CURSE THE MOON (22 page)

Burly nodded sadly. “I’m sorry, Atcho. I feel I personally helped mislead your people.”

Atcho grasped Burly’s shoulder affectionately. “If others in the CIA had cared as much as you, resources and planning might have been better, or the whole thing might have been called off earlier. My understanding is that one top man decided to go through with the operation, lawful authority be damned. He even had instructions issued to 2506 Brigade leaders in Guatemala to arrest their American trainers if a presidential order were received to cancel the invasion.”

“That’s true,” Burly agreed. “But many operating in the field didn’t know the controversy existed. So far as we knew, the operation would be executed as planned.”

“And the planning wasn’t very good,” Atcho said. “The other related tragedy was Kennedy’s agreement with Khrushchev a year later. After the Cuban missile crisis, Khrushchev pledged to pull missiles out of Cuba if the U.S. promised to stop supporting anti-Castro rebels. The United States became the de facto guarantor of Castro’s power.” He sighed. “Between you and me, I think Kennedy blinked.” They let the statements set. The weight of Cuba’s fate rested heavily on Atcho for a moment. He was glad Burly didn’t know every detail of the last few years.

The two quietly observed the guests for a moment, and then Atcho continued. “Burly, I thought of you often over the years. I have only respect for you. Thanks for trying.” They shook hands and chatted awhile longer. After exchanging business cards, they parted to mingle.

Rafael introduced his wife to Atcho. “I wish I had known you were interested in real estate,” he said. “I would have asked you to join my business in Miami!”

“I didn’t actually go into real estate,” Atcho answered. “The business found me. A classmate offered a job here in Washington. Then I was able to buy another company.”

“Well, your reputation is tremendous. From what I hear, you own or manage some prime pieces of property around the city.”

“I’ve been lucky,” Atcho put on his most sincere smile and hoped the irony in his voice was not obvious. What would you think of me if you knew who financed my business?

“Maybe we can joint venture a project sometime,” Rafael said. “I feel as though we are destined to do something together.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Atcho said. “Stay in touch. If I hear of something, I’ll let you know. You do the same.” They exchanged business cards.

Atcho looked around for Isabel. She was dancing with Bob and he thought how wonderful they looked together. Their affection for each other cast a magical aura. What a beautiful picture, Atcho thought nostalgically, thinking of romantic evenings he had spent with Isabel’s mother.

“Mr. Xiques, it is so nice to see you again.” Atcho’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized Sofia’s voice.

“Thank you for coming,” he replied, unable to think of anything else to say. He stared, taking in her lustrous hair and smooth skin. Then, he caught himself. “Would you like to dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

As they moved onto the floor, Atcho was entranced. Sofia wore an elegant black gown that shimmered in the soft light, silhouetting her lovely figure. They danced many times, and Atcho began to feel lighthearted in a way he had not known for many years. He wished the evening could go on and on.

Feeling someone staring at him, he turned in time to meet Isabel’s eyes. She was standing by the bar again, holding a fresh drink, and looked away quickly. Bob was out of sight. “Sofia, have you ever met my daughter, Isabel?”

“No, but I’d love to. She must be very special to have such a dedicated father.” They moved through the crowd.

Isabel saw them coming and set her glass down. Her mouth formed a perfunctory smile.

“Isabel. I’d like you to meet Sofia. She helped find you while I was in the Swiss Embassy in Havana.”

Sofia smiled warmly. “Your father was very anxious to locate you.” She extended her hand.

Isabel took it dutifully. “Thank you for your help.” She leaned on the bar and grasped her drink. “What do you think of our hero?” Sarcasm tinged her voice.

Sofia glanced uneasily from Isabel to Atcho. “I think he’s someone to be very proud of,” she said quietly.

Isabel snickered. “Maybe you’re right. Would you excuse me? I need fresh air.” Startled, Atcho watched her go. Then he faced Sofia.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She looked at him questioningly. “Is there a problem?”

Atcho sighed. “She’s angry with me, but I don’t know why. She’s been aloof since she returned from Germany four years ago, but she’s never been deliberately rude before. Would you mind if I went to talk with her?”

“Of course not. I know how you feel about your daughter.”

Atcho pushed after Isabel, slowed by people who wished to speak to him. When he reached the edge of the crowd, Isabel was nowhere to be seen.

Along a wall lined by full-length windows, a door stood open and a breeze ruffled the drapes. Atcho walked over and looked outside. Isabel stood on the other end of a terrace, her back to the door. The full moon looked down, expressionless.

Atcho crossed the terrace quietly. When he was near Isabel, he heard her crying softly. “Isabel, what is it?” he asked, embracing her.

“Don’t!” Isabel gasped through sobs. She pulled away brusquely.

Stung by abrupt rejection, Atcho stood rooted to the terrace floor. “Did I do something to upset you?” Isabel made no reply. “Please, Isabel. If I have done something, tell me. I love you! There is no one in this world who means so much to me.”

“Oh, really!” Isabel whirled on him, her face contorted in rage. “Is that why you stayed in Cuba while I was sent over here?”

In shock, Atcho took a step backward. “I had to … ”

“I know. You had to stay and fight for the country!” Isabel was sarcastic. “Well, you lost! Meanwhile, all those who didn’t stay brought their families out and lived normal lives. Their children had fathers to love and care for them!” She paused to catch her breath. “Even 2506 Brigade members came out after fighting for their country.” She spoke in uncontrolled gasps. “Do you know what I had?” Fury broke across her face. “An aunt who loved me, but was dominated by an uncle who loathed me. He blamed me for every difficulty they ever had, and never let me forget that I was not his daughter.” There was agony in her voice. “I used to cry myself to sleep thinking that if I had a daddy, he would love me and hug me and make all bad things go away.”

Atcho moved close to Isabel. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“I used to have nightmares about a man lying in the dirt with blood all over him. He was staring at me, and he had a knife in his hand. I always thought he was trying to kill me. Years later, my aunt told me that you were that man! That was my first and only memory of you, until I saw you in the Miami airport.”

She pulled a handkerchief from her purse while Atcho stood in glum silence. “Neighbors referred to me as ‘poor Isabel.’ And kids called me an orphan. My uncle always told me I was lucky to be with him and Aunt Raissa.” Her voice was steadier, but still marked by fierce anger. “I knew that a good education was my only hope for a better life, so I worked hard in school. But, kids who didn’t like Cuban refugees taunted me. Somehow I earned a scholarship to Mt. Saint Mary’s. But even then, I had to take out student loans and work to pay tuition. Someone had set up a trust fund for me, but it wasn’t enough.” She paused to wipe away tears with a handkerchief.

“My Aunt Raissa was the one person in this world who loved me. I wanted to die when she was killed.” She sobbed softly. “Fortunately, I met Bob about six months later. He made life worthwhile again, and even helped pay tuition in my senior year. There was just nowhere else to turn for money.” She calmed down and stared into the darkness.

“Isabel, why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“Why didn’t you ever ask? I inquired all about what happened in Cuba.” Her tone was laced with bitterness. “And you gave me elusive answers. You’re hiding something.” She faced him. “Either that, or you’re a coward, worried about saving your own skin!” Atcho reeled under the onslaught.

Isabel whirled angrily. “I still don’t understand why you kept your identity hidden all those years.” Tears ran down her cheeks and her voice took on new fury. “Why were you fighting at the Bay of Pigs while I was still in the hands of kidnappers?” Eyes aflame with accusation, she faced her father. “I’ve accepted your explanations all these years. I even refrained from telling you about the baby we lost in Germany because I didn’t want to add to your pain.”

Atcho’s head jerked up. “You lost a baby?” he whispered.

“Yes. And I might never be able to have another one. I had a late miscarriage. We didn’t tell you because you couldn’t come to Germany anyway.” She paused again, breathing hard, and wiped the tears from her face. “Tonight,” she continued, her voice acquiring a hard edge, “I listened to the president and all those other people talk about what a great hero you are. Well, Hero, are you ever going to be around for your family?”

Numbly, Atcho stared into the night. Behind them, Bob called through the door, “I found you two! Is everything all right?” He advanced across the terrace.

Eyes furious, Isabel glared at Atcho. “I was happier thinking you were dead!” she whispered, and ran past Bob into the ballroom. Atcho watched her go, then turned back toward the rail.

Behind him, Bob approached. “I’m sorry, Atcho. I saw this coming. I should have warned you.” He grasped Atcho’s shoulder. “We’ve had a lot of discussion on this subject, and our opinions differ. I hope she doesn’t resent my combat in Grenada. Doesn’t seem to. And if you’d won in Cuba, she might see things differently.” He waited, but receiving no reply, continued. “She’s a wonderful woman, Atcho, but she hurts deeply. I hope her pain passes in time. Meanwhile, you’re always welcome in our home.”

“Thanks,” Atcho managed through trembling lips.

“Are you ready to leave?” Bob asked.

Atcho shook his head. “No, I’ll find my own way home.”

Bob nodded. “I’d better find Isabel. I’m sorry your evening was spoiled.”

Atcho heard Bob’s footsteps trail away. Every emotion he had ever felt churned through him. Rage, hatred, sorrow, and all their mutations moved in counterpoint against an overwhelming sense of failure.

Standing alone in the ring of cold moonlight, his shadow cast a dark specter across the white marble floor. As strains of music floated through crisp, night air, he stared into blackness. For the last four years, Isabel’s aloofness had separated them. Although saddened by the situation, Atcho accepted it as necessary in order to protect her life. But I never saw this coming! He ached to think of her as a child, crying herself to sleep, and he felt the loneliness and despair she must have known when Raissa had died. Thinking of his sister, he cursed his dead brother-in-law for adding to Isabel’s misery.

His affection for Bob felt profound, recognizing the immense worth he had added back into Isabel’s life. And he grieved for the loss of his grandchild. Isabel’s words rang through his mind: When are you ever going to be around to do something for your family? Suddenly, he felt very old.

He stared at the bright impassive moon. “You’ve been present for every scene,” he said, addressing the golden orb. “What do you think? Could I have done things differently? Does it matter now?” He shrugged. “I’ll finish this fight, and then see if life is worth living.”

28

Atcho heard a light footstep behind him, and then felt a warm hand touch his arm. His chest constricted, but he remained outwardly impassive.

“Atcho, are you all right?” Sofia regarded him with the same compassion he had seen in Havana.

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

Sofia moved to the rail and looked up at the stars. “I didn’t intrude deliberately,” she said. “I came out for fresh air. I heard you arguing and went to find your son-in-law.”

Atcho hung his head. “Some hero, huh?”

Sofia did not immediately reply. She searched his eyes as if trying to see behind a veil. “Were you more disappointed when Isabel hung up on you in Havana?”

As the rush of tragic memories collided in his mind, Atcho turned away. “Please, I’d rather not talk about it,” he rasped.

“I’m sorry.” Sofia’s tone was gentle. “I don’t mean to meddle. I’ve seen you suffer twice now. You could use a friend.” His emotions churned.

Several minutes passed in silence before Sofia spoke again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to add to your discomfort. I’ll go back inside.”

As her footsteps receded, Atcho called after her. “Wait!” Sofia halted and faced him. “Thank you. Again.” She nodded and turned toward the ballroom.

“Sofia!” His heart pounded at the realization that she grew more beautiful each time he saw her. Moonlight glimmered in her shimmering hair and softened her finely sculpted features. Her eyes sparkled like stars, and, silhouetted against the marble backdrop of the hotel she seemed a living, breathing Venus.

“I’m sorry,” Atcho said at last. “You’ve been very kind. Give me a minute, then please dance with me.” Sofia nodded graciously, and disappeared into the ballroom.

Soft music greeted him when he re-entered. Most of the guests were still present, including Burly and Rafael. Bob must have told them that something personal had occupied Atcho because no one remarked about his absence, and everyone seemed deliberately jovial. As he strolled through the room they relaxed into more natural behavior. He was moved by their affection.

He spotted Sofia standing near the door leading into the lobby. “God, she’s beautiful!” he breathed, and crossed the floor to dance with her.

29

Two days later, Bob called. “Atcho, can we get together for drinks?”

“You’re worried about that argument with Isabel the other night at the reception. Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“Can’t a guy have a beer with his father-in-law?” Bob’s voice boomed good nature across the telephone. “I was gonna take you to my favorite Irish pub!”

Atcho was reluctant. “Okay, then. Where and when?” He hoped he sounded suitably enthusiastic.

They met at Cowan’s Irish Pub in Alexandria, a fixture of local nightlife just a block off of Washington Avenue near the town center. It occupied most of the first floor of an ivy-covered redbrick building in a recently restored colonial area. The entrance was on the corner, with polished oak arches framing an outside foyer and windows along both street-side walls. Irish-green panels with gold colored trimming welcomed patrons. Inside, the warmth continued with polished wood walls and columns. The deep-grain wood bar was studded with brass fittings, and a soft carpet throughout the pub was done in a cheerful red and green block pattern. Mirrors bordered with Gaelic patterns were built into the walls. They reflected the half-light of ornate fixtures, throwing off a cozy atmosphere.