Wayne
PA – 1985
Anne
picked up the large claw hammer Jim had left on his work bench and an
old flat head screwdriver and walked out into the backyard. The sun
was just coming up and could be seen between the leaves still on the
branches of the huge oak trees surrounding the house and grounds.
The smallest of three old dusty, wooden crates lay on the patio where
she had dragged it from Jim's hiding spot deep in the far corner of
the basement. The other two crates were far too large for her to
move; the largest measured 5 feet by 10 feet and the next smallest
was 3 feet by 5 feet. Even the smallest one was very heavy as
evidenced by the scratch marks on the basement floor and the twinge
in her lower back. She been thinking about this for many months but
was waiting for Jim to take another extended business trip so she
could work alone, uninterrupted and unchallenged. She was alone and
that was how she liked it. Just her and Petey, her fox terrier, who
was at that moment sharing this experience with her and demonstrating
his understanding of and solidarity with her views of the crates by
urinating on the one she had out.
Havana,
Cuba, 1925
The
ancient, rusty freighter slid past the 295 year old El Morro
Castle two hours after sunset on September 19, 1925 and entered
Havana Harbor where it dropped anchor and, as required by
international law and custom, raised the yellow quarantine flag.
This flag was sufficient to alert the Customs officials that he was
ready to be boarded. This flag was originally intended….. Another
smaller square flag, no bigger than an ensign, was hoisted on a
second flag halyard. This one had the simple image of a square knot.
Meaningless to most sailors today, this was the signal agreed upon
code between the Captain and the agents he was supposed to signal on
shore. It was the symbol for Hercules who was represented on the
flag of Cadiz, Spain.
The
Captain raised his binoculars and searched the empty ramparts of the
castle for any response to his signal flag. Nothing. He went below
to his cabin, opened a greasy porthole and lit the Cuban cigar he had
been saving since leaving Cadiz, Spain. He smiled as he reflected on
the provenance of the dark, aromatic, tightly rolled cigar in his
hand. It was a Quintero Y Hermano, purchased in Cadiz but made here
in Cuba outside of Havana in the Vuelto Arriba region on the southern
coast. The fragrant smoke soothed him as it circled his cabin and
slipped, ghostlike out the open porthole, returning home.
The
next morning he awoke at 6 am to go on deck and enjoy a blindingly
brilliant sunrise which cast a golden pink aura on the white walls of
the Castle as he waited for the customs official to come aboard to
clear customs. The official arrived with his assistant, leisurely,
on “island time” around 9 am. He suppressed his irritation and
greeted them warmly in Spanish. After the usual pleasantries they
glanced at the manifest listing the cargo, shrugged, smiled and
accepted a significant “harbor clearance fee” and left the ship.
No more than 15 minutes had elapsed to inspect the 125 foot freighter
(research freighters of 1925) and its cargo. With this hurdle out
of the way, Captain Vincente was now able to move his vessel to the
dock. (add more description here) That evening, the agent he had
signaled came aboard with four men to claim three large wooden
crates. The crates contained over 100 priceless works of art and
sculptures by masters from France, Italy, Germany and the Netherlands
dating back to the 16th
century. However, seven would not seen again until May, 1935 when they were produced to
satisfy a debt owed by Salvatore Buffardi, Italian art critic, to a
Severino Marrozos y Andrade. In 1937, they were smuggled out of Cuba
on a diplomatic flight to Miami, Florida. From
1937 until 1985 they AGAIN
remained hidden in the basement garage of a small townhouse in the
suburbs of Philadelphia. The house was owned by my maternal
grandfather, Nicolas E. Meneses, Consul General for Cuba under
General Fulgencio Batista.
Wayne,
Pennsylvania, 1985
She
thought she knew what was in the three, strange secret crates but she
had never seen their contents because Jim forbade her and young Jimmy
from ever touching them. They had been delivered to her house by an
unmarked white van, unloaded by two large strange dark men who did
not speak English but only smiled and nodded to her endless
questions. They dragged the three huge, dirty, dusty old wooden
crates into the basement, scratching the floor as they could barely
lift the largest one, and then, the nerve, wrapping a huge chain
around all three boxes, locking a padlock to the chains and then,
pocketing the key. She demanded that they give her the key but they
only nodded, smiled, and walked back to the van and drove away.
Morons!
Anne,
still in pajamas and an old, cotton robe with coffee stains, sitting
on a couch in the living room, ashtray full and overflowing, with a
cigarette and a cup of black coffee in her hand, hesitated before she
called Jim at his office. She knew she would have to get through
Isabel, Jim's “secretary” to reach Jim. She hated Isabel and Jim
knew it. Why he kept her on was beyond Anne's belief but not her
understanding. Straightening up as best she could, she dialed the
number she had called so many times before, wincing as Isabel
answered, deliberately, on the third ring:
“Attorney
Meneses' Office. May I help you?”
“Yes.
Get Jim on the phone. Now.”
“May
I ask who's calling”
What
a bitch! She knew my voice but always played this game!
“You
know who it is Isabel. It's Anne. Now get Jim on the phone!” Her
voice was shrill and insistent but she thought she sounded weak and
desperate and hated the girl even more for this feeling.
“Of
course, Mrs. Meneses. How are you?”
“Fine.
Where's Jim?”
“Oh,
he is in his office but has a client with him. Shall I tell him you
called?”
“No!
Tell him I am on the goddamn phone and need to talk to him
immediately!”
“You
know I would love to do that for you but Mr. Meneses insisted that he
not be disturbed”
She
faltered, wondering who was in his office that was so important that
he could not take HER call. Then she spoke
“You
go in there and tell him I am on the phone! Now!”
“You
know I would love to do that for you but you know Mr. Meneses. May I
tell him what this is in reference to?”
“No!
Just, just tell him I called and that he needs to call me back as
soon as possible. It's urgent that I speak with him directly!”.
She hung up, slamming the phone down hard so it would be clear to
Isabel how important and mad she was. Bitch. Whore. I know she is
fucking my husband.
Jim
did not call her. He walked into the house at 7 o'clock, his usual
arrival time after a long day at the office. Sure. She knew where
he was and what he was doing with that whore, Isabel.
“Honey,
I'm home!”
“Jim!
Why didn't you call me back! I needed to speak to you about those
men and those horrible, dirty crates and why are they locked up, and
why wouldn't they give me the key! “
“Hi
Jim! How are you? Did you have a good day?” He mocked her with his
usual smart-ass comment that he made almost every day.
“I'm
serious! What is going on?”
“Lets
have a cocktail and I will tell you all about it...”
That
was ten years ago and he had never unlocked the chains or given her
the key. However, she had found the key a few weeks ago in the
basement. She had been cleaning the basement and mopping the floor
when she bumped into an old oak secretary containing family photos
and some of Jim's old textbooks from law school. The key was wrapped
in waxed paper and had been taped to the back of the secretary. It
dropped to the floor when she moved it to clean behind it. The key!
She
ran over to the corner of the basement where the crates had been
stored and locked up with chains and the old padlock. She tried the
key. It worked and the chains fell to the ground, noisily. She froze
where she was and listened for Jim or Jimmy upstairs. Nothing.
Fearing discovery by her husband, yet not knowing why she should fear
him, she quietly replaced the chains, locked them, and put the key
back in its hiding place. Another time. Yes, another time when she
could unlock the secrets of those strange wooden crated with Spanish
words all over the outside and crumbling customs stickers and faded
stamps that she could a barely read:
ENTREGAR
A -
NICOLAS
E MENESES
1123
ARDLEIGH STREET
YEADON
PENNSYLVANIA USA
DE
-
SEVERINO
MARROZOS Y ANDRADE
HAVANA
CUBA
She
waited one more agonizing week. After Jim had gone to his office,
she walked into the basement, unlocked the storage area and dragged
the largest crate out into back yard and stood there staring at the
crate for a few minutes. Then she picked up the hammer and
screwdriver and went to work. The more she struggled with the tools
and the stubborn, rusted nails securing the crate's lids, the angrier
she became. A small drizzle of saliva dripped unnoticed down the
right side of her open mouth until the first lid came away in broken
pieces revealing a huge oil painting set in a gold-leafed wooden
frame...
to
be continued ….FTC – 7/19/18
NOTES
FOR REST OF CHAPTER ONE -
-
Cite sale of artwork to National Museum of Fine Arts by S. Buffardi – 1925
-
Refer to or copy letter from Cuban Clerk – 1935
-
Describe Meneses last, diplomatic flight from Cuba in 1937 with family, possessions, and paintings aboard
-
VARIATION! -
-
Nicholas Meneses goes to Cornell, becomes agent for family sugar business
-
Use picture of Meneses in 1948 at port in Philadelphia, PA, USA with sugar from Cuba! (assume paintings smuggled inside shipment and then taken to Yeadon, PA)
-
My
grandfather is the short one on the left holding, what else...a cigar
