing. As Paz’s Buick sped by, the men waved and called out: ‘
Patria o muerte!
Motherland or death!
Cuba si, Yanqui no!
’

On the outskirts of the capital she saw that a new poster had appeared overnight and now blanketed every wall. In simple black and white, it showed a hand clutching a machine gun and the words: A L
AS
A
RMAS
– T
O
A
RMS
. Castro really understood propaganda, she reflected; unlike the old men in the Kremlin, whose idea of a slogan was: ‘Implement the resolutions of the twentieth party congress!’

Tania had written and encoded her message earlier, and had only to fill in the exact time that the
Aleksandrovsk
had docked. She took the message into the Soviet Embassy and gave it to the KGB communications officer, whom she knew well.

Dimka would be relieved, but Tania was still fearful. Was it really good news that Cuba had another shipload of nuclear weapons? Might not the Cuban people – and Tania herself – be safer with none?

‘Do you have other duties today?’ Tania asked Paz when she came out.

‘My job is liaison with you.’

‘But in this crisis—’

‘In this crisis, nothing is more important than clear communication with our Soviet allies.’

‘Then let’s walk along the Malecón together.’

They drove to the seafront. Paz parked at the Hotel Nacional. Soldiers were stationing an anti-aircraft gun outside the famous hotel.

Tania and Paz left the car and walked along the promenade. A wind from the north whipped the sea into angry surges that crashed against the stone wall, throwing up explosions of spray that fell on the promenade like rain. This was a popular place to stroll, but today there were more people than usual, and their mood was not leisurely. They clustered in small crowds, sometimes talking but often silent. They were not flirting or telling jokes or showing off their best clothes. Everyone was looking in the same direction, north, towards the United States. They were watching for the
Yanquis.

Tania and Paz watched with them for a while. She felt in her heart that the invasion had to happen. Destroyers would come slicing through the waves; submarines would surface a few yards away; and the grey planes with the blue-and-white stars would appear out of the clouds, loaded with bombs to drop on the Cuban people and their Soviet friends.

At last Tania took Paz’s hand in her own. He squeezed gently. She looked up into his deep brown eyes. ‘I think we’re going to die,’ she said calmly.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Do you want to go to bed with me first?’

‘Yes,’ he said again.

‘Shall we go to my apartment?’

‘Yes.’

They returned to the car and drove to a narrow street in the old town, near the cathedral, where Tania had upstairs rooms in a colonial building.

Tania’s first and only lover had been Petr Iloyan, a lecturer at her university. He had worshipped her young body, gazing at her breasts and touching her skin and kissing her hair as if he had never come across anything so marvellous. Paz was the same age as Petr but, Tania quickly realized, making love with him was going to be different. It was
his
body that was the centre of attention. He took his clothes off slowly, as if teasing her, then stood naked in front of her, giving her time to take in his perfect skin and the curves of his muscles. Tania was happy to sit on the edge of the bed and admire him. The display seemed to excite him, for his penis was already fat with arousal and half erect, and Tania could hardly wait to get her hands on it.

Petr had been a slow, gentle lover. He had been able to work Tania up into a fever of anticipation, then hold back tantalizingly. He would change positions several times, rolling her on top, then kneeling behind her, then getting her to straddle him. Paz was not rough but he was vigorous, and Tania gave herself up to excitement and pleasure.

Afterwards, Tania made eggs and coffee. Paz turned on the TV and they watched Castro’s speech while they ate.

Castro sat in front of a Cuban national flag, its bold blue and white stripes appearing black and white in the monochrome television picture. As always, he wore battledress drab, the only sign of rank a single star on the epaulette: Tania had never seen him in a civilian suit, nor in the kind of pompous medal-encrusted uniform beloved of Communist leaders elsewhere.

Tania felt a rush of optimism. Castro was no fool. He knew he could not defeat the United States in a war, even with the Soviet Union on his side. Surely he would come up with some dramatic gesture of reconciliation, some initiative that would transform the situation and defuse the time bomb.

His voice was high and reedy, but he spoke with overwhelming passion. The bushy beard gave him the air of a messiah crying in the wilderness, even though he was obviously in a studio. His black eyebrows moved expressively in a high forehead. He gestured with his big hands, sometimes raising a schoolmasterly forefinger to forbid dissent, often clenching a fist. At times he grasped the arms of his chair as if to prevent himself taking off like a rocket. He appeared to have no script; not even any notes. His expression showed indignation, pride, scorn, rage – but never doubt. Castro lived in a universe of certainty.

Point by point, Castro attacked Kennedy’s television speech, which had been broadcast on live radio beamed at Cuba. He scorned Kennedy’s appeal to the ‘captive people of Cuba’. ‘We are not sovereign by the grace of the
Yanquis
,’ he said contemptuously.

But he said nothing about the Soviet Union and nothing about nuclear weapons.

The speech lasted ninety minutes. It was a performance of Churchillian magnetism: brave little Cuba would defy big bullying America and would never give in. It must have boosted the morale of the Cuban people. But, otherwise, it changed nothing. Tania was bitterly disappointed and even more scared. Castro had not even tried to prevent war.

At the end he cried: ‘Motherland or death, we will win!’ Then he jumped out of the chair and rushed out as if he had not a minute to lose on his way to save Cuba.

Tania looked at Paz. His eyes were glistening with tears.

She kissed him, then they made love again, on the couch in front of the flickering screen. This time it was slower and more satisfying. She treated him the way Petr had treated her. It was not difficult to adore his body, and he undoubtedly liked adoration. She squeezed his arms and kissed his nipples and pushed her fingers into his curls. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ she murmured as she sucked his earlobe.

Afterwards, as they lay sharing a cigar, they heard noises from outside. Tania opened the door leading to the balcony. The city had been quiet while Castro was on television, but now people were coming out on to the narrow streets. Night had fallen, and some were carrying candles and torches. Tania’s journalistic instincts returned. ‘I have to go out there,’ she said to Paz. ‘This is a big story.’