Sensuality

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“I wanted to be the first to welcome you to Cuba,” he explained in beautifully accented English. We stood there staring at each other while people milled around us. I could see the questions in his eyes but I wasn’t quite ready to answer them. Finally, someone bumped against him and shattered the trance we seemed to be under.

I was still tingling long after I was sitting in the passenger seat of his old pickup truck. I lapsed into another trance as the spectacular slide show that was daily life in Havana played in living color. Vintage American cars sped by us as I stared in wonder at the grand buildings in desperate need of paint but full of a regal beauty. The city had a frozen-in-time essence that any modernization would only erase.

“It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?”

My eyes shifted from the window to Andreas. “Yes,” I answered, although I could’ve been saying it about Cuban life or about the Cuban beside me. Havana was alluring. Children played in the streets and sidewalks, mindless of traffic and the world outside their little oasis. Despite all of the seeming hardships, Cuba was proud and resilient. I could feel it in her tropical breeze, whispering across my face. She had a sensual joy of life; it was evident in the sway of hips and the tossing of every texture of hair over a rainbow of brown-toned shoulders. Andreas made a stop at an outdoor market to pick up a dessert pie for his mother, María. As we navigated our way among the throes of natives and tourists from almost every corner of the globe, he took my hand in his so as not to lose me.

His touch felt safe. It made me want to snuggle up to him and tell him more of the secrets he’d seen in my eyes. I hadn’t touched many men in my adult life. I still had limited contact with the opposite sex. But I’d never realized how much I truly missed it until I felt Andreas’s touch. I grabbed his forearm with my other hand.

He pointed out exotic produce to me. As a Caribbean girl myself, some things were familiar, like plantains, guavas, and okras, which were a favorite of mine. Every word and gesture spoke of Andreas’s love for his country and their way of life. He had me laughing and still near tears as he showed such reverence for a lifestyle a lot of people would see as backward because of the U.S. embargo. Suddenly, I felt a deeper connection with him, an intangible human link stronger than anything I’d ever felt with anyone outside of my close friends and family. I held on to him tightly. I felt a tingle in my stomach that turned into a sense of regret when he released me to shop.

While he flirted with the elderly lady at the bakery, I took in the colorful array of items being sold in the marketplace. I was happy that a lot of the vendors spoke enough English to make shopping pleasant but I knew Andreas was only a few feet away if I needed help. When I rejoined him, he took my hand again and we made our way back to his truck.

“Can I buy you an espresso?” he asked.

I accepted with a smile. The coffee shop was crowded but we managed to find a table in a corner. I watched his full lips as his tongue glided across them in search of the strong, sweet brew. The simple sensuality of the act made my body tingle. I wondered how he would react if I told him how much power he had over me. Would he embrace it or had I made him wary of me after my disappearing act? I instead focused my attention on his words. Andreas told me about his writing, his paintings and sculptures.

“It is not easy to be creative in a country where so much is censored, but it forces you to be even more creative with how you express yourself,” he said.

“I don’t think twice about what I want to write,” I admitted. “If I feel something, I write it. There’s no one looking over my shoulder, except the critic in my head.”

“Then why are you so afraid?” he asked softly.

I turned to look at him with troubled eyes. “I’ve been asking myself that very same question.”

The rest of the journey passed in silence. I occupied myself by capturing the scenes playing out before me and locking them in my mind. Despite the turmoil And

reas was causing, I already knew this trip to Cuba would stick with me for a long time.

It was comforting to see so many brown faces in a foreign land. From my research, I’d learned that Cuba was one of the first countries in the Caribbean to import African slaves.

María was waiting for me in front of her three-story home and business. She greeted me as if we were kindred spirits. She threw her arms around me. “Welcome, my child,” she said in almost perfect English.

She exuded confidence, from her shoulder-length, curly black hair and laughing eyes, to her summer dress and bare feet. How could someone have so much presence in a place where so much was censored? I wondered. I gravitated to her like a butterfly to a rare flower.

Andreas gave her an affectionate peck on her rosy cheek.

“Thank you, baby,” she said. “Can you take the pie into the kitchen? You are staying for dinner, right?”

He smiled and nodded.

María took my hand and led me inside. Her home was spectacular. The courtyard was filled with misbehaving vines going wherever the hell they pleased while more cautious plant life was contained in pots and flower beds. The riotous colors attracted a host of insects and drew me to the plants’ unique beauty. As an avid gardener, I immediately felt at peace among some of nature’s most beautiful creations.

“This is so peaceful,” I commented.

María sat down on a wooden bench and patted the space beside her. I dropped my bag and sat next to her.

“Is that what you came here to find, peace?” she asked softly.

I looked over at her in surprise. There was no way I could tell a lie under her intense scrutiny. “Yes,” I admitted.

She gave me a kind smile. “I suspect this has something to do with Andreas. He was different after his trip to your country. Whatever you two didn’t do, then I hope that you have the courage to do it now.”

“I hope so, too,” I said quietly.

The smell of food drew us inside the cool confines of the large home decorated with Spanish Colonial furniture, vibrant paintings, and delicate-looking books. I heard laughter coming from the same direction as the smell. There were five people in the large kitchen/dining room.