Islands in the Stream полностью

“Why not build the aqueduct and make some money out of it and find another truco?”

“There’s no trick like water. You can always get money for the promise to produce water. No politician would destroy a truco like that by building an adequate aqueduct. Aspirant politicians occasionally shoot one another in the lowest levels of politics. But no politician would so strike at the true basis of political economy. Let me propose a toast to the Custom House, a lottery racket, the free numbers racket, the fixed price of sugar, and the eternal lack of an aqueduct.”

“Prosit,” Thomas Hudson said.

“You’re not German, are you?”

“No. American.”

“Then let us drink to Roosevelt, Churchill, Batista, and the lack of an aqueduct.”

“To Stalin.”

“Certainly. To Stalin, Central Hershey, marijuana, and the lack of an aqueduct.”

“To Adolphe Luque.”

“To Adolph Luque, to Adolf Hitler, to Philadelphia, to Gene Tunney, to Key West, and to the lack of an aqueduct.”

Honest Lil came in to the bar from the ladies room while they were talking. She had repaired her face and she was not crying but you could see she had been hit.

“Do you know this gentleman?” Thomas Hudson said to her, introducing his new friend, or his old friend newly found.

“Only in bed,” the gentleman said.

“Cállate,” Honest Lil said. “He’s a politician,” she explained to Thomas Hudson, “Muy hambriento en este momento.”

“Thirsty,” the politician corrected. “And at your orders,” he said to Thomas Hudson. “What will you have?”

“A double frozen daiquiri without sugar. Should we roll for them?”

“No, Let me buy them. I have unlimited credit here.”

“He’s a good man,” Honest Lil said to Thomas Hudson in a whisper while the other was attracting the attention of the nearest barman. “A politician. But very honest and very cheerful.”

The man put his arm around Lil. “You’re thinner every day, mi vida,” he said. “We must belong to the same political party.”

“To the aqueduct,” Thomas Hudson said,

“My God, no. What are you trying to do? Take the bread out of our mouths and put water in?”

“Let’s drink to when the puta guerra will finish,” Lil said,

“Drink.”

“To the black market,” the man said. “To the cement shortage. To those who control the supply of black beans.”

“Drink,” Thomas Hudson said and added, “To rice.”

“To rice,” the politician said. “Drink.”

“Do you feel better?” Honest Lil asked.

“Sure.”

He looked at her and saw she was going to start to cry again.

“You cry again,” he said, “and I’ll break your jaw.”

There was a lithographed poster behind the bar of a politician in white suit and the slogan “Un Alcalde Mejor,” a better mayor. It was a big poster and the better mayor stared straight into the eyes of every drinker.

“To Un Alcalde Peor,” the politician said. “To A Worse Mayor.”

“Will you run?” Thomas Hudson asked him.

“Absolutely.”

“That’s wonderful,” Honest Lil said. “Let’s draw up our platform.”

“It isn’t difficult,” the candidate said. “Un Alcalde Peor. We’ve got a winning slogan. What do we need a platform for?”

“We ought to have a platform,” Lil said. “Don’t you think so, Tomás?”

“I think so. What about Down with the Rural Schools?”

“Down,” said the candidate.

“Menos guaguas y peores,” Honest Lil suggested.

“Good. Fewer and worse buses.”

“Why not do away with transport entirely?” suggested the candidate. “Es más sencillo.”

“Okay,” Thomas Hudson said. “Cero transporte.”

“Short and noble,” the candidate said. “And it shows we are impartial. But we could elaborate it. What about Cero transporte aéreo, terrestre, y marítimo?”

“Wonderful. We’re getting a real platform. How do we stand on leprosy?”

“Por una lepra más grande para Cuba,” said the candidate.

“Por el cáncer cubano,” Thomas Hudson said.

“Por una tuberculosis ampliada, adecuada, y permanente para Cuba y los cubanos,” said the candidate. “That’s a little bit long but it will sound good on the radio. Where do we stand on syphilis, my coreligionists?”

“Por una sífilis criolla cien por cien.”

“Good,” said the candidate. “Down with Penicilina and other tricks of Yanqui Imperialism.”

“Down,” said Thomas Hudson.

“It seems to me as though we ought to drink something,” Honest Lil said. “How does it seem to you, correligionarios?”

“A magnificent idea,” said the candidate. “Who but you could have had an idea like that?”

“You,” Honest Lil said.

“Attack my credit,” the candidate said. “Let’s see how my credit stands up under really heavy fire. Bar-chap, bar-fellow, boy: the same all around. And for this political associate of mine: without sugar.”

“That’s an idea for a slogan,” Honest Lil said. “Cuba’s Sugar for Cubans.”