Read Online Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1) by Luis Gonzalez - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Luis Gonzalez
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my wife be able to join me?”
“No!” came the resounding reply. “There aren’t the funds for that. You can come home one weekend a month if you want, but that’s it. Are you interested or not, compañero?”
Rigo sensed it might put a strain on our new marriage, but he was interested, more than interested. He was so excited he couldn’t sleep nights, and on many occasions, I’d find him awake at two or three in the morning sketching and drawing and drafting blueprints when he should have been resting by my side. This project along the beaches of Santa Lucía had received such staunch approval from the highest levels of government that the ministry decided to accelerate its launch. A couple months ahead of schedule, Rigo received word to start packing. The ministry was dispatching a planning committee to Camagüey’s northeastern coast.
“We want to see some of your schematics,” they told him. “And right away.”
Rigo couldn’t wait to break the wonderful news. Ofcourse, I was upset. We’d been married less than a year, and I didn’t want him gone from me. I never felt more whole or complete than when I had him at my side. Not to mention that Camagüey seemed so far away: a tedious ten-hour train ride from Havana. But I figured this was our punishment, what we got for growing up in the same neighborhood and knowing each other all our lives. Even so, I remained passionate and loved him with all my heart. I was only twelve when I fell in love with Rigo, and he was nineteen. I knew I was much too young for him, but even then I wanted to marry Rigo some day and spend the rest of my life with him.
True, Rigo wasn’t the most handsome of men, but he did have strong hands and a great body that I worshipped. More importantly, he possessed a humble heart and loved his family. He was loyal, affable in nature, and everybody liked him. He had glowing reports from his professors, all of whom had very strong ties to the ministry, and it was easy to see why they selected Rigo for this project. He had the talent, personality, and drive. Rigo was the full package. That was why it made no sense when, out of nowhere, the night before he was all set to go, after fully preparing his suitcases and packing some pre-preliminary sketches he wanted to take on the expedition, Rigo received the most upsetting call of his life.
“Start unpacking, chico,” officials informed him matter-of-factly. “The trip is off.”
Rigo refused to believe it, he
couldn’t
believe it. He thought it must all be a practical joke and somebody would call back right away and confess. But nobody called or stopped by or sent any other form of communication. Maybe he’d done something wrong. Maybe he’d offended the wrong person or had inspired jealousy among a superior. Rigo was so intent on being a part of this project he called back and agreed to work for free if necessary.
“Consider it volunteer labor,” he said, determined to get his foot in the door and wanting to know what he’d done.
“You haven’t done anything,” officials assured him. “You have a sterling record and a bright future in this country. All we can tell you is the project has been put on hold—indefinite hold.”
If this was meant to make him feel better, Rigo felt himself drowning in devastation. He’d never experienced any form of disappointment in his life, and this crushed him. But he suspected something else at play here and meant to find out. He visited someone who would know and whom he trusted implicitly: a professor who taught North American form and design with an emphasis on the twentieth-century architecture of San Francisco. Of all his six years of intense study, this was Rigo’s favorite class.
As expected, the professor knew precisely what was going on, and there was, indeed, something brewing behind that thin explanation they had doled out for his student.
“Well, chico,” his former professor began. “The project is on hold all right; that
“No!” came the resounding reply. “There aren’t the funds for that. You can come home one weekend a month if you want, but that’s it. Are you interested or not, compañero?”
Rigo sensed it might put a strain on our new marriage, but he was interested, more than interested. He was so excited he couldn’t sleep nights, and on many occasions, I’d find him awake at two or three in the morning sketching and drawing and drafting blueprints when he should have been resting by my side. This project along the beaches of Santa Lucía had received such staunch approval from the highest levels of government that the ministry decided to accelerate its launch. A couple months ahead of schedule, Rigo received word to start packing. The ministry was dispatching a planning committee to Camagüey’s northeastern coast.
“We want to see some of your schematics,” they told him. “And right away.”
Rigo couldn’t wait to break the wonderful news. Ofcourse, I was upset. We’d been married less than a year, and I didn’t want him gone from me. I never felt more whole or complete than when I had him at my side. Not to mention that Camagüey seemed so far away: a tedious ten-hour train ride from Havana. But I figured this was our punishment, what we got for growing up in the same neighborhood and knowing each other all our lives. Even so, I remained passionate and loved him with all my heart. I was only twelve when I fell in love with Rigo, and he was nineteen. I knew I was much too young for him, but even then I wanted to marry Rigo some day and spend the rest of my life with him.
True, Rigo wasn’t the most handsome of men, but he did have strong hands and a great body that I worshipped. More importantly, he possessed a humble heart and loved his family. He was loyal, affable in nature, and everybody liked him. He had glowing reports from his professors, all of whom had very strong ties to the ministry, and it was easy to see why they selected Rigo for this project. He had the talent, personality, and drive. Rigo was the full package. That was why it made no sense when, out of nowhere, the night before he was all set to go, after fully preparing his suitcases and packing some pre-preliminary sketches he wanted to take on the expedition, Rigo received the most upsetting call of his life.
“Start unpacking, chico,” officials informed him matter-of-factly. “The trip is off.”
Rigo refused to believe it, he
couldn’t
believe it. He thought it must all be a practical joke and somebody would call back right away and confess. But nobody called or stopped by or sent any other form of communication. Maybe he’d done something wrong. Maybe he’d offended the wrong person or had inspired jealousy among a superior. Rigo was so intent on being a part of this project he called back and agreed to work for free if necessary.
“Consider it volunteer labor,” he said, determined to get his foot in the door and wanting to know what he’d done.
“You haven’t done anything,” officials assured him. “You have a sterling record and a bright future in this country. All we can tell you is the project has been put on hold—indefinite hold.”
If this was meant to make him feel better, Rigo felt himself drowning in devastation. He’d never experienced any form of disappointment in his life, and this crushed him. But he suspected something else at play here and meant to find out. He visited someone who would know and whom he trusted implicitly: a professor who taught North American form and design with an emphasis on the twentieth-century architecture of San Francisco. Of all his six years of intense study, this was Rigo’s favorite class.
As expected, the professor knew precisely what was going on, and there was, indeed, something brewing behind that thin explanation they had doled out for his student.
“Well, chico,” his former professor began. “The project is on hold all right; that
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