“Would anybody like some coffee, tea, or milk?” She turned from him and addressed the passengers at large. I had to admire the way her conditioning took over in an emergency.
However, her question went unanswered.
“I told my analyst I was apprehensive about this trip.” A new voice, female, floated down the aisle. “I told him I was worried about all these hijackings. And you know what he said? He said the fear was just symptomatic of my neurosis. He said it was unrealistic because only maybe one plane in a thousand got hijacked. And for that I pay him twenty dollars a session!”
“So when his next bill comes, don’t pay it,” a man’s voice advised her.
“My horoscope said I’d be taking a trip, so I took a trip,” yet another female voice wailed. “But it didn’t just say a journey, it said an unexpected journey! The stars are never wrong!”
“And I had to hitch my little red wagon to your star!” someone else commented bitterly. “My luck!”
“All year long I looked forward to getting away from the garment district and lying in the sun,” another man complained. “All I asked was two weeks without the Mafia hoods breathing down my neck. What’s the use? They follow me everywhere!”
“Would you mind showing it to me?” Melvin asked the man with the gun.
“What?”
“Your penis. I’d like to judge its size for myself.”
“Melvin! Stop pestering the man,” his father called down the aisle.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The voice boomed out over the loudspeaker, and everybody quieted down to listen to it. “This is Captain Marvel7 , your pilot. We’ve had a slight change in flight plan, but there’s no cause for alarm. None whatsoever. If you’ll fasten your seat belts, we’ll be landing at Havana in about ten minutes. I am informed that the temperature in Havana is a balmy eighty-two degrees. That’s four degrees higher than Miami, which just goes to prove that every cloud has its silver lining. Heh-heh. Speaking for myself, the crew, and the Havana Chamber of Commerce, let me say that we hope your visit will be an enjoyable one. There will be no smoking until we disembark.”
“So put out your cigarette, you could live without it for ten minutes,” my mother told me.
I extinguished my cigarette.
“Your seat belt is fastened?” she checked.
“Yes.”
“Just as soon as we’re safe on solid ground,” Mama promised, “you know what?”
“No. What?”
“I’m going to lance that macka for you!” Her face was filled with the bliss of motherhood. “Just as soon as we’re down,” she vowed. “And believe me, it wouldn’t hurt just a little!”
Head held high, teeth a-grit, I braced myself for the dangers I would face in Castro’s Cuba!
CHAPTER THREE
“Greetings, American imperialist warmonger vacationers! The People’s Government of Cuba welcomes you to Havana.” The Cuban who greeted us was very young, sported an attempt at a beard that wouldn’t quite make it for at least another five years, appeared officious and a little pompous, yet friendly enough. He spoke to us in flawless English, and despite his pomposity, he seemed quite at ease, as if he’d been through this procedure many times before. He surveyed the crowd gathered in the large airport shed with what was almost a twinkle in his eye. “Now, Yankee plutocrat exploiters,” he added, “if you have any questions, as a representative of the Cuban InTourist Service, I will try to answer them for you.”
“Where could I go with my son, we should be alone I can lance a macka on his behind?” my mother asked.
“Is there any possibility of getting from here to San Juan in a hurry?” Henry wanted to know.
“If not, can you tell me if there are any gynecologists in Havana that are approved by the AMA?” Marilyn added.
“Are you a Libra?”
“Is there any way I can put in a long-distance call to my analyst? I don’t want him to accuse me of fantasizing?”
“My mascara is running. Do you have a mirror?” the pretty young man asked.
“Why don’t you ask him?” The cab driver jerked his thumb nastily in my direction. “Birds of a feather!” he muttered. “Can I call my hotel in Miami and ask them to hold my reservation?” he asked the Cuban directly.
“Do you know if I’ll get extra flight pay for the detour?” the stewardess wanted to know.
“Extra flight pay! We should get a refund, that’s what!”
“Are there any cultural side-trips I could take with my son to enlarge his horizons?” Melvin’s mother wondered.
“Or maybe you have a sleepaway camp we could put him in for awhile,” Melvin’s father added hopefully.
“How do you feel about incest?” Melvin asked the Cuban.
“I’m an embezzler,” the hijacker informed the official politely. “Will the Cuban government grant me sanctuary?”
“I will answer your questions.” The Cuban held up both hands for silence. Only when it was quiet did he resume speaking again. “The men and the women will be housed in separate quarters, so you cannot be alone with your son to lance his whatever-it-is,” he told my mother. I breathed a sigh of relief. “There are no direct flights from here to San Juan, and our gynecologists no longer perform illegal operations since the revolution.” Marilyn and Henry groaned in unison. “I’m a Taurus, the government frowns on psychoanalysis as the opiate of the bourgeois, and homosexuals are ostracized. I’m sorry, but phone calls to Miami will not be allowed,” he informed the cab driver. “As to extra flight pay,” he told the stewardess, “that is strictly up to airline policy and not in our jurisdiction. However, you and the rest of the crew will be cleared for take-off shortly and allowed to proceed to Miami.”
“What about the rest of us?” someone asked.
“Our runways are short, and so the jet on which you arrived cannot risk a take-off with a full load of passengers,” the Cuban explained. “Only the crew will fly out on it. Miami will have to send down a standard four-engine passenger plane for the rest of you.”
“How long will that take?” Henry’s voice quavered as he asked the question.
“Usually somewhere around twenty-four hours. Now, as to any other questions—”
“Cultural opportunities for my son . . .” Melvin’s mother reminded him.
“Sleepaway camp . . .” Melvin’s father was still hopeful.
“Incest!” Melvin demanded an answer.
“A collection of Premier Castro’s speeches will be prvided to enlarge your boy’s cultural horizons,” he promised Melvin’s mother. “If you should decide to leave Melvin here, we could place him in a labor camp,” he told Melvin’s father. “I disapprove of incest,” he told Melvin. “My sister is the ugliest girl in Havana.”
“A labor camp!” Melvin’s mother protested. “Not for my son! He’s a very delicate boy and he’s much too young to work!”
“I knew it was too much to hope for,” Melvin’s father sighed.
“Suppose your sister wasn’t ugly,” Melvin persisted. “Then how would you feel about it?”
“But she is ugly. Very ugly!”
“But suppose she wasn’t?”
“Then I wouldn’t hesitate to marry her,” the Cuban told Melvin with a perfectly straight face. “Any more questions?”
“Yes. What about me?” the hijacker wanted to know.
“How much money did you embezzle?”
“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“In the name of the People’s Govermnent of Cuba, allow me to Welcome you to Havana, comrade. We will be happy to relieve you of your monetary burden.”
“That,” said the hijacker, “is what I was afraid of. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could keep some of the money?”
“Well, no,” the Cuban told him pleasantly. “But we will do everything we can to correct your bourgeois attitudes.”