“Wow, Dad. Look at that space suit. I want to wear it,” William said to Ben.
“Uh, no. Not happening.”
“This is major Tom to ground control / I’m stepping through the door/ [and] I’m floating in the most peculiar way.”
“Take the headphones from your ears and listen to your son,” Violet chided.
“I’m listening to William. He wants to wear the space suit and I said he can’t. What else can I say?” Ben asked.
“Just stop listening to your iPhone and be present,” Violet said rolling her eyes.
“But I have to finish this song. It’s a classic –the theme song to this museum moment.”
“What song Dad?” William asked curious.
“David Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity.”
“Oh, I love that song, turn it up. Take the headphones out,” Violet said. William nodded in agreement.
They chuckled before singing out loud: “For here am I sitting in a tin can / [far] above the world / [planet] earth is blue / [and] there’s nothing I can do . . .” until they reached the end of the song.
When they had finished the three of them looked up surprised to have everyone present at the museum’s space exhibit applauding their singing.
Chad, Bastion, and Uncle Sam, had taken a flight to Amsterdam after the house in the mountainside of Switzerland, turned out to be a death trap. After finding one of Bastions ‘safe’ houses, Bastion slipped away to do business.
Sam had ruffled Chad’s hair. “You’ve still got your gun on you? Just in case, keep it close.”
They began to walk on the opposite side of the street, away from a flower market. When Chad’s Uncle paid for two tickets to the medieval torture museum, Chad begged, “Please not in there. . .”
“It’s for secrecy and privacy Chad. I’m going to answer your questions about your Dad.” Sam said chuckling.
They walked into a room showcasing a few racks. Uncle Sam and Chad pretended to look at the torture devises.
“There was fight between your Dad’s squadron and an enemy squadron. Tom was undercover and to most of his fellow marines, it appeared as if one of their own had turned. Tom wasn’t expecting to run into his own squad.” Uncle Sam said softly.
“Your Dad was loyal. Only a few marines who ranked with him, knew he was undercover. Bastion knew and so did a man named Garig; the three were close friends in school.”
“Somehow, Tom was shot; it took the rest of his squadron too long to figure out, he wasn’t the enemy. Your Dad knew who among his squad was actually working for the enemy before the encounter.”
“So who was it?” Chad asked.
“Well, Tom talked to me a day or two before he was sent undercover. He was sure he knew who the traitor was then; he had proof.”
” It’s not Bastion,” Sam said quickly. “Tom suspected Gerig because he had been disappearing for long periods of time. Gerig had also been jealous about your Dad marrying Mona; Gerig was in love with your Mom. He also had other information he couldn’t tell me . . .”
” Tom said he had proof Gerig was the enemy, that he was betraying his friends and squad.”
“How could Dad know? And why is Gerig chasing us?” Chad mumbled.
“What Gerig was involved in . .. It’s on your body and proves his guilt.” Uncle Sam said.
“Well, yeah. Who gets their kid a tattoo at six-months-old, Chad?” Uncle Sam whispered.
“It’s a Bambi cartoon of an actual seal; I hated it in gym.” Chad muttered.
“You have to read it the right way to retrieve the information. Only, the right technology can read it.”
“Like 3D glasses?” Chad asked.
“No, I’m afraid not . . ” Sam couldn’t finish his sentence; he heard screams and people talking noisily.
Running towards the clammer, Chad and Uncle Sam gazed up horrified, as the body of Bastion hung from the noose of a medieval execution scene.
Chad shivered. “It’s Garig. He knows.” He turned around in a circle, wondering if Garig was here.
The palest eyes, nearly white, stared through the crowd at Chad.
Uncle Sam dragged him away, “The pale-eyed man, it’s him. Chad wake-up. Do you want to die?”
Chad narrowed his eyes at Garig but inside, his stomach began to twist.
The buildings in Havana, Cuba are pastel coloured. The architecture uniquely from the sixteenth-century. I feel anticipation as I walk around the streets of old Havana. The people here are friendly.
It amazes me that Havana served as a stopping point for ships entering and leaving the New World such as “treasure-laden Spanish galleons.” It’s a different view then the view you receive of Havana after the Communist Revolution in 1959 and Cuban Missle Crisis in 1962.
No US President has been on Cuban soil for eighty-eight- years. But Obama was here today, attempting to lift all trade embargoes on Cuba. Despite Raol Castro having significantly varied opinions on human rights, change is coming to Cuba.
For now, I visit a building called ‘Photo Centre,’a museum. I absorb the history of Havana. Outside the building, I take a selfie; I’m the second American in Havana today.
Thanks to Priceless Joy a gem of a lady who holds FFftAW each week.