Mona and Other Tales Read Free Page A

top floor of the residence. As he listened to the music, Alfredo placed his hand against the outside wall of the house, and the stillness of the night conspired with the garden and the thickness of the wall to give him a sense of security, of peace almost, that he had not experienced for many years, too many years. . . . Alfredo would have preferred to remain there, outside the house, alone with his characters, listening to the music from far away. But, always keeping in mind the solid publishing project that would perhaps one day allow him to own a mansion like this one and that could also mean the future salvation of Olga, Daniel, Delfín, Berta, and Nicolás, he rang the doorbell.
    Before one of the maids (hired specially for the reception) could open the door, an enormous Saint Bernard belonging to the Pérez Campos lunged toward him and began licking his face. This display of familiarity from the huge dog (which answered to the name of Narcisa) encouraged similar shows of affection from the other dogs, six Chihuahuas who welcomed Alfredo with a chorus of piercing barks. Fortunately, Gladys herself came to the rescue of her guest of honor.
    Fashionably attired—although rather inappropriately for the climate—in an ankle-length skirt, boa, gloves, and a large hat, the hostess took Alfredo’s arm and led him to the most select circle of guests, those who would also be most interested in the publishing venture. Gladys, at once solemn and festive, introduced him to the president of one of the city’s most important banks (in his imagination Alfredo saw Berta making a face in disgust); to the executive vice president of the
Florida Herald,
the most influential newspaper in Miami (“A horrible, anti-Cuban paper,” he heard Nicolás’s voice saying from a distance); to the governor’s personal assistant; and to an award-winning lady poet (“A couple of serious bitches,” Delfín’s sarcastic voice piped in loud and clear). The introductions continued: a distinguished minister who was a famous theology professor as well as the leader of the so-called Reunification of Cuban Families. (“What are you doing with these awful people?” Daniel shouted desperately from far away, causing Alfredo to trip just as he reached out for a famous opera singer’s hand, and fall instead directly into the diva’s ample bosom.) Gladys continued with her introductions as if nothing had happened: a famous woman pianist, two guitarists, several professors, and finally (here Gladys assumed a regal bearing), the Countess of Villalta. Born in the province of Pinar del Río, she was an elderly woman, no longer in possession of lands and villas, but still holding fast to her splendid title of nobility.
    As he was on the point of bowing discreetly before the countess, Alfredo sensed that the characters of his budding opus were again urgently demanding his attention. And so, as he kissed the lady’s hand, he decided to search for the pen and paper that he always carried in his pocket, in the hope of being able to jot down a few notes. But the countess misconstrued his intentions.
    â€œI sincerely appreciate your giving me your address,” said the lady, “but, as I am sure you will understand, this is just not the right moment. I do promise to send you my card.”
    And with that, the countess turned to the award-winning poetess, who had witnessed the scene and, apparently trying to help Alfredo, offered a suggestion: “Now that you’ve almost finished writing your address, why don’t you give it to me? I do want to send you my latest book.”
    And instead of taking notes as his characters demanded (by now Olga was moaning and Berta screaming), Alfredo had no choice but to write his address on the piece of paper.
    Trays brimming with assorted cheeses, hors d’oeuvres, pastries, and drinks were being passed around. Trays that, amid new greetings and