The Tyre, looking a little put out, indicated to Michael from Envi – my rival – that he should go in. He started with some steps from Thriller, grabbing his balls like Michael Jackson, throwing a kick and moonwalking. Everybody went crazy.
Then Eddie signalled to me. I started with a little bit of ‘Chardo’, a dance that was popular in the eighties, then I grabbed my balls like Michael Jackson as my rival had done, but I could see Eddie out of the corner of my eye telling me to let Opito have a go. I exited. Opito stood on his head and started to spin: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven … By now, the spectators were jumping up and down with excitement, shouting, and rolling around on the ground, unable to contain themselves. Eight turns! Nine! Finally Opito fell over. The whole place exploded. The audience seized Opito and threw him up into the air. The Tyre watched, still as a stone, his face eaten up with envy. Eddie, as happy as could be, squeezed my shoulders and shouted ‘Well done!’
The competition was over, but suddenly we heard a scream. Everyone froze. Somebody moaned. Everybody started to run in different directions.
‘He went that way, catch him, catch him!’ shouted Mickey the Stink, holding on to the body of the fat guy, Tar Ball, who was bleeding copiously from two stab wounds to his stomach. A group of guys chased after the Tyre, who had fled. From my nine-year-old height, all I could see were legs racing frantically and figures scattering. Police sirens were getting nearer and nearer.
‘Quick, Lalo, grab everything, let’s go, the cops are here!’ cried Eddie and we fled from the chaos.
Nearly all those break-dance competitions ended in trouble: in order for someone to win, somebody else had to be defeated, and none of us were good losers.
Eddie said I could stay at his house again, but I knew my family would be worrying about me. I arrived back home at five o’clock in the afternoon. My father was there. He had not gone to work. Marilín opened the door, but did not say anything, and nor did I. I went through and saw my father. There was no anger in his face now, only pain. He looked completely disillusioned, which made my chest seize up with guilt. Neither of us spoke. I walked into my mother’s room. Her face lit up and she stretched her hands out to me. I fell into her arms, and my sisters rushed over to join us, all four of us in one, big, relieved embrace. I so wanted to cry and to kneel down in front of my father and beg his forgiveness, but pride would not let me.
I heard the door slam and then the engine start up. I ran over to the balcony just in time to see the green lorry driving away leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Then I cried inconsolably. I could not get his hurt expression out of my mind. A hand touched me on the shoulder. I turned round and saw my mother standing there. It was the first time that she had walked in six months. We all hugged again, but this time the tears had a different flavour.
The new school term started and, with it, my second year of ballet. I developed a compromise routine: I would play truant for one week out of every month. Unsurprisingly, I was missing a lot of important rehearsals in the process. The school would communicate this to my father and I would suffer the consequences, but I would continue to skip class. I studied ballet, but I thought constantly about football. Little by little I managed to find the balance between what I had dreamt of doing and what had been imposed on me. In spite of my numerous absences, my marks were consistently high, which was a great mystery to me, but I am sure that it was the only reason I was not expelled in my second year. They were giving me some rope to see what I would do with it.
The summer term would end with the National Festival of the Schools of the Performing Arts, in the city of Camagüey. It was a very important event for the school. Many ballets would be presented, amongst them Dreams of Sailors, by our teacher Lupe Calzadilla, who took me aside and told me that she would include me if I would promise to attend all of the rehearsals. I accepted the deal, thinking it would be nice to see another part of the country, and resolved to make a big effort. I abandoned the La Fortuna lake and for the first three months of the year concentrated on ballet. Everyone was so amazed at my transformation that I was given a special mention in front of the whole school.
At home, things were returning to normal. My mother had recovered her powers of speech and she could walk and undertake light activities. It was wonderful to see her up and about again; she illuminated the entire apartment. Marilín and Bertica were growing up. Marilín was now an adolescent and Bertica had a boyfriend, a local boy called Joel. The school called my father at work to congratulate him on my improved behaviour. When they told him they were thinking of nominating me as a model student, he was so proud he forgot the friction that had existed between us in the past.
There was bad news too, however. In fifth grade Nancy would not be our teacher any more. Now we would take classes with María Caridad and María Isabel, who could not stand me. She constantly told me off and blamed me for everything. Even when it was someone else who farted, she rounded on me and dragged me off to the head’s office to be disciplined.
In January, there was to be a performance at García Lorca, the most important theatre in Cuba. The Mazurka, The Cherubs and many other ballets were going to be performed there for the first time, and I would be dancing with Grettel again. Unfortunately, she was now a guy called Idris’s girlfriend. I used to see them walking hand in hand near the school and was horribly jealous, but I had also started to flirt with another girl called Ana Margarita. Ever since I had received my special mention, she seemed to be always looking at me and smiling, and soon I began to smile back. Once or twice I even spoke to her. My head swelled to immense proportions. I thought I was a ten-year-old Don Juan, until I discovered that the laughter and the flirting were not for me, but for Israel, who sat at the desk behind me. What a fool!
One day, our teacher Soraya was ill and could not take her classes, and so I got to go home early, which I was delighted about because it meant I would be able to play ‘Eat Mud’ with my friend Pedro Julio. On the way home the bus stopped three blocks too early to avoid an enormous crowd of people at the bus-stop. Everybody shouted at the driver, but it was no use, he threw us all off. I strolled on contentedly, whistling a popular tune. Just as I approached our apartment, a black cat crossed in front of me to the other side of the street, where it stopped and looked at me. I was not superstitious, but I felt as if the animal were trying to tell me something.
When I arrived home, Marilín was crying.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Yuli… Papá’s had a car accident!’
‘Where are Mami and Bertica?’
‘Everyone’s inside with the doctor. Mamá has to be sedated: her blood pressure went up.’
‘What’s going to happen now?’
‘I don’t know. Papi’s at the police station.’
I went to the bedroom with a familiar feeling of dread. A doctor was injecting my mother, who was in a terribly agitated state. There were a few neighbours helping to calm her down and there was the medicinal smell that I hated. It was like a small hospital. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My mother did not notice my presence as I stood observing in the corner, and Bertica acknowledged me surreptitiously, so that Mamá would not know that I was there and get even more upset.
My mother fell asleep shortly after the doctor gave her the injection, but my sisters and I waited and waited, awake and anxious. At around three in the morning, my father finally returned home. His exhaustion showed in his face and we could see from his preoccupied glance that the situation was bad. His eyes darted about, constantly unable to rest on any one thing. He drank a cup of lime-blossom tea that Marilín