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smiled: bright teeth against olive skin. “Good for you,” he answered.

C HAPTER T WO

The Triumph of Oedipus
    T AMPA , F LORIDA, IS AS HUMID AS A STEAM BATH FROM LATE SPRING TO early fall. Even in winter the air is heavy. It is no accident that it was chosen by the cigar industry as a location for its factories. Tampa is an open-air humidor, as an eminent American writer pointed out. No need to fear the long green tongue of the tobacco leaf will dry out.
    My mother and I traveled to Ybor City for the July 4th weekend in 1960. Papa Sam had died in May. Ruth didn’t take me to the funeral. Indeed, she didn’t tell me Papa Sam had died until late June, not until she could promise me that my father was returning from Havana and that he would meet us in Tampa in July. Years later, Aunt Sadie explained that my mother delayed informing me about Papa Sam’s death because she didn’t want to upset me while the next occasion for seeing my father was still uncertain. According to Sadie, without the reassurance of an upcoming meeting, my mother feared I would imagine my Daddy was dead since hers had died. Of course she was projecting her own worry about Francisco onto me. But it was not entirely fanciful on her part. She had reason to fear that her husband might be killed.
    My father returned to the States before finishing research for his book because of the excitement generated by an article he had written for The New York Times Magazine about the Cuban revolution. The article provoked interest from publishers who wanted to buy my father’s book before its completion; he was to meet with the editors who had made offers. Meanwhile, Esquire had commissioned another piece that was due on the stands around July 4th, and some sort of primitive early media tour developed, mostly on radio.
    Francisco was scheduled to do a radio call-in show in Tampa on July 2nd. He was to do two such programs in Miami on the 1st. More radio programs were set up in New York for later in the month. There was also talk of an appearance on the Dave Garroway show. I suspect, but don’t know, that Dad’s media appearances were encouraged by the Cuban government, which was desperate to counteract the mounting anti-Castro propaganda emanating from the White House. (Building support for the coming Bay of Pigs invasion, of course.) In any event, whether my father was or was not directly encouraged by Fidel’s government, the anti-Castro community in Miami, New York, and New Jersey had decided he was. There were threats both by anonymous letters to the Times and crank calls to the radio stations in Miami.
    I should pause here to note that many people have strong feelings about politics and are made uneasy when they cannot identify someone’s ideological bias. In case you are experiencing strong reactions to my parents’ activities and opinions, or to Uncle Bernie’s equally convinced behavior and ideas, and wonder where I stand, I must confess that I do not have an answer to satisfy you. I have known many brilliant people and read many more. Certainly I was lectured by experts. I grew up surrounded by dogma: political, philosophical, and scientific. What I can say with conviction is that no one is stronger than, or independent of, the people and things that surround him. Ideas are objective, but their truth is not the glue that makes them stick to us.
    Nevertheless, I recognize there are times in history when one must choose one side or the other, when there is no room for doubt. In the summer of 1960 I had no doubts. I was eight years old. My father and mother told me that Fidel Castro was a great man and I believed them. They said that the United States was an imperialist country responsible for the degradation of the Cuban people, that our government had supported a cruel dictator (Batista) in order for American corporations, such as the United Fruit Company, ITT, and the like, to make huge profits and I believed them, just as millions of American