I throw out this bottle to help me contact the poet MANOLO DÍAZ MARTÍNEZ, whom we have known for some time, a dear friend to me, and like a brother to my husband. When we wanted to contact him, his address had changed. Manolo and the dog Dandy were our hosts at Palmas de Gran Canaria in their sunny apartment, which is like being on the bridge of a ship. His daughter Claudia works as an architect in the Islands, and another, Gabriela, has a bookstore across from the Royal Palace in Madrid. Many thanks.
In 1993 I had to be admitted for a lengthy stay in Glez Hospital. They prescribed complete bed rest because I was at risk of losing my pregnancy. There I met NÉLIDA CASTILLO, a chemical engineer who worked at CENIC. The first thing we did was to clean our room and bathroom, and we had to launch a crusade against the cockroaches. Despite the obstetric risks, we both agreed that the place where we would be for months had to be “habitable.” We became great friends. Nelida had a little portable radio. We listended to Radio Martí without interference and talked of thousands of things when we weren’t reading or sleeping. My son was born first. When she learned that her pregnancy was nearing full-term, Nelida came to say goodbye. She told me that she and her husband were traveling to Russia, but in Spain they took another plane to Miami. She falsified the time of her pregnancy because she would not have been allowed to travel if they had known her true due date. I knew that the whole adventure turned out well and a few days after arriving in U.S. she had a child whom she named Liberty. Can anyone do me the favor of delivering the message in this bottle?
My husband and I had a dear friend, a boy half mad with the madness of artists. He had been attached to the Special Troops, and he served as a sort of bodyguard for Carlos Varela, when Carlos’s concerts had a subversive air and he was an idol of the youth. RAFAEL DIEGUEZ studied at San Alejandro and the ISA, was a wonderful writer, and with an ambition to make his name he went to Spain and we have not heard from him again. His family lived in Lawton and he was married to a girl named Meiza who emigrated to the U.S. I don’t know where to direct this bottle because many years have passed without news of Rafa.
PEDRO ALBERTO ASSEF, of Ciego de Avila. Assef must be in his forties, and had written very good poetry as a young man. The last time we heard of him he was in North Carolina, but we lost track of him several years ago, so I don’t know where to direct this bottle.
Translated by: Tomás A.