Page 110 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

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 LAS ARMAS--"To Arms." 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!"

Tanya 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 Tanya was still fearful. Was it really good news that Cuba had another shipload of nuclear weapons? Might not the Cuban people--and Tanya herself--be safer with none?

"Do you have other duties today?" Tanya 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 Malecon together."

They drove to the sea front. Paz parked at the Hotel Nacional. Soldiers were stationing an antiaircraft gun outside the famous hotel.

Tanya 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, toward the United States. They were watching for the yanquis.

Tanya 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 gray 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 Tanya 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 Tanya had upstairs rooms in a colonial building.

Tanya'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 marvelous. Paz was the same age as Petr but, Tanya quickly realized, making love with him was going to be different. It was his body that was the center 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. Tanya 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 Tanya could hardly wait to get her hands on it.

Petr had been a slow, gentle lover. He had been able to work Tanya 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 Tanya gave herself up to excitement and pleasure.

Afterward Tanya 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 battle-dress drab, the only sign of rank a single star on the epaulet: Tanya had never seen him in a civilian suit, nor in the kind of pompous medal-encrusted uniform beloved of Communist leaders elsewhere.

Tanya 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 cont

emptuously.

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. Tanya 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.

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