A young Cuban chambermaid who dreams of becoming a poet
Dalila dreamt. She dreamt of many things but most often Dalila dreamt of sitting on the sea shore watching the surf curling over the sand. In her dream she had a notebook and pen and as she listened to the whispering wash of the advancing and retreating waves she was writing of her life as a poet, a poet like the Cuban hero, José MartÃ.
The sea was a long way from the Hotel Habana Libre. Not physically of course for the sea could be seen from the windows of the seventh floor. If she had time to stop as she polished the glass, Dalila could see the wide sweep of the Malecon, the long finger of land on the other side of the harbour with its fort and lighthouse and the open sea beyond. No, the sea of her dreams was an impossible destination for a Cuban chambermaid who was also a single mother with aging relatives to care for...
Dalila dreamt. She dreamt of many things but most often Dalila dreamt of sitting on the sea shore watching the surf curling over the sand. In her dream she had a notebook and pen and as she listened to the whispering wash of the advancing and retreating waves she was writing of her life as a poet, a poet like the Cuban hero, José MartÃ.
The sea was a long way from the Hotel Habana Libre. Not physically of course for the sea could be seen from the windows of the seventh floor. If she had time to stop as she polished the glass, Dalila could see the wide sweep of the Malecon, the long finger of land on the other side of the harbour with its fort and lighthouse and the open sea beyond. No, the sea of her dreams was an impossible destination for a Cuban chambermaid who was also a single mother with aging relatives to care for...