'Which is why Dona Marina agreed to help get you out of Havana?' I nodded. 'Yes, it makes sense now. When one casa gets bombed it's bad for all of them. In which case it will be safer if we share a room. I'll say you're my wife. That way you won't have to show them your identity card.'

'Look, Senor Hausner, I am grateful to you for taking me with you to Haiti. But there's one thing you should know. I only volunteered to play the part of a chica to get close to Captain Balart.'

'I was wondering about that.'

'I did it for the-'

'The revolution. I know. Listen, Melba, your virtue, if there is anything left of it, it's safe with me. I told you, I'm tired. I could sleep on a bonfire. But I'll settle for a chair or a sofa and you can have the bed.'

She nodded. 'Thank you, Senor.'

'And stop calling me that. My name is Carlos. Call me that. I'm supposed to be your husband, remember?'

We checked into the Gran Hotel in the centre of town and went up to the room. I crawled straight to bed, which is to say I slept on the floor. During the summer of 1941 some of the floors I slept on in Russia were the most comfortable beds I ever had, only this wasn't as comfortable. Then again I wasn't nearly as exhausted as I'd been back then. About two o'clock in the morning I awoke to find her wrapped in a sheet and kneeling beside me.

'What is it?' I sat up and groaned with pain.

'I'm so scared,' she said.

'What are you scared about?'

'You know what they'll do to me if they find me.'

"The police?'

Her nodding turned into a shiver.

'So what do you want from me? A bedtime story? Listen, Melba, in the morning I'll drive you to Santiago and we'll get on my boat and by tomorrow night you'll be safe in Haiti, all right? But now I'm trying to sleep. Only the mattress is a little too soft for me. So, if you don't mind.'