Free The Double Life of Fidel Castro by Juan Sanchez

state never lacked fresh fruit and vegetables and ate organically in every season. Another advantage of that local production was that it enabled absolute traceability of products, minimizing the risk of intoxication or poisoning. In the same way, Fidel Castro only drank water drawn from the well that was tucked away in the garden.
    The Commander in Chief would willingly wash his meals down with a little white, red, or rosé wine, mainly Algerian since President Houari Boumediene was in the habit of providing his Cuban counterpart with entire cases, a tradition that was continued after his death. As for President Saddam Hussein, he regularly sent pots of jam made from Iraqi figs to his dear Fidel. Careful about his diet and on his doctor’s recommendation, the latter never drank coffee, although he sometimes allowed himself a digestive of Napoleon cognac. In Punto Cero, Dalia governed everything: the meals, the domestics’ schedules, and even the relationship with the head of the family and his children. When one of the five A’s wanted to talk with the patriarch, he had to go through Dalia, who would then approach her husband; he would grant a meeting at his convenience. Nobody, not even his offspring, was permitted to disturb El Comandante on the spur of the moment. Fidel Castro was the opposite of a doting father: in seventeen years, I never once saw him make a gesture of tenderness toward any of his children, although apparently after his convalescence in 2006, he grew a little closer to them.
    Dalia was not exactly warm herself. She was rather a brittle, authoritarian, almost unpleasant woman. When Fidel was in the house, she eclipsed herself before El Jefe , “the Boss” (as she called Fidel in his absence, while he talked about her as La Compañera, “the Partner”). No sooner had he left, however, than she implemented a reign of strict discipline among the staff. Neither the domestic staff nor the bodyguards really liked her, which brings to mind an amusing anecdote.
    At the Castros’ estate, numerous chickens wandered at liberty around their laying nests scattered in the grass. Now, these birds with their excruciating cackling generally laid their eggs at sunrise, and so when we were on duty at night in one of the two surveillance posts situated in front of and behind the house, we would discreetly go on an egg hunt. Certain nests contained seven or eight eggs! We would slip them into our pockets and take them to our respective spouses, who would then make tortillas for the whole family. Then, one day, a very irate Dalia suddenly declared to all and sundry, “My goodness, these hens don’t lay! I wonder if they’re ill. . . . Or else there’s a problem with the quality of grain I’m giving them. I’m going to call the vet just to make sure.”
    At that very moment, my fridge was full of fresh eggs. Funniest of all, everyone was in on the scheme, even the faithful aide-de-camp Pepín Naranjo, who was usually in the habit of reporting everything to the Comandante . For once, it was Fidel and Dalia who were the butt of the joke!
    As I have said, Dalia turned into a protective she-wolf with her children. Egotistically, she considered her five boys Fidel’s sole legitimate heirs. Fidelito, for example, only came once to the property of Punto Cero, and he had never been welcome on the island of Cayo Piedra.
    On one of the few times he went there, his five half-brothers were also present. I don’t know why, but it had been decided that family ties would be strengthened. After everyone had gone to welcome Fidelito and his wife, Natalia Smirnova, at the landing stage, Dalia felt obliged to murmur to me as an aside: “Ah, the family need to get to know each other a little.” But it was obvious her heart wasn’t really in it. As the awkwardness was palpable, Pepín suggested to Fidel that Fidelito be sent to Cayo Largo del Sur to supervise the worksite under way on that fifteen-mile-long island of fine sand