Monday, April 12, 2010


B and I took a cruise to Cuba. On docking the tour guide took us to a high hill (in imitation to the temptation of Christ) and declared "all this landscape could be yours". We looked across the island, all its micrososm as in Robinson Crusoe, the rivers twisting, the sand dunes, the grassy knolls, the ski hills, the snow banks, the beaches with people dozing, the villages in the bosom of hills.

We didn't respond.

Then went shopping down into the town marketplace, crowded as a suq, pots and pans and woven fabrics, spices and tables of wares, and in the crowd of people were people hawking little manilla envelopes of hair, calling out names of who they had. One was labelled as Stuart Ross' so I bought it and ate it like cotton candy.

I went and found the ruins of my high school, part of it bombed out, part intact. Upstairs my teacher was still up there working on paperwork. Then she transformed into a blonde lady I dream-recognized from stage musicals from aboard ship and from the posters outside the galley. Except as I discovered then, she had 4 breasts in a horizontal row. The magic of stage had hid that.

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