Tania saw the man walk toward her and decided this was the person she would sleep with. It wasn't because she knew him or because someone had set them up, it was because he was alone. She could tell by the way he glanced at the other girls sitting on the seawall and how he sauntered with the confidence tourists have when they cruise the streets looking for Cuban woman. Like so many of them, he was older and a little pudgy, but at least he wasn't gross. He would do. The man slowed his pace as he approached and Tania played over in her mind how it should unfold, the way Maria told her it would happen.

When they first visited the Malecón at night, Maria taught her to look around to see if the police were watching. "They likely will be," she said, "so make eye contact with the tourist, smile, but let him pass. Then, a minute later while the man is still within your sight, get up and walk behind him. He will glance back and you must smile at him. He will soon stop and sit on the seawall and wait for you, but you are to keep on walking. Turn to him, show him the sexiest smile he has ever seen, give your head a nudge down the Malecón and keep moving. Be sure to swing your little hips. He will follow you."

Tania swallowed hard and tried to focus on the character she would play. She fingered her plastic pearl necklace and took a deep breath of salty air.

The man was slowing his pace. He stopped next to her and looked out to the Gulf of Mexico. The sun was an orange disc, half buried in the sea. Tania almost believed the man was interested in watching the sunset but knew better. What she didn't know was how to proceed now Maria's plan had been altered.

Tania reminded herself she was Cuban. She was resourceful, and like the musicians from the bars and street combos, she could improvise. She knew she had this one.

"Hello, Mr. Tourist man. Are you looking to hear some good Cuban music? My cousin is playing in a band not far from here. You want to come see?"

She impressed herself with her English. It was the perfect mix of Spanish inflection and proper English. With a surge of confidence, Tania turned toward him and crossed her legs, letting her thin dress ride up her thigh. She watched as his eyes met hers, then lowered to her legs. His face redden slightly.

He turned his gaze back to the sea, pretending he didn't hear. She took a moment to study his features. His complexion was light, but not as light as some of the foreign boys who hung out at the bars near the University. His face was a little more rugged. Dark brown hair spurted a dust of grey at his temples, his hair was cut neatly and he was clean shaven. He was dressed in a light button down shirt and cargo shorts. Probably a teacher with a thing for young girls.

"Buena Vista Social Club, you heard of them, yes? My cousin plays with them. I can take you in." Tania flicked her long, black hair over her right shoulder. "We can dance the salsa, Mr. Tourist Man."

It looked to Tania as though the man was smiling, but she could only see the side of his face as he looked out to the water. He said nothing. In the silence, Tania could hear her heart beating. They had been talking too long.

Tania jumped to her feet and stood next to the man. Maybe with their backs to the street, she thought, the police wouldn't notice a foreigner talking to a Cuban girl. Together they looked out at the Straights of Florida, in silence.

Tania was grateful for the pause. She had time to rethink her strategy now that the man wasn't behaving the way he was supposed to. She couldn't guess what was wrong with him, why he didn't take the bait being so deliciously offered. She was, after all, the most attractive girl in her language program at the University of Havana. Everyone said so. She could be a movie star, they said, she was that pretty. Maria was pretty too, but not in the same way. Her friend was pretty from a Cuban's point of view: she had the curves that showed she wasn't starving, the bosom that would jiggle in her tight shirt as she danced; she had a mix of black and white and Hispanic, giving her something to please everyone. Tania, in her own mind, was too frail. She was too slender, a little too white, and, as her mother always said, too smart for her own good. Maybe the man wanted a bigger, darker girl. Maybe she looked too young.

She hadn't planned on becoming a jinetera. It wasn't as though being an escort was the career goal Tania had set for herself. The fact was she had no career goal. Nobody had goals. They went to school for something some bureaucrat thought was needed. For Tania, it was English. Apparently the government determined they needed more English teachers to educate those who will fill front line positions in the resorts, so she ended up streamed toward teaching those who will make the real money, tips from the tourists. Her role, she was told, was just as crucial since she would be helping raise the standard of living for every Cuban. As she inched closer to the strange man next to her, Tania wasn't thinking about benefiting the State.

A soft wind blew against Tania's face and the dampness of the sea air cooled her skin. She breathed in the sweetness. From the corner of her eye she tried to get a closer glimpse of the man, hoping to understand why he was reluctant to engage. Maybe he didn't speak English? Still, he should at least acknowledge her presence. But Tania didn't want to play games. If this man wasn't going to provide her with the thirty Cuban dollars that would hold her off for another month, then she would look elsewhere. But the streets and clubs in Habana Vajero were the grounds of the pimp and the jintero, a dark and dangerous world that was no place for her. Tania needed to be in the open, by the sea where, should things go terribly wrong, she had the other option: to throw herself off the Malecón wall into the sea to be bashed by the waves on the rocks or sink to the bottom where the sharks would eventually tear her apart. Same end result, only she would have the pleasure of a swim first.

But this man seemed different. He was thinking about something else as he stared into the Gulf. Maybe he had a wife back home and had to rationalize his infidelity, or perhaps he had drunk too much rum and was clearing his head, or maybe he simply didn't want a girlfriend tonight. She doubted that. She just hadn't come on hard enough. This man might take some extra persuasion. There was no debate in Tania's mind the payoff would be worth the effort. Besides, she was starting to feel comfortable standing next to him.

Maria was better at getting men that Tania would ever be. Maria wasn't afraid to be loud and dirty, to say things that Tania couldn't even imagine, let alone do. But it paid off for Maria: she had three men who visited her once or twice each year. They brought her fancy clothes, perfume and soap, they paid for her meals and drinks, paid for the casa particular, and would leave her with more money than she could ever make in a lifetime of working at the clinic. For what, putting up with those old guys for ten weeks of the year? If Tania could find someone, just one man that could become her drop-in boyfriend, she would be alright. As it was now, she wasn't sure what she would do once her final semester at the university was over and she had to pay for things herself.

With renewed determination Tania slid her hand across the concrete wall and touched the man's arm. It was hairy and prickly and strange. She tried to sound like Maria when she spoke.

"So, is this your first time in Cuba?"

Another hand joined theirs: a black arm, the rolled up sleeve of an official uniform shirt. Before her head turned to face the intruder, she already knew the police had caught her.

The intrusion sent a shock through her. She withdrew her arm immediately. It wasn't fear of the police or the authorities that upset her. Tania knew this was a problem of inconvenience. The uniformed police officer didn't look much older than she was and it was unlikely he was working for a pimp. You could usually tell those guys because they circled the girls like cattle herders. Here on the Malecón, the girls tended to be free, working independently of the pimps. Chances were the young cop saw a chance to make a few CUC in bribe money from the tourist. He could see she had no money to give him.

Tania slid away further, readying herself to walk away from the failed encounter.

The policeman spoke to the tourist in broken English. "It is against the law in Cuba to engage in prostitution. This woman is under arrest for prostitution. She will come with me to the police station. You, mister, are to be arrested for hiring a prostitute."

The tourist turned and looked at the policeman. He was a good head taller, and much thicker, than the tiny cop and could easily crush the unarmed policeman against the wall if he wanted. Instead, he spoke in a voice firm and confident, demanding respect.

"The girl is my dance teacher. You have no laws about taking salsa lessons. Leave us alone."

The tourist stepped past the cop and seized Tania by her bare arm. She felt the tightness of his grip and the authority in his step as he dragged her away. The man didn't turn to look back, but Tania did. The cop stood there like he had just lost a fish at the net, in disbelief as his prize catch swam away.

Tania struggled to pull free from the man. When he chose to release her, they walked a short distance before she spoke.

"Why did you do that? Why didn't you just walk away?"


"I did walk away," he said, "but I got you in the deal too."

"Well, thank you. You know I would have been okay. He was just looking for money from you."



"Yes, I am learning that you people will do anything for money. You have no shame, do you?"

Tania didn't answer the man and kept walking next to him along the seawall sidewalk. Their pace had slowed since they left the policeman. She felt a little more at ease and allowed him to do the talking.

"I don't see how you Cubans can live like this. Look around: the filth and squalor, and no freedom. Your government doesn't let you do what you want. I feel sorry for you."

"You sound American."

"Yes, I am. From Michigan, actually."

"I didn't know your government allowed you to travel to Cuba. Are there not all kinds of restrictions about that?"


"There are ways around those rules, if you are resourceful, but it is getting easier. Still, I fly from Canada."

Tania smiled to herself, imagining this man jumping from one country to another so he can buy a cheap prostitute. Was sex that important?

"And what are you looking for here, Mr. American man? A nice little Cuban girlfriend?" Tania took on the sassy tone, the way Maria had coached her.

"I know it looks like that, doesn't it?" The man turned and stared down at her. "But I am here to help you."

Tania stopped walking, let him continue for a few steps, waited for him to stop, turn back and look at her.

"You? You are here to help me? And how is that? Did you bring a box of condoms you can leave me? They are hard to find here because of the U.S. embargo."

The man walked back to Tania, took her hand and, with a voice that sounded sincere and kind, said, "I don't believe you should be using condoms, or having sex at all. I am here to convince you to leave the sex trade, not to enable you to do more."

Tania couldn't help but laugh. There was an older couple-tourists-who were walking past. They turned and looked at her and the American man. Realizing they were being noticed, Tania resumed a quick walk, forcing the man to jog to catch up to her.

"Listen to me. I am very serious." He was almost panting as he spoke. "You see, my church sponsors me to come down here and convince girls to leave the sex trade. It is our mission, to spread the Word in this Godless country, and help protect young woman, like you."

Tania could only imagine what would happen if it was Maria, not her, who was the one who came on to this man. That would be entertaining. Except, of course, Maria's English would not be strong enough for her to cut this man to shreds. Tania, while having the command his language, wasn't about to challenge his ridiculous assertions. Still, this was going to be an interesting night.

"Hey," she said, "let's go get a drink and you can tell me more. And you can call me Verita."


"A coffee, Verita."


"Okay, a coffee."



***

A light evening breeze from the north drifted over the seawall, blew across the boulevard and rustled the pink umbrella overhead. They were seated on white plastic chairs in an upscale outdoor cafe, a place that Tania had often passed but was well beyond her means. These places existed for the tourists, as did the sweaty nightclub upstairs in the building behind them. The street lights cast a warm, yellow wash on the boulevard and on the stucco facade of the building. The thumping of a Latin dance beat shook the night. Tania could feel the exotic excitement as she watched couples enter the stairway beside the cafe. She wanted to be upstairs as well, driven by the beat and the sweat, fuelled by rum. Instead, she was sitting across from a strange man who was telling her how he was going to save her.

The man had Tania order his coffee for him with half water; she discreetly asked for a shot of rum in hers. They sat facing each other in awkward silence until a young man delivered the coffee. Tania told the American to give the server a one dollar tip, or else they would lose their table. He grimaced and flicked the man an American dollar bill, after paying for the coffee in Cuban currency. Then he took out a well worn book with a black leather cover.

"Do you know what this is?" the man asked.

"Is it a book with a list of your Cuban girlfriends?"

"No Verita, it is the bible. It contains the Word of God. And it can save you."



"You mean I can sell it, and get enough to buy food?"

"No. It can tell you the truth. It will show you the way out of your misery and into true salvation."



"Oh, I see! It shows me how to get into America, doesn't it? Listen, Mister, I have no money to pay to pirates or smugglers. Besides, I will have a job here. I am not that bad off."



The man shook his head and smiled. "My poor child, look at you. You're selling your body on the street in order to survive. You live under an authoritarian dictator, you have no freedom, no rights, no future."



But she wasn't trying to be funny. Tania didn't understand what the man was talking about. She had a future: she was about to graduate from university with a degree in English Linguistics. She would work, likely in Havana or Varadero, as a teacher in a professional school. She would marry a man, if she was lucky her husband would work at a resort, she would have children and take care of her parents. Her future was pretty much like any other Cuban from the city. In the meantime, she would try to make a little extra by using what she had, while she could. So, what was this man offering her?

The man opened his book and slid it across the table. "Look, this isn't a map. It isn't about you coming to America. The United States has its own problems. We have too many people from other countries tying to come to America already. We have so many illegal immigrants, criminals, refugees and foreigners living off of our system. No, immigration isn't the answer. Only you are responsible for your salvation, and this book tells you how."

Tania glanced at the page, rows of words, or verses. It didn't make any sense, even though there were a number of passages underlined as important. "What does all this say?"

"It takes a lifetime to understand fully, but some people—smart people, like you seem to be—can understand it themselves, if they open their hearts to the Word." He spoke as though he was reciting an oath, like their "Pioneers of Communism" pledge at school.

Tania flipped through the book. The man had certainly spent a lot of time writing and underlining things. She stopped at a marked passage, somewhere near the beginning of the book. "What does this say?" she asked.

"Oh, this is one of the fundamental beliefs. It says that you shall not bow down and worship any idol. That is why it is wrong to pay homage to the leaders of your revolution, Ché and Castro. You are only to worship the one true God."

Tania couldn't help herself. "It mentions Fidel? I know he was important to our history, but I didn't know he was in your bible." It looked like the man wasn't sure if she understood him.

"You see Verita, the bible tells us everything we can and cannot do, if we want to live the right way."


"I do see," Tania said. "I am very used to being told what to do. But, you need to see, one thing Cubans have learned is how to do what we need to do, when we want to do it. It is about survival. Tell me, Mr. American, what is it you want to do? What is in your future?"

Tania signalled the server for a refill of her rum and coffee. The man waved the server off. He seemed to be deep in thought.

"I am very content with my life. I am married, I work in an office selling retirement investments, we have two boys. Sammy is the starting quarterback on the senior football team at school. Big fellow, that one. Actually, I have everything you could ask for."

"I wouldn't ask for that. A baseball pitcher maybe. I like them skinny." Tania smirked and looked at the man's belly. "But is that all, is there nothing else that would make you happy?"

Tania could feel the warmth of the rum tickle her imagination. She leaned toward him, letting her dress fall away from her chest, and allowed him a generous view down her top. She noticed his eyes pause, and, timed perfectly, she slid her hand up his bare arm. His skin tighten before he jerked away.

"No, no—I am very content. And I have my church. I'm involved in our missionary work. Very involved."

"When you think about it, we have a lot in common, you and I. In America you are free to do anything you want, yet you say you want nothing more." Tania took her bare knee, slid it up his inner thigh and pressed into him. She leaned in again and whispered, "except what you really want to do right now, your book and your church tell you you can't. Look at me: I supposedly have no freedom, yet I can do whatever I want. And I will."

The man didn't pull back this time. He let Tania's leg press into his and he looked at her with eyes half-closed, the look like he was about to move in for a kiss, his hand moving toward her. Tania let him take in her closeness for a moment longer before sliding back, as if nothing had happened. She signalled the waiter for two more rum.

"See, we have enough in common that you could be my boyfriend. What do you think about that, Johnny"

"My name is Greg."



"Tonight, you are in Cuba with a beautiful seniorita called Verita, and tonight your name is Johnny. We will drink some rum, then we will go upstairs and dance the salsa, Johnny."

The server placed two glasses on the table, and poured from the bottle. As the waiter tipped the bottle back, Tania pulled it from his hand and placed it on the table. She rubbed her fingers together until the man pulled out some bills. The server reached and snapped up all the money. Tania placed a glass in his hand and promptly shot hers back, motioning to him to do the same.

The man she named Johnny grimaced and threw back his drink like a character in a western movie. Tania smiled, reached across the table and took his hands in hers. He didn't resist this time. He held her gaze.

"Tonight, I want you to feel what it is like to be free, Cowboy. I want you to feel the rhythm of the beat in your body, the heat of the rum in your belly, the desire for me with your pinga. I want you to look around and see the love in the room. Feel what it is like to be Cuban, feel what it is like to be human."

Tania stood up, still holding the man's hands. "Come, let me teach you the salsa."

The man stood. "Listen Verita, I am not sure this is a good idea." He paused, yet did not pull away from her grasp. "It doesn't feel right."

She took his hands and pinned them behind his head, her arms around his neck and swung her hips into him. She moved against him, a slow grind in time with the thumping bass from the dancehall upstairs.

"You are sure? Feel that Johnny. That is excitement you feel. When is the last time you got excited like this, the last time you were unsure about anything, Johnny? Tonight, you get to choose what will happen. You can make up your own story, be whoever you want to be, and tell whatever lies you want when you get home. Exciting, isn't it? That is what right feels like."

The man turned away from Tania and looked out to the Malecón. She watched his eyes and wondered if he was thinking about his home across the straight, in America, the land of the free, on the other side of the seawall.

"I can't. I came here to help you, to take you away from this life, not to fall into your sin." He made a feigned attempt at pulling free from her, but let her press herself into him again.

"So Johnny, you have a choice. You can have me tonight, do whatever you want with me, or, you can tell me to go away, go back to the wall where you found me. The price for you is the same."

The man gave Tania a sudden push and twisted free from her hold. "What do you mean, the price?"



"Fifty CUC. You pay me fifty dollars and I'll do anything you want me to. You can have me any way you want. You can take me back to where you are staying and we can fuki-fuki all night or you can take me dancing, or talk to me about your God. Or do all of those things. Or you can pay me fifty dollars and I will leave you alone. It is up to you, Johnny."

"And if I don't pay you at all?"

"I will go back and sit on the wall with my legs spread open and wait for the next yuma to come take me." Tania stood tall, brushed back her hair and straightened her dress. "It is up to you. How bad do you want to save me?"

The man reached down and picked up his book from the table. He held it against his chest. Tania stood still. He looked again, across the boulevard, out to the seawall, past the couples strolling along the Malecón and into the darkness beyond the straight. From the club upstairs, the salsa beat pounded the hot Havana night.