Combustion

Politics is a rollercoaster in Cuba.  When my father opened our shop in 1951, we were a democracy.  However, the government was corrupt.  While my father and some of Cuba prospered, the needs of the poor were overlooked.  There was much discontent.

In 1952, former president Fulgencia Batista led a coup that overthrew the government.  Under his dictatorship, the corruption and discontent continued to grow.

So did the gap between the haves and the havenots.   Business at the shop was good.  My father was passionate about cars and would have worked on them 24 hours a day if he didn’t need food or sleep.  He developed a reputation as the guy who could fix what other mechanics couldn’t.

Even though our shop is 20 kilometers from downtown Havana, in the village of Cotorro, my father’s work began to attract the attention of the powerful and the wealthy.  The automobiles of mayors, businessmen, and other influential people were often in his shop.

Customers like that paid the bills.  But most of the cars in his shop were owned by ordinary people.  Many were poor.  My father never turned anyone away.  There was a lot of barter.  The baker paid in bread and the painter kept the shop freshly painted.  Many times my father did the work knowing the person could pay little or nothing.

The misery of the poor boiled over in 1958.  There was civil war.  On January 1st, 1959, Batista fled the country.  Castro and the Communists took over.

I missed the worst of it.  Things had settled down by the time I was born, in 1967.  But at first, my family was terrified.

Under Communist rule, private ownership of businesses was forbidden.  People wearing PCC lapels on their suits appeared at the shop.  In Spanish, Partido Comunista de Cuba.  The Communist Party of Cuba.  They pulled documents out of briefcases and made a pile on the desk in the shop office.  

The bottom line:  My father was out of business.  The shop building and the equipment were considered state property.  He was to cease operations immediately.  He would be assigned to work at a state owned garage.

He was scared and angry.  But Javier Montego is a man of character.  He had a shop full of cars.  He thought, “At least, I have to finish everything I’ve started.”  He got back to work.  Of course, people kept bringing their cars in.  The farmer had driven a long way and the baskets of vegetables looked fresh and tasty.  The shop stayed open.

Three days later, another man showed up wearing a PCC lapel.  This time, it was someone my father knew.  Georg Castillo.  Javier had worked on his car before.  Also his father’s car.  More than once, for free.

The Castillo family had been poor before the revolution.  Georg was wearing a suit and looked important now.  My father said, “I suppose you are going to arrest me or make me close the shop.”

Castillo said, “No, but my car needs an oil change.  I’ve got a job now, I can pay.”  He handed my father his keys.  “But we need to talk, in your office.“

Javier closed the door and motioned for the man to sit.  Georg spoke.  “Cuba is a different place now.  The old rules are gone.  Officially, you will no longer be able to run a business.  You will need to take down your sign and remove any advertising from your building.”

“However…People like me now make and interpret the rules.  I have not forgotten how you treated me and my father.  Cuba needs people who know how to repair automobiles.”

“You will be allowed to continue to run your shop.  Just keep a low profile.  Don’t talk about your business publicly.  And be prepared to see people from the PCC.  I told them they will not find a better mechanic.”

The king is dead.  Long live the king.  

One way or another, regardless of the “system”,  it always comes down to one thing.  The haves against the havenots.

My parents adjusted to the new realities.  The world outside the shop was very different in many ways.  On the roads, cars wrecked and wore out the same as before.  The shop stayed busy.

It is the world I was born into and the only one I know.  Many times I have wondered what it would be like to live in America.  It is only 170 kilometers away.  Freedom, decadence, and wealth are just a few hours to the north.   But all of my people are here.  And who would fix the cars?

Things began to change again, although slowly, after the Soviet Union collapsed.  Fifteen years ago, my father retired.  I took over the shop.  

Now, we are in the post-Fidel Castro era.  Just in the past few years, I was allowed to purchase a business license.  Once again, Montego Motors is officially open for business.  In addition to Jadzia’s motorcycle, we have a sign out front.  Painted by one of our customers.  

But I wasn’t thinking about any of that, when Jadzia threatened me with marriage, and becoming a Voskhod pilot.  I was thinking, Isabella will rip me a new a*****e if she ever sees Jadzia on that thing.