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she said she would continue to be patient, I promised myself to help her as much as I could.

We had been invited by the Barlettas for their daughter's 21st birthday and since the Barlettas, Italians of origin, were among the richest in Havana, that party promised to be the social event of the year.

I was very surprised when Mary told me that Papa didn't seem to have any intention of going and that she was therefore not coming to the party. I immediately ran to him. "No, I'm not coming" he confirmed. 

"But why?" 

"This kind of party bores me."

"But we'll all be there..." 

"I'll stay at the Finca. I have better things to do." 

"But if you don't come, Mary won't come either." 

"And why shouldn't she? She's of age."

"She does so much for you, you do something for her too, please. Mary would like to come to the party, I know. And I also know that without you she won't come. And without her, I won't go either." And, interrupting the discussion, I returned to the Casita.

When I entered the living room very late I found him standing, clean-shaven, dressed in a tuxedo. "Thanks Papa." I told him.

It was a magical night, that party under the tropic skies. The green expanse of the garden strewn with torches, the stumps of wild orchids and the tall palm trees illuminated by colored lights, the large pool reflecting the moon. The two orchestras with the best players on the island in flamboyant costumes playing the maracas and beating the tubadoras. Josephine Baker singing into the microphone.

On the large tables among lobsters, cangrehos moro y lechon hachado* dominated a row of panettone**. I had stopped to look at them, moved to find that very Italian Christmas cake among so many exotic dishes.

* Spanish for "moorish crabs and suckling pig."

** Panettone is a towering round of sweet bread speckled with raisins, citrus, and almonds with a plush, buttery texture that is popular both here and all over Italy during the winter holidays.