Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

the touristy things on his first morning in Havana, taking pictures and generally getting his bearings. He had visited the cathedral and was now walking around Cathedral Square. Finally, he crossed to the west side of the square and turned down Empedrado Street.

He strolled nonchalantly down the street looking about him as he did so until he reached a small bar ‘La Bodeguita del Medio’. Stepping into the bar he approached the counter where a barman in a white apron smiled his welcome.

The bar was compact and fairly busy with an entrance leading off to a dining room. The walls were adorned with posters and photographs, and graffiti covered some of the walls in the form of signatures of past clients. Four men were sitting on stools at the bar, barely leaving Kelly room to get in to place his order.

Kelly nodded and smiled at the various incumbents, making a point of saying his ‘hellos’ in English. Squeezing between two of the barflies he managed to reach the bar and greeted the barman.

“Vodka, on ice please,” he said.

“Si! Americano?” the barman enquired as he prepared the drink.

“No, I’m English,” said Kelly. Picking up his drink he walked over to one of the walls and inspected the signatures. There were a number he recognised, celebrities from all over the world, though many of the signatures meant nothing to him.

“You want to sign the wall, senor?” one of the barflies asked in a thick accent.

“No, thank you.”

“Is compulsory, senor,” responded the barfly with an inflection at the end of the sentence. Kelly looked over at him; the man was smiling broadly showing bad black teeth under a thick black moustache.

“Is good luck, everyone does it,” he persisted.

“Then I will sign the wall also,” Kelly smiled.

“On the yellow part, senor,” said the barman, pointing to the other end of the wall. Kelly moved to the place indicated and took out a pen from his jacket. The yellow paint on this part of the wall was still just tacky, clearly this was the area for non-entities to sign. He scribbled ‘William Shepherd’ finishing with a flourish, and then moved back towards the bar.

One of the customers had just departed, so Kelly perched himself next to the man who had been so insistent. Glancing over to his companion he asked, “Care for a drink?”

“Gracias senor. Mojito, por favor. You should try one also. Is good!”

“What’s in it?” asked Kelly.

“Just try it, signor. You’ll like it” interposed the barman. “Specialty of the house.”

“In which case, make that two mojitos, barman please!”

Kelly watched as the barman dissolved a teaspoon of sugar in a large tumbler with a measure of lime juice. Several sprigs of mint, ice cubes and a measure of Havana club light dry rum followed this. The cocktail was completed by filling the class with soda water.

It seemed to Kelly that every pair of eyes in the small bar were on him as he took his first sip. He was not disappointed.

“It’s good!” he said. Inwardly he felt it would have been enhanced by a little less mint, but he kept the thought to himself.

There were chuckles and calls of “Si!” from various customers. Kelly settled down with his drink and engineered a conversation with his neighbour. They talked about the sights of Cuba in general and Havana in particular. This was not the information Kelly wanted, but he was at pains not to be seen to be leading the conversation.

Finally, after a second mojito the question was asked that Kelly had been waiting for. “What do you do, senor?” Kelly seized the opportunity and launched into his prepared ‘off the cuff’ response.

“I sell educational equipment to colleges and schools,” he explained and outlined some of the equipment. “It’s hard work,” he said frowning, “too much competition these days from abroad. Everyone wants to sell school equipment. Do you see many foreign salesmen in Cuba?” he asked naively.

“Americanos!” said his new friend. “They are like flies on horse shit.” A murmur went round the bar, some chuckled but others murmured in agreement. Kelly inwardly noted the response.

“What about Europeans?” asked Kelly. “That’s where my main competition seems to come from. Germans, Italians, French, Russian?”

“No Germans or Italians. Still too soon,” referring, Kelly assumed, to the war. “But we do get French salesmen and occasionally people from Russia.”

“What are the Russians selling?” asked Kelly. “School equipment?” he added to maintain his cover.

“I dunno, senor, we don’t see many Russians. Who knows?” said his friend.

“I know what they sell!” It was an old man in the corner of the bar, sat alone at a small table. “They sell ideas, senor, ideas that perhaps we should listen to!” There were ‘shushes’ from one or two in the bar, while others remained silent.

Kelly felt he had pushed the conversation as far as he dared and changed the subject. Twenty minutes later, after buying his new friend another drink he took his leave, smiling and waving as he left. He had a strong feeling that if the last hour was anything to judge by, the people of Cuba were unhappy and ready for change.

Kelly shook hands for the umpteenth time that lunchtime. The morning had been disappointing. He had briefly met one of the pro vice chancellors of the University who had welcomed him to the university and then handed him over to one of the lesser resource managers, responsible, Kelly assumed, for procurement.

After an hour of discussions and explanations he had secured an order for twelve overhead projectors, an epidiascope and two Gestetner stencil makers and copiers. It was as well this wasn’t his real job. His next task had been to visit the student common rooms with catalogues of books and study aids; he was able to dispense free pens and pencils to students who stopped to browse.

Kelly had tried to engage them in conversation but, in the main, the students had been unforthcoming.

Kelly was now ready to call it a day. He was disappointed that