Memories of Underdevelopment (1968)

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Based on the novel by Edmundo Desnoes

HAVANA, 1961. MANY PEOPLE
FLED THE COUNTRY

EXIT

She'll have to work over there...

At least until she finds
some dumb guy who'll marry her.

Frankly, she's still good looking.

She'll remember me while
she goes through bad times and then...

I've been really stupid.

Working to support her
as if she'd been born

in New York or Paris

and not on this underdeveloped island.

Excuse me.

"All those who loved me

and...

bugged me up until the last minute

have left. "

For years I said that if I had time

I would write a book
and keep a diary.

Now I'll know if I really
have something to say.

Nothing has changed.

Nothing has changed here.

At first sight it looks like a set,
a cardboard city.

The Bronze Titan.

Free and independent Cuba.
Who'd have imagined this?

No Imperial Eagle.

And the dove
Picasso was supposed to send?

It's real easy to be a communist
and a millionaire in Paris.

"This mankind has said enough
and has started to walk."

Like my parents.

Like Laura. They won't stop
till they get to Miami.

But everything
seems so different today.

Have I changed or has the city?

"It's time to leave.

Oh, abandoned like piers at dawn.

All in you was a shipwreck."

- What are you doing?
- Can't you see?

I meant what are you reading?

A frivolous, decadent thing:
“The Best of Everything“

or “The Best in the World“, whatever.

Oh, that film.

Yeah, that one.

- Leave me alone.
- Me?

I can 't read with you looking at me

as if I were a weirdo.

Why don't we chat?

What's come over you?

What's bugging you?

These days you only speak of bugs.

Why not?

We are surrounded by bugs,
rabble, filthy people...

This country stymies you.

And you? What do you think?

What? You've never been
interested in what I think.

What's come over you?

You're practicing your English
a lot lately.

You're planning to leave.

What? Let go of me.

I like it when you get vulgar.

It actually turns me on

to see you switch between flip-flops
and fancy things,

elegance and vulgarity.

I've been looking at you
and I find you funny.

You're acting strangely.

You've become
rather disgusting lately.

I haven't got
any Yardley brilliantine,

or Colgate toothpaste,

or imperialist aftershave.

- You know that helps a lot.
- Yes, it must be that.

Yet you become more attractive
every day.

- Really?
- Yes.

You're more artificial.

I don't fancy natural beauty.
I like women like you,

who are all about
good clothes, good food,

make-up, massages...

You're no longer
common Cuban riffraff,

you've turned into a dazzling beauty.

Are you serious
or are you mocking me?

Both.

Go mock your mommy, honey!

Go to hell!

I like it! I really do!

Are you insane?

Let go of me!
I can't stand you.

I can't stand living here,
with the heat, the sweat...

You sweat too much,
you're disgusting. Let go of me!

You know I'm recording all this?

- What?
- Everything.

Every single word.

It will be very fun to listen to.

You're a monster, you're sick!

You're going to break it!

Here women look at your eyes,

as if your gaze could touch them.

This happens
nowhere else in the world.

Perhaps Italian women look
a little more, but not like this.

Since El Encanto b*rned down,
Havana's a provincial town.

They used to call it
the Caribbean Paris.

OUR WINE IS BITTER,
BUT IT'S OURS.

At least the tourists and whores did.

Now it's more like

the Caribbean Tegucigalpa.

Not just because El Encanto's gone
and there's nothing good to buy,

it's the people too.

What's the sense of life for them?

And for me?

And what does life mean for me?

But I'm not like them.

They're starting the first
Socialist revolution in America.

So what?

They'll fall into barbarism
and starve.

Like the Haitians.
They b*at Napoleon, so what?

They used to have
the best sugar industry in the world.

Look at them now:
barefoot and zombie-like.

Times change.

But it's not our problem.

It's between the Russians
and Americans.

It's none of our business.

Something is clear: there'll be
a huge hassle in the future.

And you'll know
who'll get hit first: us.

Know why?

Because we're a tiny, little island.

Well, you'll be hit,
because I won't be here, got that?

We've been together
all the time for five years.

Under Batista, things reached a point
where they had to change.

Not me.

I kept out of politics,
I have a clear conscience.

I've done nothing
but work like a mule all my life.

See Anita?

So stunning and
her belly is full of black beans.

I saw her eating.

But they have
all the resources, Sergio...

and the know-how
to develop the country's economy.

Fill it up.

- The know-how?
- Yes, the know-how.

Americans know how to do things,

they know how to make things work.

Three.

- Check the oil.
- I have no oil.

But I'll check it anyway.

No... what for?

I wouldn't give a sh*t but I have to
return it in the same condition it was.

Why?

For inventory.

If I don't, they won't let me leave.

I can't get you a sealed unit,
you'll have to find it yourself.

Things have changed now...

Yes, I know.

The paint job won't be the same.

If we can't find wood alcohol
we'll have to use synthetic paint,

it's different.

We'll have to paint that part at least,

so it looks good.

And this dent?

And down there too.

Some say the only thing
Cubans can't stand is going hungry.

Yet there's been much hunger
here since the Spaniards came.

In Latin America,
four children die per minute

because of diseases
caused by malnutrition.

In ten years

that's 20 million children.

The same number of deaths
in the Second World w*r.

A real wreck!

I feel better this way,
I don't have to fix it.

Well, if you like to walk.

No, but I'm more relaxed.

I don't want problems.

They say that the latest
American cars are fabulous.

I saw it in a magazine
Julio Gómez lent me.

Sealed engine, two spark plugs,

a two-year guarantee.

If it breaks,
they give you a new one.

Can you believe it?

With the mechanics we have,
that would be the solution.

People seem
more stupid every day.

Pablo was right: the French stink.

They're filthy pigs, Laura.

I don't care if they take it all.

It won't last for long anyway.

But now it will be different,
brother!

I won't stay home twiddling my thumbs
as I did under Batista.

I never thought these people
would overthrow him.

But now I know
that if I don't do something,

I won't be able to function
when this falls down.

- That's what they say.
- Who?

The Bay of Pigs prisoners.

Listen.

THE TRUTH OF THE GROUP
IS IN THE m*rder*r

We found that

the m*llitary organization
of the invaders

has a hierarchy
of social functions that outlines

the division of social and moral labor
of the bourgeoisie.

A priest.

A free trade businessman.

An amateur official.

A torturer.

A philosopher.

A politician.

And many children
of well-to-do families.

Each of them carried out
their specific actions,

but it was all of them,
the group,

that gave sense
to their individual actions.

As an individual,
Calviño is a criminal for whom

the bourgeoisie feel horror.

The dress I wore...

there's still blood on it.

He kicked my abdomen

and I bled.

That's not all!

I fought them

and they broke two
of my vertebrae. Remember?

You hit him the first time
with a stick.

He fell to his knees

and you kicked him in the liver.

Then he collapsed.

Remember?

After murdering him,
you defiled him too.

You're a despicable m*rder*r.

- Right before you?
- Before me.

You sh*t him to death
and laughed while he d*ed.

In Avellaneda No. 106
on October 6th, at 7 p.m.

Say it's not true!

Tell me it's not true.

Tell me it's not true
that after you k*lled Morúa,

during the nine days
I was kept prisoner,

you came and told me
how you had done it.

- Tell me, Calviño...
- I cannot answer.

In every capitalist society,
the bourgeoisie has men like this

at its disposal. They are entrusted
with these unique tasks.

But in the moral division of labor,

recruited murderers allow for

the existence of those who are
not in direct contact with death

and who, as individuals,
can maintain

a clean conscience.

I speak for myself
and for those who share my ideas.

We may be the minority.

I don't speak for Ventura,
or Ventura's drivers,

or for a lot of vile people
you have named.

I didn't know Calviño at the time.

I was only interested
in leading my own life.

They're like disjointed elements
of an overarching principle

that nobody will acknowledge.

Ultimately, I cannot
actually answer for the others,

only they can.

You seem to be trying
to incriminate me,

as if I were to blame
for the invasion and all the rest.

I insist

that my mission is purely spiritual.

I have not touched a w*apon,

before or after.

Being involved in a plot
doesn't mean you're a plotter.

At the beginning I said

that I had been a totally
apolitical person all my life.

I never had anything to do
with a political party.

Secondly, individual responsibility

is saved through personal behavior.

They retreat into themselves

to escape the misery of others,
to avoid contamination,

or tuck themselves away in the group
to hide their responsibility,

hence contaminating the others.

Well, now there is a group.
It's not just me.

This responsibility,
rejected by the group as a whole,

is brought up and claimed
by one of its members.

You're speaking
of a charge that is not mine,

it's the group's.

The k*ller-torturer, an extreme case
in this labor division,

falls back on the group
to claim his moral guiltlessness.

Listen, I personally
committed no crime.

The meeting is over.

In no case was there
a declaration of responsibility

of the actual individual-group
dialectic relationship.

The others who partook
in Calviño's invasion

don't identify with the system
that implicates them or with its acts.

In the accounts of Freyre,
the landowner,

in the last rites by Lugo, the priest,

in the refined rationale
of Andreu, the philosopher,

in the layoffs and the book
by Rivero,

in Varona's
"representative democracy",

who could've foreseen

the death, that through them,
spread through Cuba?

Death by hunger, disease,

t*rture, frustration.

She comes to clean
the apartment three times a week.

She's been coming for a year
and I'd never noticed her.

If she did herself up,
she'd be very attractive.

She's as slim as a Vogue model.

I like her.

She's from Matanzas
and is a Protestant.

A Baptist, I think.

Were you baptized in a river?

Sure.

How is that done?

Well...

You can't say?

Well... people gathered
on the river bank.

The pastor and I entered the water.

Then he explained to me
what a baptism was.

For us, baptism
is the death of sin,

the resurrection to a new life

full of faith, hope, and dignity.

He took me
to the deepest part of the river

and put me in the water.

I was so afraid!

But everything happened
so quickly I hardly noticed.

I was so nervous and got
so worked up, but it was nothing.

Most people are exhibitionists.

They look like
harmless animals, smooth-faced,

precariously balanced on two legs.

Some say that man's
intelligence and physical

imperfection are due to his
being a premature monkey fetus.

There is a delightful period,
between 30 and 35 years old,

when Cuban women
suddenly go from maturity

to rottenness.

They are fruit that rots
with an astonishing speed.

The revolution put an end
to Yankee domination,

the U.S. uses
Guantanamo naval base

to spy on Cuba.

ICAIC cameramen

film some scenes
of provocations

by the m*llitary troops

and counter-revolutionaries
in the base.

You have beautiful knees!

Want to eat with me?

Are you crazy?

No, I just don't like eating alone.

What are you doing here?

Waiting for someone?

Your boyfriend?

Are you crazy?

At your age it is dangerous
to be alone here.

You are crazy!

No, really... it is...

Come with me! I don't digest properly
when I eat alone.

I'm waiting for a man
from ICAIC who offered me a job.

ICAIC?

A screen test for a movie.

I've got an important friend there,
he's a director.

- From ICAIC?
- Yes.

I'll introduce you tomorrow
if you want.

- What time is it?
- About 6:30 p.m.

It's late. He won't show up.

Coming?

So...

First a dry Martini.

Why not have a drink?

I can't.

I'm getting injections for my nerves.

Look.

Why an actress?

I'm tired of always being myself.

I can be other people
and not be considered crazy.

Besides, I'm interested
in developing my personality.

But characters in movies
are like broken records.

All an actress does
is repeat a thousand times, by rote,

the same gestures
and the same words...

Where did they get all that from?

They found those tins
with cuts by the commission.

What commission?

The one that checked the films
before the Revolution.

Those were cuts made to films
that were to be shown.

They were considered immoral.

- Moral, proper behavior...
- Yes, I remember that.

- I have a meeting.
- Bye. See you.

It seems these guys
also had moral concerns.

At least, they kept up appearances.

- What will you do with that?
- I want it for a film.

- For a film?
- Yes.

A kind of collage,
a mix of everything.

But it must have a meaning.

It will, you'll see.

Will they approve it?

Yes.

Come.

Any experience?

Have you been in theatre, on TV?

No, I haven't been lucky.

You haven't studied either?

No, I was going to once,
but I never did go.

Write that down on the form.

Won't I have a screen test?

I can sing, too.

If you say so...

You don't?

- No.
- You sure?

What a beautiful house.

Don't you like it?

I don't know.

There won't be anything between us.

Look, that's where I live.

What's the matter?

- I don't...
- Don't what?

- What about your wife?
- I told you, I'm divorced, she left.

- Well, anyhow...
- Anyhow what?

- What about the neighbors?
- Oh... you don't trust me.

It's not that.

Then what?

Go in first, then I'll come.

It's on the upper floor.
Apartment K-L.

Make yourself at home.

I'll make some coffee.

My parents.

And that's Laura.

They left the same day.

What about you?

Me what?

Aren't you leaving?

No.

I'm fine here.

Are you a revolutionary?

What do you think?

I think you're not
for or against the revolution.

No?

Well, what am I?

Nothing. You're nothing.

Will they send you things?

No. What for?

Nice shoes... anything.
Even a car if you wanted.

Laura was more or less your same size.

I can show you some of her dresses.

You can have them if you want.

But...

Just check them out.

Perfect!

Take a look.

Fasten this for me.

Come on. Stop crying.

You've ruined me.

Me?

We've done nothing bad.

What will I tell my mother?

Well... nothing.

If you wait a bit,
I'll see you home.

No thanks, I'd rather be alone.

Call me.

Radio stations att*cked:
two police agents were k*lled,

and two in critical condition
at a hospital in Caracas, Venezuela,

after an armed att*ck against the
t*rror1st regime of Rómulo Betancourt

on Wednesday night.

Three radio stations were att*cked...

You're no longer
common Cuban riffraff,

you've turned into a dazzling beauty.

I can't stand you. Are you serious
or are you mocking me?

Both.

Go mock your mommy, honey!

Go to hell!

I like it. I really do!

Are you insane?

Let go of me.
I can't stand you.

I can't stand living here,
with the heat, the sweat...

You sweat too much,
you're disgusting. Let go of me!

You know I'm recording all this?

- What?
- Everything.

Every single word.

It will be very fun to listen to.

You're a monster! You're sick!

You're going to break it!

Let go of it! Let go!

This is over. I don't want
to see you again, ever!

I'm leaving. I'm leaving alone.

Don't come.
I can't stand this one more day.

Leaving me alone?

I don't care! Find a woman
who'll put up with you.

You said...

I won't be a guinea pig

for your whims and games!

I'll lead my own life.
I'm growing old, you hear, old!

I'm going by myself!
I don't want to be with you.

What a surprise!

Before your lips told me
you loved me

I already knew it

You Okay?

- Who? Me?
- You were feeling badly.

Before, not now.
I came to see how you were.

Want me to tidy up
and make lunch?

What's the matter?

Nothing.

Listen...

Come on, say we won't go on
That this is the end

That it can be no more

That you don't love me now

Like romance music?

All that drama last night?

- Don't laugh.
- I'm not, but...

You are. And you've got no romance!

You can't criticize
how I live, all I have...

One thing that most shocks me
about people

is their inability to keep up a feeling

without straying.

Elena proved to be
utterly inconsistent.

"Mere alteration", as Ortega said.

She doesn't establish links
between things,

a sign of underdevelopment:

an inability to establish links,

to gather experience and grow.

It is difficult to find a woman

with feelings and culture.

This place is too dull.

Cubans spend all their talent
in adapting to the times.

People are not consistent.

And they always need
someone to think for them.

- Hope to see you there, Sergio.
- Me? No.

I don't think so.

I already know the US.

But what'll happen here
is a mystery to me.

It's no mystery, Sergio.
We all know what will happen.

Well, frankly I don't.

Now it will not be like
the Bay of Pigs.

Perhaps,
but it may be interesting.

Perhaps,
but I'll be on the other side.

It will be safer.

You'll meet old friends over there.

- I know you, Sergio.
- You do?

Yes, but there were
very decent people among them.

At least, that's what they said.

I don't know what they said,
but I have a clean conscience.

You do.

Was I like him before?

Perhaps.

The Revolution may destroy me,

but it's my revenge against
stupid Cuban bourgeoisie

and assholes like Pablo.

I can see Pablo is not Pablo,
but my own life.

Everything I do not want to be.

It's nice to see them leave,

as if ridding myself of them.

I still have my lucidity.
An unpleasant lucidity, a vacuum.

I know what is the matter with me,
but I cannot avert it.

Him, Laura, all of them...

Francisco de la Cuesta
used to live here.

We were 8 or 'IO years old.

I wonder where he is now.

Will he remember our games?

I try but cannot.

When we were in school,
the priests were always right.

They held power then.

I got punished for no reason.

Then I understood the link

between Justice and Power.

Armando's father was a freethinker.

He gave him a peso every week
for the whore house.

He took me there my first time.

It was with a fat woman
who cost 50 cents.

He told her to be good to me.

I couldn't do anything with her.

I had to find another one.

Then I started going there every week.

Suddenly I discovered Elena
didn't share any of my ideas.

I expected more from her.

I thought she was
more complex and interesting.

I try to live like a European.

She makes me feel
underdevelopment with every step.

I tried to change Elena,

as well as Laura.

But she doesn't understand.

The world in her head
is very different from mine.

She doesn't see me.

ADVENTURE IN THE TROPICS

This gazelle was k*lled by
Hemingway on his last trip to Africa.

In 1953.

He went with Mary, his fourth wife.

Gazelles are considered
the fastest animals in Africa.

Apart from its speed,
it constantly jumps.

He k*lled so as not to k*ll himself.

But he couldn't resist
the temptation in the end.

Hemingway travelled
to Spain several times.

As a w*r correspondent.

Later he joined
the International Brigades.

That "Mr. Way" lived here?

There's not much:

books and dead animals.

Just like the houses
of Americans in Central Preston.

The same furniture,

the same American smell.

What's the American smell?

Dunno, but you can smell it.

Which do you like best,
the Russian or American smell?

Hey, back off.

I know nothing about politics.

The tropics:

that is what
backward countries are for.

k*ll wild animals, fish,

get a tan.

There she is:
the "Beautiful Cuban Señorita".

"I'll never be afraid again",

said Macomber to Wilson.

"Something happened when
I saw the buffalo and ran after it.

Like a dam overflowing.

Pure, grandiose excitement."

As if running after
a buffalo were enough for fear...

Anyway, there are
no buffaloes in Cuba.

I'm dumb.

He overcame the fear of death,
but not the fear of life,

of time, of a world that now
was too big for him.

Are you here? Why did you go?

You were quite amused.

- Damned jealousy.
- Please...

What's eating you?

Nothing.

- You don't care.
- About what?

About me... you don't care.

- It's you who doesn't care.
- About what?

Nothing, you don't care about anything.

This was Hemingway's room.

He always worked here,
on this old typewriter,

standing and barefoot.

He never wrote
sitting or with his shoes on.

He woke up early

and worked until 11:00 or 11:30.

Few people entered this room.

I was one of the few.
I moved silently,

from one place to another.

During the rest of the day,
Hemingway used to...

His name is Rene Villareal.

Hemingway found him playing

in the streets of
San Francisco de Paula.

I read that somewhere.

He adapted to his needs.

The faithful servant.

The colonizer and Gunga Din.

Hemingway must have been intolerable.

Here he had his refuge, his tower,

his tropical island.

Boots to hunt in Africa,
American furniture,

Spanish pictures,
magazines and books in English,

a bullfight poster.

He was never really
interested in Cuba.

He took refuge here,
he entertained his friends,

wrote in English
and fished in the Gulf Stream.

Around 1947, journalists and people
wanting to interview him

came here

and did not let him write in peace.

Mary thought this office
would offer some privacy

and tried to make it
as comfortable as possible.

It had 1 O double windows

for fresh air and a nice view.

Simple, comfortable furniture.

Sergio!

Did you see the gentleman
who came with me?

Sergio!

Wait a moment!

ROUND TABLE:
LITERATURE AND UNDERDEVELOPMENT

In an underdeveloped country,

culture cannot be but the costly,

at times painful operation
through which a people

become aware of their capacity
to transform social life,

to write their own history.

They should harness
their best traditions

making them fruitful and enriching them

with the conditions
of the fight for national liberation.

"We were outside,

just steps above the black cooks
and servants in school.

I found out I was a 'spick',

a derogatory term
used for Latin Americans,

the darkies of the continent,
the almost black.

Although I may look like
a white Anglo-Saxon protestant,

I'm actually a black Southerner.

Latin Americans are all
discriminated against, oppressed,

rejected, ignored,

outsiders within that new scam

pretending to be universal:

the American way of life,
the big American white dream."

And now for the devil's advocate,

doubting about doubts,

and asking:

Gentlemen,

can't you see that
the words you are using:

"underdevelopment",
"underdevelopment"...

are sick

or at least sickly?

Can't you see

that perhaps these words are traps

of language,
accomplices of a worn-out culture,

a ruse, a linguistic alibi,

a linguistic-ideological tangle,

that may lead you
to the mental peace of formulae?

Useless to flee

from the linguistic continent
of underdevelopment

while forgetting that
the main contradiction of our times

is not that between U.S. imperialism

and three underdeveloped continents,

but between the forceful development

of productive forces worldwide,

and the forms and productive relations
of capitalism, that is,

between a Socialist Revolution

and the capitalist system
in its final imperialist stage.

You're referring to
the central contradiction

between the proletariat and capitalism.

But I believe
this is thoroughly abstract.

Central contradictions
are verified in real life.

When a central contradiction
becomes embodied

it turns into a w*r.

For me, the central contradiction

now, is not

between European proletariat
and European capitalists,

but rather it's to be found
in areas where w*r materializes,

and proves it is
a central contradiction.

Vietnam, for example.

So the issue is a different one.

We're talking...

The discussion here is based

on whether one or the other
is the central contradiction.

- No, no...
- I mean...

From the point of view
of Marxist scholars, I agree,

but I see something different
in its specific embodiment.

What are you doing up there
with that cigar?

The lack of competition seems
to make you feel important.

You would be nothing abroad.

But here you have a place.

You've really come up
in the world, Edmundo Desnoes!

Let's see...

Your name, please?

Jack Gelber.

Yes.

Jack Gelber asked:
if the Cuban revolution

is so original,

why does it resort to conventional
methods like round tables

instead of devising
dynamic ways of creating

a relationship
between the panel and the audience?

I don't get it.
The American was right.

Words swallow words

and leave you in the clouds,
a thousand miles away.

How is underdevelopment
left behind?

It is very difficult.

It leaves its mark on everything.

What are you doing here?

What's the meaning of this?

You have nothing to do
with these people.

You're alone.

There's no continuity
in underdevelopment.

Everything is forgotten.

People are not consistent.

You remember many things.
You remember too much.

Where are your people,
your job, your wife?

You're nothing.

You're dead.

Your final destruction
starts now, Sergio.

It's the same thing
every time mother writes.

She knows I don't chew gum
and I have an electric razor.

I've only asked for books
and magazines, but no.

I can't read her handwriting.

They're crazy.

We don't understand each other.

Hanna is the best thing
that has ever happened to me.

They fled from h*tler
and ended up in Cuba.

She was more mature

than the underdeveloped girls
over here.

How long we were together?

I can't remember.

But it was the best thing
that ever happened to me.

How did I let her go?
Why didn't I run after her?

We were going to marry
when her parents took her abroad.

We did not believe in papers,
but it would've been easier.

We had plans.

I was to go to New York
with her and work.

I still wanted to be a writer
and she believed in me.

She's the only one who ever did.

She'd help.

Then my father gave me
the furniture store.

I buried myself there.

I worked like mad for two years.

"Hanna, my love,

I can't leave this right now.
Please understand.

I don't want to arrive empty handed."

Hanna, darling...

One day it was too late.

I looked for you.

I'll always look for you.

Where are you now?

What do you think about me?

Wait! Stop right here.

Sergio!

Main occupant: first surname.

Carmona.

- Second surname?
- Bendoiro.

- Name'?
- Sergio.

- Occupation?
- None.

- Don't you work?
- No.

What do you live on?

My rent.

- Former owner?
- Yes.

- Age.
- 38.

Net income?

600 pesos.

Other family income?

No, I live by myself.

- Did you pay the Reforma Urbana?
- No.

- The last month you paid?
- I've never paid anything.

Are you:

Owner, buyer,
illegal beneficial owner?

No. Owner.

- Any distraints?
- No.

How many square meters
is this place?

- Who knows.
- More or less.

Well...

- It's rather large.
- Yes.

Let's say 100 - 200 square meters?

Maybe more. Want to measure it?

No, we'll take your word for it.

Let's say 300.

If it's not, we'll change it later.

Building materials: bricks.

I think so.

The property is an apartment.

How many bedrooms?

A bedroom and a studio.

- And maid's rooms?
- Oh, yes. Two.

How many sanitary fixtures?

Five.

- How many bathrooms?
- Three.

There are two lifts.

Condition:

good.

Sign here.

What's all this for?

Just a sort of check.

- But this...
- Don't you worry.

If there is any problem,
we'll tell you.

Hey, wait a moment!

- You can't take that turn!
- I'm going there.

- No, you can't turn.
- Don't worry. I'll get out here.

And in the midst of all this,
I still live off my rent.

I'll still have it for 13 years.

No.12... 'H.

It's been two years since
they took my apartment building.

Everything comes
too early or too late for me.

Perhaps there was a time
when I could've understood all this.

Now I can't.

I'm 38 and already old.

I don't feel wiser or more mature.

More stupid. More rotten than mature.

Like a rotten mamey.
Like bagasse.

Perhaps it's because
this is the Tropics.

Everything ripens
and rots very quickly here.

Nothing lasts.

I'm already an old man.

In whore houses since I was 13.

At 15, I thought myself a genius.

At 25, the owner
of a posh furniture store.

Then Laura...

My life is like a monstrous
and flabby plant

with huge leaves and no fruit.

I seem kind of dignified.

Are you Sergio?

- Yes.
- I'm Elena's brother.

Is something wrong, is she sick?

No, she's a very healthy girl,
she's never sick.

It's something else.
She says you took advantage of her.

What?

No, look...

You ruined her,

now fix it.

- I wonder what story...
- It's no story...

Paying her off with a few dresses!

- Sir, please...
- You promised to marry her.

- No way!
- You used her.

- This isn't true.
- I don't know how it was.

I should've known
that she wouldn't stop at anything.

I didn't want
the police to be involved.

I was ready to marry her
if she asked me.

I was afraid.

Say what you said to mother.
Come on, say it.

- You deceived me, sir.
- Sir?

Well, you did.

Why?

You said you'd give me
some of your wife's dresses...

...and then ruined me.

All right.

If that's your story...

But you know it's not true.

And you were not a virgin.

- Show some respect!
- Hey, listen...

My sister is no whore!

How could I get mixed up in this?

L gave UP-

I was going to be dragged along
till the end.

I was afraid.

Girls should marry as virgins.

That's their greatest treasure!

Women are liberated now.

Don't speak
as if you were revolutionary!

- If you don't marry, I k*ll you!
- sh*t! Stop it, man!

What's all this?

If I marry her, it'll be because
I want to, not because I'm forced to.

- Nobody messes with her!
- Stop it!

You didn't want to see me.
You wanted to get rid of me?

No, Elena. I'm going
to marry you, am I not?

But first we have to think things over.

What things?

We need the papers, don't we?

The divorce papers...

- You are divorced?
- Yes, madam.

- Then marry at once!
- Stop it!

We'll handle the papers.
Why'd you bring him?

When she came home...

- You shouldn't have.
- She told me.

Her panties were stained with blood!

That's not true!

Stop it, man!
Why the hell did you come here?

Shut up!

Mum, shut up!

Calm down, my dear.

I was sure she was not a virgin.

They're a sorry lot.

What were they after?

Any statement?

All this is false.
I have had intercourse with her,

but she agreed to it.

There was no deceit,
much less r*pe. It's a lie.

Sergio, sign here.

The defendant, Sergio Carmona,
with the intent of having

sexual intercourse with Elena Dorado,
a 16-year-old minor,

deceived her into going
to his apartment,

in Linea and Paseo,

where he deprived her of her virginity,

although he knew that
she was mentally disturbed,

and thus unable
to oppose resistance.

- Do you want to testify?
- Yes.

Answer the attorney's questions.

- Do you know Elena Josefa Dorado?
- Yes.

Look at the court.

- Yes.
- "Yes, sir".

Sorry. Yes, sir.

Where did you meet her?

On 23rd Street, in Vedado.

Did you take her to your apartment
and have sexual intercourse with her?

Yes.

Tell me,

before the night of the incident,

did the alleged victim
tell you she had engaged in

sexual intercourse with another man?

No.

I was the only consistent one.

And that was the final blow.

They treated me as if I had tricked
a member of "the people".

He gave me some dresses
of his wife who went up North.

Now everything is "the people".

Once I would've been the respectable
person and they the offenders.

I was lost.

Swine, bastard, you took
advantage of my daughter!

Pervert!

Did you thr*aten to k*ll Sergio?

If he didn't marry her, yes.

- You threatened him?
- Yes.

What did he say?

That he would take care
of the papers, but he didn't.

When did the doctor see Elena?

Well, mother says...
I don't really know...

Mother says
she took her shortly before...

this problem.

- What did the doctor say?
- I don't know.

And the tests?

Then the sentence came.

First statement of facts:
Defendant, Sergio Carmona Bendoiro,

whose identity has been verified,

invited Elena Dorado, 17 years old,

to take a walk on the night
of January 25, 1962.

They went to the house
of the defendant,

located on Linea and Paseo, where
they engaged in sexual intercourse.

There's no proof

that Elena Dorado shows symptoms
of mental disturbance,

or was deprived
of her mental faculties

when the aforementioned acts
took place.

Second statement of facts:
the Prosecutor maintained

his provisional conclusions
of pages 6 and 7 of the records.

Third statement of facts:
the defendant's attorney

maintained his provisional conclusions

denying each and every conclusion
by the Public Prosecutor,

and demanded the acquittal
of the defendant.

Conclusion:

there is no evidence
as to the crime of r*pe

the Public Prosecutor
attributes to the defendant.

According to the laws

and the Social Defense Code,

articles 142, 240, 741, and 742
of the Criminal Procedure Code,

we conclude that

we must acquit and we acquit
defendant Sergio Carmona

of the crime of r*pe the Public
Prosecutor attributes to him.

It was a happy ending.

For once justice was served.

But was it?

I'm not all that good.

I've seen too much to be innocent.

Their mind is too tangled
to make them guilty.

I never saw them again.
Hope she's not institutionalized.

MORE PLANES AND BATTLESHIPS
TO FLORIDA

UNEXPECTED RETURN
OF KENNEDY TO WASHINGTON

w*r HYSTERIA IN U.S. CAPITAL

A DECISION AGAINST CUBA
SEEMS IMMINENT

YOUNG MOTHER GIVES BIRTH TO TRIPLETS

DOG WITH TWO HEARTS

TRADE UNIONS TO WIN BID

MATERIALS FOR YOUR WORK CENTER

CUT AND PASTE

HOW IS TETANUS TRANSMITTED?

WHEN A WOUND IS INFECTED
WITH THE TETANUS BACILLUS.

MOST CASES ARE LETHAL.

VACCINES ARE THE ONLY
FORM OF PROTECTION.

MAO ZEDONG'S WORDS:

"THE ATTEMPT AT SOLVING
IDEOLOGICAL PROBLEMS

TH ROUGH ADMINISTRATIVE ORDERS

AND WITH COERCIVE METHODS
IS HARMFUL."

"WHY DON'T THEY FIX
MY BUILDING'S BALCONY?

I'VE TOLD THE URBAN REFORM
OFFICE SEVEN TIMES

THAT A PIECE FELL AND IT'S CRUMBLING.

I DON'T HAVE THE MEANS
OR TOOLS TO FIX THIS,

SO I'D LIKE TO KNOW WHAT I CAN DO."

TO WORK WITH JOY AND...

She brought me
a stack of photographs

from when she was baptized.

It wasn't like I thought it would be.
It's nothing.

The clothes didn't cling to her body.
There were lots of people.

I hadn't thought about them.

There are witnesses everywhere.

OCTOBER 22, 1962

KENNEDY SPEAKS

Additional sites, not yet completed,

appear to be designed

for intermediate range
ballistic missiles,

capable of striking most of the major
cities in the Western Hemisphere,

ranging as far north
as Hudson Bay, Canada,

and as far south as Lima, Peru.

In addition, jet bombers

capable of carrying nuclear weapons

are now being uncrated
and assembled in Cuba

while the necessary air bases
are being prepared.

To halt this offensive buildup,
a strict quarantine

on all m*llitary equipment under
shipment to Cuba is being initiated.

Should these offensive
m*llitary preparations continue,

thus increasing
the thr*at to the Hemisphere,

further action will be justified.

I have directed the Armed Forces
to prepare for any eventualities.

Nothing makes sense.

People move and talk
as if w*r were a game.

What if it began right now?

Protesting is useless.

I'll die just like the others.

This island is a trap.

We're too small, too poor.

It's a very expensive dignity.

We decidedly reject
any attempt at supervision,

any attempt at inspection
of our country.

Our country will not be subjected
to inspection.

We are the ones who run this country,

and we know how we can defend
our integrity, our sovereignty.

They thr*aten us with being
the target of nuclear att*cks.

They don't frighten us.

We must know how to live
in the era we find ourselves in

with the dignity
with which we should live.

All of us, men, women,

young and old,

we are all united
in this time of danger,

and ours, the fate of all
the revolutionaries and the patriots,

will be the same fate,

and the victory will belong to us all.

Homeland or death,
we shall overcome!