How I Met Castro
Was there ever someone you were just
dying to meet, only to realize it wasn’t as easy as it sounded?
For some, it might be their favourite
singer or athlete. For many, a famous star, or perhaps even the Pope.
The person I wanted to meet hailed
from the island nation of Cuba. When I say the name Cuba, you probably
associate it with its famous Cs—Cigars, Cocktails, Communism, and last but not
least, the Comrades with cool beards, Che and Castro.
I had a chance to rendezvous with
Che in the Americas in 1967. But Castro, oh dear Castro! It didn’t transpire.
Ever since he spearheaded the Cuban Revolution and established a one-party
socialist state on the island in the late 50s, I longed to meet El Comandante. But, alas, my efforts
were in vain!
Where do I even start?
I unsuccessfully attempted to meet
him soon after the revolution. He was otherwise preoccupied during the Bay of
Pigs invasion. I, then, sought the aid of a gang of Cuban exiles. They tried
their best to accommodate my request but let me down. After the colossal
disappointment, a few Italian ‘friends’ promised they would escort me to him.
Oh, how I believed them and eagerly awaited our appointment, only to be let
down again! Instead of getting discouraged, I became relentless in my endeavor.
Soon, the Cuban Missile Crisis and
the ensuing standoff between the US and the Soviet Union led to one of the most
defining moments in the Cold War. During this period, I exerted myself beyond
measure in my unrelenting attempts to meet this icon, come what may.
From Castro’s inner circle, I came
to know he desired certain things. In my never-ending pursuit of this elusive
man, I inundated him with gifts. Not ordinary gifts, mind you. Well-thought-out
gifts—shoes, fountain pens, handkerchiefs, wetsuits, chocolate milkshakes. If
something caught his fancy, I gifted it to him. Fate intervened. My gifts never
reached the bearded revolutionary, let alone increased my chances of a possible
tête-à-tête.
In 1971, I travelled all the way to
Chile to somehow meet him, knowing he would be there on an official state
visit. But even the best laid plans go awry.
Anyone who knew anything about
Castro knew he was the epitome of a true ladies’ man. Knowing of his love for
beautiful, petite women, I decided to approach one of his paramours for
assistance. She agreed to help me at first, then turned her back on me,
thwarting my plans yet again.
I imagined every possible way to get
close to him. In most photos of Castro, he held a Cuban cigar clamped between
his teeth. I went to great lengths to gift him the finest cigar. However, I had
terrible timing. He, unfortunately, gave up smoking in 1985.
I thought fate smiled on me when the
red Soviet flag lowered for the final time over the Kremlin in 1991. I assumed
it would be easier to meet him. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.
It only became more difficult. The day I would see Castro seemed like a distant
dream.
At the start of the new millennium,
I journeyed to Panama, hoping to meet him at the 10th Ibero-American
Summit. History, never kind to me in my efforts, ensured I failed again.
Though most of my efforts fumbled,
my desire never wavered. The world witnessed significant changes while I chased
Castro.
The Oval Office housed ten
Presidents, from Eisenhower through George W Bush, while back in the Palace of
the Revolution in Cuba, the First Secretary of the Central Committee of the
Communist Party was always and only Castro. Eventually, he retired in 2008
after forty-nine years in power, owing to ill health.
An old Japanese Zen proverb states,
‘Fall seven times, stand up eight.’ You might say I would have succeeded if I
relentlessly kept trying.
In fact, I was more than relentless.
I tried. Not once. Not seven times. Hell, not even a hundred times. I tried
over six-hundred-and-thirty-eight times. Yes, you heard that right. I didn’t
just fail; I failed miserably.
With my efforts turning futile, I
took a break, giving up my pursuit of the comandante.
Little did I know that my wish would
be fulfilled soon.
No, I didn’t manage to meet him. He
ended up meeting me! Imagine my surprise when, three months after his ninetieth
birthday in 2016, Castro visited me. Better late than never, right?
I had looked him straight in the
eye. “Ah, finally, we meet, old amigo.”
“Looking for me, huh?” The wizened,
balding comrade’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. His lips twisted into an
arrogant smirk as he stroked his trademark beard. Old age wore his vigor away,
but not his chutzpah.
“You bet!” I flashed a deadly smile
and clasped his wrinkled hand. “All these years, you’ve kept one step ahead of
me, you lucky bastard!”
It took many years, many accomplices,
and loads of attempts, but that’s how I met Fidel Castro. At long last!
Excuse me. I’ve forgotten my manners
and didn’t introduce myself while recounting my experience. I’m Death, by the
way.
Emily Dickinson once wrote, ‘Because
I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me.’ Had it been Castro, he
would have simply said, ‘Because Death could not stop for me, I kindly stopped
for him.’
***
Regarded as the person with the most assassination attempts
against his life, the late Cuban leader Fidel Castro had evaded multiple
CIA-backed plots, with estimates going as high as 638. He even once joked,
"If surviving assassination attempts were an Olympic event, I would win
the gold medal." Among the attempts included hiring the Mafia, recruiting
a femme fatale, and sending deadly traps disguised as gifts. Despite all this,
Castro ended up dying a natural death at a ripe old age.
Adrian
David writes ads by day and short stories by night. He dabbles in genres
including dark humour, suspense, psychological drama, slice-of-life, military
fiction, and everything in between, from the mundane to the sublime.
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