A few days ago at a friend’s house, we had a very emotional conversation, during which our hostess told us about a trip that made a big impression on the life of the father of her children: he was a pilot, one of the seven who fought in the Bay of Pigs and who faced his fellow Cubans in that battle.

As time passed, this disenchanted pilot decided one day to go to the United States and settle in Miami. There he found many of his companions who had also deserted Cuba.  They began to unite, spend time together and share amongst themselves, knowing full well that within the confines of this new friendship, some of them had fought against each other many years ago.  But Cubans at the end of the day feel their hearts beat for the same country, and so they forgot the differences that divided them.

One night, during one of the usual occasions when they would get together, as they were all seated at the table having a delicious Creole meal, the pilot became ill and excused himself to go to the bathroom.  A few minutes later, the host ran to the bathroom after hearing a noise.  When he got there, the pilot was on the floor. He gently held the pilot in his arms and watched him die.

Many years had to go by, many confrontations, disagreements, misunderstandings and defamation campaigns, so that finally two Cubans who no one should have ever converted into enemies were united forever in an embrace.  Two twists of the same flag.

Translated by Hank

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