Celia Ingrid Farber
Erasing History, Beautifully
The young ballerina sat on the floor,
and told me about her three years in Cuba,
where she'd learned how to dance.
All talk of executions, and even of Cuba not being free, were dismissed.
"What's a democracy?" she said, and looked at me with sparks of anger in her young eyes.
"You can't say what you think in this country."
"Not placing value judgments," I said, and pressed myself up against the wall.
"But can we agree that if you can't leave it's a dictatorship?"
"It's because of the embargo," she said, with a tone of crystalline affection I could not bear to question.
"They have no money. What are they supposed to do?"
and told me about her three years in Cuba,
where she'd learned how to dance.
All talk of executions, and even of Cuba not being free, were dismissed.
"What's a democracy?" she said, and looked at me with sparks of anger in her young eyes.
"You can't say what you think in this country."
"Not placing value judgments," I said, and pressed myself up against the wall.
"But can we agree that if you can't leave it's a dictatorship?"
"It's because of the embargo," she said, with a tone of crystalline affection I could not bear to question.
"They have no money. What are they supposed to do?"
Thinking maybe we could agree, instead, that murder is murder, I invoked the revolutionary murders,
and as we know from Havana wall graffiti, La Revolucion Continuamos.
Right on cue, wish I could have placed a $50 bet before she replied, she shifted something fuzzy, pertaining to
murder, over to Che. Maybe. Not really. Who knows?
"Not Fidel. Fidel did not kill anybody," she said softly,
as she carefully arranged the ribbons of a collection of pink satin ballet shoes,
arranged in a semi-circle around her.
Then she took a hammer, and started striking at the toes, methodically,
one after the other,
until all six pairs were crushed and ready.
"Not Fidel. Fidel did not kill anybody," she said softly,
as she carefully arranged the ribbons of a collection of pink satin ballet shoes,
arranged in a semi-circle around her.
Then she took a hammer, and started striking at the toes, methodically,
one after the other,
until all six pairs were crushed and ready.
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