him I had known everyone. I had lunch with him at the sailors' and officers' mess and even at the captain's table (but this was because of my mother). With Luigino I had seen the whole ship, from the kitchens to the engine room, where I had appreciated the fatigue of those poor people locked up in deafening noises.
It was around 10 in the morning when the Luciano Manara found itself in sight of the Morro, the Spanish fort sentinel to the port of Havana. The blue sea was cut by the bright wake of a motorboat that was heading towards us. When he got close I slowed down, the three people on board waved their arms. "Welcome to Havana!" I heard Mary's voice shout through a megaphone. "Welcome!! We are waiting for you at the port." Papa shouted. The motorboat turned around to go back while mother smiled at Gianfranco with shining shining eyes.
Baggage delivery proved laborious. Papa and Gianfranco decided to stay at the port to speed things up, we went to the Finca with Mary.
The house on the hill, built by the Spaniards as a guard post over the surrounding countryside, really deserved its name "Vigia" (sentinel). Everything was as Papa had described it to me: the long avenue of royal palms and, at the end on the right, the Casita for guests with the large ceiba tree next to it and immediately behind, the low white house, the House.
We were welcomed by Rene, the young mulatto who had been serving them faithfully for years; Clara the waitress, very thin and certainly not beautiful; Juan the dark-skinned, weary-footed driver. And the Castilian Roberto Herrera, smiling secretary, who had allowed himself to be nicknamed "El Monstruo" although he was neither monstrous nor ugly...
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