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The Cuban 'Gator Man

by Helen Tootsi

By Helen TootsiPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
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"Just killed a 'gator with me bare hands," says the crackle voiced redneck from the corner of the room as he steps into the light. "...with me own bare hands".

He puts a cigarette stump in his hand out on the beer-stained table and nods to the barkeep to signal he has run out of bourbon. His clothes are oddly clean in his otherwise disheveled khaki-beige-green attire.

He sits down on a lonely stool and stares into the dark clammy Havana night. "Got any Rizlas?" he asks as the liquor lands on the counter. He can see a pack I’ve been carrying around peeking out of my bag.

"What brings you to this part of the world?" he asks, still not looking at me.

It's only when he finally moves his hand across the dirty table and opens his palm to receive the Rizla when he looks up. He's missing an eye. It's hard to tell if he has injured his face in the battle with that 'gator he claims to have killed or in a fist fight with someone. Either way I decide it's safer to contribute to paving his road to lung cancer and hand him my pack of thin liquorish smoking papers. He accepts the donation in silence and keeps his eyes locked on me. My heart is racing, I feel knot forming in my stomach. Eyeing the door, I calculate the time it would take me to run the distance to it. Fifteen big steps and probably ten seconds. That’s fair, I have an escape route. I remain seated. This doesn’t feel right, yet I am too intrigued by my new companion to leave. I look like a perfect target in my innocent summer dress and shoes that do not match this place. Clearly a tourist, alone in some rinky-dink Cuban watering hole in the middle of nowhere. I stay silent as he runs his gaze up and down.

"Like I said, you're awfully pale for someone to be from around here."

He has finished rolling the cigarette and kicks a spare bar stool closer to me. I sit in stone cold stillness. I have no idea if he’s going to rape me, kill me just here and now or have mercy on my pale soul. Since I feel like hell, I don’t really care much if he did have some dark thoughts.

“No, I’m not from here.” I try my best but the voice leaving my mouth is closer to some pathetic squeal of a mouse rather than anything remotely human.

“Well, ain’t that a shocker!” he growls as he downs the drink in one big gulp before continuing, “you know, you shouldn’t be hanging out alone like that. I’m guessing you’re not here for all the hunky Latinos.” We both look around; the bar is rather empty. It’s hellishly hot with only few overweight, sweaty faced men playing cards in the far corner.

“I was kinda hoping to take the lovely mustard stain over there home tonight, but it looks like he’s passed out,” I nod towards a snoring guy next to the card players.

“You’ve got a spark Snow White, I give you that! What do they call you anyway?”

“Mia. And you?”

“Albie. Well, Albert really, but nobody cares to go for the long version. Too hot for that. So...what’s the story? I mean...the real one?” he asks again.

“Well, Albie, it’s a long one. Not that interesting really either.”

He stops me, changes his mind in the choice of preferred poison and orders a bottle of rum and two tea glasses:” I ain’t in a hurry! And you...look like you could use some of that too.” He pours rum to the glass and looks at me.

“Merlot for me please. If you have any. A bottle.” I turn to the barkeep. I know it’s too hot for it, but it seems to match the deep red blood of my broken heart.

“Merlot?!”

“Hey, don’t judge me!” I give him a look.

“I definitely want to hear the story now!”

He’s a stranger in the middle of nowhere to whom I all of a sudden decide to unload the intricate details of this holiday from hell in a paradise, how I threw my business cell phone to the ocean and rest of the holy pile of garbage called my recent life. I tell him about how I met Tom, about what happened next and how I eventually ended up in here stood up with no plan nor idea what to do next. The ‘gator man listens silently and keeps filling my glass.

He orders another bottle of rum. “Come, let’s go. Oh, come on! If I wanted to do something I would have done it already. I have a little boat, there’s breeze outside. come now,” he yelps on his way out.

I scramble around and grab my bag, pay the bartender and grab another bottle of wine from the counter. It’s hot and muggy outside. Flimsy summer dress stuck to my clammy body is revealing more than I feel comfortable with. Why am I following this person? As I drag my feet in the sand, I quickly switch on ‘find my iPhone’ app just in case everything ends up going south and I go missing.

We get to a little fishing boat. There’s an old happy looking dog yapping from it.

“Hey there, Roland! I got you a treat!” Albie reaches to his pocket and takes out half eaten chicken drumstick. It’s hard to tell what kind of mutt Roland is, but the old man look works well with his friendly demeanor. “This is Mia! Say hi, Mia.”

I kneel down and let the dog lick my salty hand. Tears start pouring out of my eyes as if someone just turned on a tap. I just sob, Roland licking my hand worryingly and Albie looking at me in deep thought.

“Come, Snow White, we are going on a midnight boat ride.” He shuffles to the boat and lets out a whistle to which Roland’s ears perk up and he darts towards the vessel. I wipe off the tears and try to manage snot that is now dripping out of my nostrils. Classy! The moon sits high in the sky, big and round, pregnant with cold light. Albie is steering the boat in silence. I could only hear the waves and the tutting sound of the boat engine. It’s serene and breathtakingly beautiful. There’s nothing but a vast ocean around me. I can vaguely see the lights shining from the shore, but they are now nothing but mere fairy lights in the distance. Finally, the boat stops, and Albie throws in an anchor.

“Well…” he fills his metal cup with rum and throws a blanket on the bench facing out from the tip of the boat, “want to get things off your chest the right way?”

“There's a wrong way of doing it?"

"Haha! Well, you can always do things with style, so here's one of them," he points out to the ocean with his cup of rum.

"I don’t really know what to say anymore.” I realize we haven’t said a word since the cry fest on the shore. “I am so sorry you had to see the whole thing back there. I am not sure what came over me. Roland just giving me all the affection and…”

“He’s got a special skill, that one,” he interrupts me. “Here, I only have these cups. Let me open the bottle for you.”

Albie grabs the bottle of vino and opens it with ease.

“I’ll give you a Portuguese pour. Filled to the rim! Cheers!” His chuckle is deep, friendly and comforting. He hands me the cup and rolls a cigarette.

“You want one?”

“No, thank you though.” I’ve never been much of a smoker, just really liked the smell of the rolling papers. “Do we have to talk?”

“Nope. We can do whatever we want. One of the most wonderful things on this earth is the sound of silence. Listen. The endless possibilities of life and the vastness of great blue ocean, it’s all in this silence.” He closes his eyes and takes a big puff of his cigarette. “Life is nothing but a journey, and sometimes…well, we just need to take a break. So no, we don’t have to talk at all.”

I take a sip and listen. The softness of mellow rocking waves, big glistening moon, light salty breeze and faint snore of Roland is all I need. I sip my wine and just listen. Albie winks an eye at me.

“I told you! It’s magic. Right here.”

We sit there for hours on end, drinking until there’s not a drop left. Sun creeping up on the horizon signaling the start of a new day shakes me out of my thoughts. Albie is napping. My clumsy attempt of trying to pack the empty wine bottle away wakes him.

“Aye! It’s morning! Time to head back!” he jumps to his feet, unanchors the boat and sets sail to the land. As we make our way back, local fisherman meet us halfway heading out. They all greet Albie. Old friends, I figure.

Back on the shore, Roland jumps out of the boat and runs to the nearest bush. Poor thing had to hold it in this entire time. He barks and runs around on the beach, sand flying everywhere, not a worry in the world. I smile.

“Albie…thank you! I don’t know how to ever thank you.” I turn and face the ‘gator man.

“Eeh, don’t mention it!”

“Would you like to have breakfast with me? My treat!”

“It’s very nice of you, but I have to go. Got some business in town.” His face doesn’t look frightening at all in the early morning light. It’s kind and soft, sprinkled with some scars from his adventures.

“Don’t you worry so much, Snow White! Just listen to the silence!”

He winks at me, lets out a whistle for Roland and off he goes. What a soul! I sit down on the sand and squint my eyes towards the rising sun. Neck of an empty Merlot bottle peeks out of my canvas bag. I reach for it and fill it with sand. How about that?! An unexpected meeting to remember. A sadness ridden evening turned into unplanned meeting of a friend I never knew I needed. Like a good blind date. The thought of that makes me chuckle. It was the best first date I have ever had.

female travel
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About the Creator

Helen Tootsi

Columnist, author, blogger and a copywriter.

Main scribbler at www.sodiumburn.com

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