Mambo
“It was a large white stucco affair constructed around a central courtyard; moonlit water splashed out of a fountain and cascaded over a statue in the shape of a naked girl. The statue was a fine example of social realism, but the Lider Maximo, who stood on a balcony overlooking the fountain, wasn’t exactly famous for his appreciation of anything artistic, though he always talked otherwise, since nobody ever questioned his judgments. He surrounded himself at times with swarms of words – like a b...eekeeper of language – phrases heaped on phrases, intricate and often colourful, yet frequently convoluted and downright enigmatic.
He fought with the urge to smoke one of the cigars he’d given up a while ago. He looked up at the sky. It was a gorgeous Cuban midnight with thin, high clouds and the sound of the tide, a night of coolness and clarity. But the Lider Maximo wasn’t in any mood to appreciate such things.
Noises rose from the party in the room below. A piano played. Somebody told a joke to polite laughter.MoreLess
He fought with the urge to smoke one of the cigars he’d given up a while ago. He looked up at the sky. It was a gorgeous Cuban midnight with thin, high clouds and the sound of the tide, a night of coolness and clarity. But the Lider Maximo wasn’t in any mood to appreciate such things.
Noises rose from the party in the room below. A piano played. Somebody told a joke to polite laughter.MoreLess
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