Free Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1) by Luis Gonzalez Page A

the project involves a school and your prospects aren’t quite as glamorous.”
    “Oh no,” Rigo replied, trying to do some quick damage control. “It won’t be a problem. I can assure you, no problem at all.”
    “Glad to hear it, compañero, glad to hear it. Don’t worry,” they said. “It’s only nine hundred kilometers away. One weekend home a month will be more than enough for you.”
    Rigo took hold of his senses and further acquiesced. “Yes,” he said. “That’ll be fine.”
    “Good to hear,” they assured him yet again. “Good tohear. And listen. We know you’re a newlywed, but just wait. In a few years you’ll be begging us to send you to Camagüey. No, you’ll be begging us to send you to Angola.”
    Rigo didn’t know if they were joking or not, but regardless, the officials were totally off base. My husband loved me more than anything and didn’t find their jaded humor the least bit amusing. Still, he knew they were due proper respect and acknowledgement.
    “That’s funny,” he said with a very thin laugh. “Very funny.”
    “Listen,” they further advised him. “You just concentrate on building this school and doing a good job, and the sooner you complete it, the sooner you’ll come home to your wife seven days a week. How’s that?”
    Rigo couldn’t ask for anything more, and he knew it. “Do you think I can work in Havana then?” he asked. “Do you think some projects might open up in the capital?”
    “Oh, yes,” they replied. “Projects are always opening up in the capital, compañero, you know that. And with someone of your exceptional talents, well, you’ll get top choice of any project you want.”
    It seemed a done deal. He either went to the town of Rio Piedras in Camagüey to build this school, or he could kiss his fledgling career good-bye. With Mihrta’s unwavering insistence, Rigo chose Camagüey, ashamed to admit that he really didn’t know much about this silent province to the east. Only that it relied on cattle production and agriculture for its existence and was known the world over for its
tinajones
—giant clay pots used for collecting rainwater. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. All by himself and without Havana’s big city distractions, Rigo could bury himself in his work. He could complete the project ahead of schedule and return home all the sooner. His housing would be provided at a large cattle co-op, but this did not mean extra meat in his diet; in fact, when it came to working and living at cattle co-ops, the state required workers be strictly vegetarian.
    Rigo was promised a team of ranch hands from this co-opto help with construction, and he planned on cracking the whip. He would not permit any delays or allow anything to derail a tight timeline. He wasn’t just doing it for selfish reasons either. He thought of the time, money, and resources he’d be saving the Revolution. It was a laudable goal, especially for someone so young.
    But commendable and ambitious as his objectives were, almost immediately upon stepping foot on Camagüey soil, Rigo knew he had problems, big problems. It happened the moment he submitted his schematics to the local leaders who’d been appointed to oversee the project and report back to the ministry.
    “What’s this?” they asked. “This doesn’t look like a school. It looks like a hotel, a luxury hotel.”
    Rigo calmly explained the way officials had presented the project to him: that it was supposed to be a school of the future, a prototype for all subsequent schools on the island, and more than anything, the ministry wanted some groundbreaking, revolutionary design. Rigo whipped out his portfolio and all who had gathered around savored his visionary sketches and designs. Not surprisingly, by the end of the presentation, Rigo had won over every official with his intellect and charm. They had never met anyone like him. They were more than impressed and recognized that, in Rigo, they had secured a talented and