Read Online Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1) by Luis Gonzalez - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Luis Gonzalez
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part is true.”
“There’s another part?” Rigo asked. “What and for how long?”
“Forever,” the professor bluntly informed him. “You didn’t hear this from me, Rigo, but there’s been a big change of plans around here, real big.”
“What type of change of plans?”
“I know I can confide in you, Rigo, just as you can always confide in me. Still, I have to stress the confidential nature of this. Effective immediately, all projects on this massive a scale will be granted to companies of foreign governments.”
“What!” Rigo asked in shock. “No!”
“Yes, chico. The ministry has conducted a resource planning study and concluded that Cuba lacks the means to execute so enormous a project, that it lacks the skill to put in effect so grand a scheme. They’ve decided to outsource.”
“Outsource
?
”
repeated Rigo, barely able to pronounce the word in his thick Cuban accent. “What in the hell is that?”
The professor explained the idea behind outsourcing and how, just now, the concept was barely taking form and still highly experimental. But soon it would set a trend for the future, whether a country was Capitalist, Communist, Democratic or a Dictatorship.
“Like it or not, it’s the way of the future,” he said sadly. “Only one good thing will come out of this outsourcing.”
“What’s that?” Rigo asked.
“Local jobs, albeit low-paying jobs.”
Rigo apologized for his outburst and for his use of foul language, even though, in Cuba, foul language was not the exception but the norm. Still, he had meant no disrespect to his favorite instructor and felt ashamed. And had shame been the only emotion Rigo grappled with it might have been easier to pick up the pieces, but it was not. Again came defeat: a sweeping defeat; a dizzying, demoralizing defeat that descended on him and totally displaced him. For weeks my husband functioned in a daze, moping around the house and doing absolutely nothing. I’d never seen him so sedentary or morose. I knew not how to help. I couldn’t reach him. It pained me to take so drastic a step, but I had no choice. I’d have to call the one person I hated resorting to in any time of trouble: my mother-in-law Mihrta. I knew she could help, but I also knew she’d find a way to make me feel useless in this crisis—and she did. I’d never seen her more animated or in higher spirits than the day she came over to see what ailed her baby.
“He’ll have to move back home for a week,” Mihrta announced. “Maybe two.”
“But he is home,” I protested. “We’re married, remember?”
“Of course you are, mija. I mean his
home
home, not his adopted home. Now don’t worry, one week won’t kill you. Just think of how you’ll have your husband back to normal and good as new.”
Mihrta had never liked me and decided that even when Iwas twelve, she should be brutally blunt with me. “I know what you’re after,” she said one day. “Just stop wasting your time, mijita. My son is too old for you, and he’s not going to wait around.”
But she was wrong. Rigo
did
wait, and she’d never forgiven me for it. Just as she’d never forgiven me that, upon our marrying, we decided to move in with my family rather than his. Like every newlywed couple in Cuba, we had to choose living with one set of in-laws or the other. No such thing as marrying and having your own place, much less owning your own home. Not with all the severe housing shortages, especially in Havana. After my father’s death it made no sense to move in with Rigo’s family, which included two younger brothers. Mihrta blamed me for that decision too.
After the wedding she fell into a depression so deep and mournful the doctors recommended electroshock therapy. Everybody tried talking her out of it, terrified of what so drastic a treatment might do, fearful it might leave her in a permanent vegetative state. But it worked. Mihrta came back stronger and livelier, more determined than ever. The
“There’s another part?” Rigo asked. “What and for how long?”
“Forever,” the professor bluntly informed him. “You didn’t hear this from me, Rigo, but there’s been a big change of plans around here, real big.”
“What type of change of plans?”
“I know I can confide in you, Rigo, just as you can always confide in me. Still, I have to stress the confidential nature of this. Effective immediately, all projects on this massive a scale will be granted to companies of foreign governments.”
“What!” Rigo asked in shock. “No!”
“Yes, chico. The ministry has conducted a resource planning study and concluded that Cuba lacks the means to execute so enormous a project, that it lacks the skill to put in effect so grand a scheme. They’ve decided to outsource.”
“Outsource
?
”
repeated Rigo, barely able to pronounce the word in his thick Cuban accent. “What in the hell is that?”
The professor explained the idea behind outsourcing and how, just now, the concept was barely taking form and still highly experimental. But soon it would set a trend for the future, whether a country was Capitalist, Communist, Democratic or a Dictatorship.
“Like it or not, it’s the way of the future,” he said sadly. “Only one good thing will come out of this outsourcing.”
“What’s that?” Rigo asked.
“Local jobs, albeit low-paying jobs.”
Rigo apologized for his outburst and for his use of foul language, even though, in Cuba, foul language was not the exception but the norm. Still, he had meant no disrespect to his favorite instructor and felt ashamed. And had shame been the only emotion Rigo grappled with it might have been easier to pick up the pieces, but it was not. Again came defeat: a sweeping defeat; a dizzying, demoralizing defeat that descended on him and totally displaced him. For weeks my husband functioned in a daze, moping around the house and doing absolutely nothing. I’d never seen him so sedentary or morose. I knew not how to help. I couldn’t reach him. It pained me to take so drastic a step, but I had no choice. I’d have to call the one person I hated resorting to in any time of trouble: my mother-in-law Mihrta. I knew she could help, but I also knew she’d find a way to make me feel useless in this crisis—and she did. I’d never seen her more animated or in higher spirits than the day she came over to see what ailed her baby.
“He’ll have to move back home for a week,” Mihrta announced. “Maybe two.”
“But he is home,” I protested. “We’re married, remember?”
“Of course you are, mija. I mean his
home
home, not his adopted home. Now don’t worry, one week won’t kill you. Just think of how you’ll have your husband back to normal and good as new.”
Mihrta had never liked me and decided that even when Iwas twelve, she should be brutally blunt with me. “I know what you’re after,” she said one day. “Just stop wasting your time, mijita. My son is too old for you, and he’s not going to wait around.”
But she was wrong. Rigo
did
wait, and she’d never forgiven me for it. Just as she’d never forgiven me that, upon our marrying, we decided to move in with my family rather than his. Like every newlywed couple in Cuba, we had to choose living with one set of in-laws or the other. No such thing as marrying and having your own place, much less owning your own home. Not with all the severe housing shortages, especially in Havana. After my father’s death it made no sense to move in with Rigo’s family, which included two younger brothers. Mihrta blamed me for that decision too.
After the wedding she fell into a depression so deep and mournful the doctors recommended electroshock therapy. Everybody tried talking her out of it, terrified of what so drastic a treatment might do, fearful it might leave her in a permanent vegetative state. But it worked. Mihrta came back stronger and livelier, more determined than ever. The
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