Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1) Read Online Free

finish hijacking the rest of my thoughts.
    “Amor,” he replied. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone? Why do you always have to push and push and push? I’m going, and that’s all that matters.”
    That was when it happened, when I saw the light gloriously start draining from the interior of our room, when I noticed the pallor of its walls, a smooth and pale rust, deepen and darken into a crimson corrosion. Finally! Dusk finally in descent. Dusk finally dissolving into the tide pools of afternoon’s death. An unmistakable darkness was now on the rise, but oh, I could see more clearly than ever.
    “You’re right, Rigo. I do push too much, don’t I? I’ll try to change, amor. Once I get to the United States, I promise I’ll change.”
    A boyish and playful smile lit up his face, a surge of excitement infused his eyes. “Listen amor. Just so you know, I’m only going on one condition. I’m not settling in Tampa or St. Petersburg. I’m not living in Miami or any of the Keys. I don’t want any part of Florida or all the
cubaneo
there. If you can agree to that, tomorrow morning I’ll be on that ridiculous contraption of Henry’s, which will be a miracle if it floats.”
    The sudden dose of levity caught me off guard, but his dig at Henry did not. Rigo didn’t like Henry, not even when they should have gotten along fine. One was an architect, the other an artist. Their professions were not identical, but certainly fraternal. The two should have shared much in common, but instead of mutual respect, they shared a mutual distaste.
    “Where, then?” I asked. “Where do you want to go?”
    “To California. I want to live in California.”
    “Los Angeles?”
    “No, not Los Angeles!” he said with scorn. “Rememberamor, above all I’m an architect, and a city like Los Angeles has nothing to offer an architect. San Francisco—that’s where we’re going.”
    “San Francisco?”
    “Yes, San Francisco, an architect’s paradise. I don’t know if I ever told you, amor, but one entire semester of our studies was devoted to the architecture of San Francisco, and ever since then, I’ve been dying to go there. I’ve wanted to see and experience the city’s architecture with my own eyes, especially a building there called the TransAmerica Pyramid…”
    “The TransAmerica Pyramid? What is it?” I asked.
    “Oh, you should see it, amor. It’s the most ingenious building of the twentieth century. It was built in the shape of a pyramid, and it’s the city’s tallest building. It’s a shining example of man’s potential for achievement and something you’d never see here in Cuba.”
    “A pyramid, ey? How interesting.”
    “Oh, it’s more than interesting, amor. It’s magnificent, a true marvel of architecture and engineering. But that’s only one of the many marvels and gems of San Francisco. There’s another structure called the Ferry Building that’s also impressive.”
    “The Ferry Building?” I repeated in my Spanish accent, with an awkward roll of the
r
’s.
    “Yes, amor, the Ferry Building at Marketplace. You should see the clock tower there. It sits like a crown on top of the building. It was modeled after the Giralda bell tower in Sevilla.”
    “And?” I asked the beaming architect. “What about it?”
    “What about it!” Rigo said in a huff. “Why, it’s one of the most beautiful landmarks in the whole city. It was built so well that it survived the 1906 earthquake. It’s where the Pacific Ocean ends and Market Street begins. Think of it as their Malecón.”
    I was stunned to hear so a bold comparison. Could this Ferry Building or this Marketplace really be as special as the Malecón? Our city’s splendid and extraordinary esplanade? That golden necklace that curved around the bay and from which our hopes and dreams hung like invisible yet incandescent charms? I doubted it.
    “You’ve never told me any of this, Rigo. You’ve never mentioned San Francisco or the