Trees have a secret life|that is only revealed
to those who are willing|to climb them.
I do not remember|when I was born.
But, when I was three|months old,
my mother returned|to my grandparents' home
with me as the proof|of her failure.
The splendor of my childhood|was unique,
because of its absolute poverty,|and absolute freedom...
out in the open,
surrounded by trees,|animals, and people
who were indifferent|toward me.
Reinaldo!
Reinaldo!
Nio, aprate con esa agua,|Dios mo!
Mira que hay que esperar|en esta casa!
My early life was surrounded|by a room full of unhappy women
who were all bossed around|by my grandmother,
the heart of the house,
the only woman I ever saw|who peed standing up
and talked to God|at the same time.
My mother was a very beautiful|and very lonely woman.
She had only known one man,|my father,
and had enjoyed the pleasures|of love for only a few months
and then, gave that all up|for the rest of her life,
creating in her|a great sense of frustration.
Her chastity was worse|than that of a virgin.
Hijo de puta!
Vete de aqu!
Animal!
Hijo de puta!
Desgraciado!
The most extraordinary|event of my childhood
was provided by the heavens.
Water rushed down gutters,
reverberating over|the zinc roof like gunfire
a massive army marching|across the trees,
overflowing, cascading,|thundering into barrels,
a concert of drums,
water falling on water,
drenched and whistling|and out of control,
and under the spell of violence,
let loose that would sweep away|almost everything in its path.
Trees, stones,|animals, houses.
It was the mystery|of destruction.
The law of life.
As I saw it,
the currents were|roaring my name.
Flowers have|reproductive organs.
Class, can anyone|tell us what the male
reproductive organ is called?
Reinaldo?
Reinaldo?
A dick.|A long, skinny dick.
Don't ask her where|she comes from.
Can't you see she|is from the garden
and the most beautiful|flower of them all?
Buenas tardes,|con permiso.
Seor Fuentes, I didn't mean|to disturb your dinner.
What did he do?
No, he didn't do|anything wrong.
I came here to tell you that|Reinaldo has a special gift.
What special gift?
He has a sensitivity|for poetry.
After that, my grandfather|sold the farm
and moved the family|to Holgun,
opened a grocery store,
and refused to speak|to any of us.
Holgun was a town|of 200,000 people
and one garbage truck.
The rebels are in Velasco.
We can walk it in a day.
Okay.
We'll leave tonight.
'T bien.
You think you can|do it with her?
My name is Reinaldo.|What is yours?
Loly.
- Would you like to dance?|- Cmo no.
Qu t quieres?|T eres muy nio.
Incorprate a la lucha.
Radio Rebelde, transmitiendo|desde las montaas de Oriente,
desde la Sierra Maestra,
territorio libre de Cuba.
Aqu Radio Rebelde.
Where are you going, kid?
- Up the road.|- Up the road where?
Velasco.
Velasco?|You are not from Velasco.
I am from Velasco.|Why do you go to Velasco for?
Ah, the rebels|are in Velasco.
You going to join|the rebels?
Your mam know you are|going to join the rebels?
No.
Where she is?
She's in Miami, working.
Would you like to see?
It's upside down.
Qu bonita.
You want to hit things?
Sometimes I like|to hit things.
My mother, she has|a store in Velasco.
Before that it was my|grandmother's store,
and before that,|it was her mother's store.
I have six brothers.
They all want|to join the rebels.
The second one,|he joined the rebels.
I'm the middle one,|I don't join the rebels.
Get that for me.
Go home.
The rebels are no more|in Velasco.
Go on, get off.
Get off!
What?|What?
Que viva Fidel!
Viva Fidel!
Cuba libre!
Es todo por hoy.
Spaziva!
As my mother smacked me,|she cursed
and yelled, "Maldito!|Bad seed!"
She shouted at the sky,|"I want to get out of here. "
But I really wasn't sure|that's what she wanted.
But now standing over me
she looked like|a huge tree trunk.
And if it didn't hurt so much,|I'd get down on my knees,
and ask her to smack me again,|even harder.
Then she became beautiful.
How pretty she is in her skirt|made out of a sack
and the blouse she stole|from her sister.
I wanted to get up and beg|her forgiveness.
I wanted to say,|"Mom, how pretty you are today.
You look like|one of those women
that you can only see|on Christmas cards,"
but I said nothing because|of the the knot in my throat.
That was very nice.|What's your name?
Reinaldo Arenas.
Who wrote this?
I did, it's my own-|from my novel.
What do you call this novel?
"Singing from the Well. "
Are you a student?
Yes, I'm an agricultural|accountant.
Tell me, do you think|you'd feel at home
working in the national library?
The pay won't be very much.
But I can promise you|that you'll have all the books
you could ever hope to read.
I would like that|very much.
Thank you very much.
Thank you.
Oye, need a lift?
I want to go down|to Guayanos.
Get in.
Hello.
You like it, right?
It used to belong|to Errol Flynn.
You don't believe me?
Look in the glove|compartment.
Be careful, huh?
Do you want to go|to the movies with me?
What?
Do you want to go|to the movies with me?
- I'll get out here!|- Ay, coo!
You got a flat ass anyway!
Vamos, chico, vamos!
You'll see him tomorrow.
Get out!
Estpido!
...last Saturday night|I made 100 pesos
for letting 10 members|of the National Ballet
suck me off.
Doesn't that make you a fag?
If you do it for money,|you're not a fag.
You know him?
No.
Hello.
I'm sorry about the other day.
No, don't worry.|Forget it.
- I am Reinaldo.|- I am Pepe.
- How about some ice cream?|- Yes!
Today they have only vanilla.
Bring him a banana split|with pistacho.
One ice cream!
Go.
So where you from,|Reinaldo?
I am a guajiro,|from Oriente.
- Does it matter where I'm from?|- No.
What do you do?
I just got a job now|in the National Library,
but I would like to be|a writer.
You poor thing.
A country boy in Havana|to serve the Revolution.
- Where's your mother?|- En la bodega.
Give me the key.
Chau.
Vamos!
She says it works,
just one key is a little off.
How can I thank you?
What are you doing?
Who is the man?
Who's the man?
You, because you are|the judo expert.
You don't kiss|on the lips?
Only when I'm in love.
Patricio Lamumba Beach is only|a 10 minute walk from here-
La Concha is about a mile...
This is perfect for you.
You'll have to share|the bathroom with her.
Bedsheets are changed|every two weeks
and you are responsible|for your own towel.
It is perfect, I'll take it.
Don't you want to know|how much?
It doesn't matter,|I can not afford it anyway.
30 pesos a month-
and no visitors...
nor music after 10:00pm.
30.
Thank you.
National Book Award Contest.
Hello.
I would like|to submit this please.
Put it in the box.
Hey, you want a smoke?
No, thank you.
What are you reading?
Este es "El Lazarillo|de Tormes. "
Who wrote it?
No author,|he's anonymous.
No writer?|That's impossible.
No, no, no,|I didn't say no writer.
I said we don't know|who the author is.
Okay.|Do you have any other books?
Yes, I have many.
I usually read out here|so I can be alone.
I like it here.
Sorry to bother you.|I'll leave.
It's okay.|I'm going home anyway.
You live around here?
Not far.
You want to come over|and hear some music?
What?
I have some|French records.
Maybe you like...
Edith Piaf,|and Jacques Brel.
Pero estpido idiota!
Are you out of your mind?
Take the book with you.
Ojal se te caiga|la pinga, maricn!
Estpido!|Coo.
And so, ladies and gentlemen,
we have arrived at this|auspicious moment.
We are happy to announce|that the first prize goes to,
"Vivir en Candonga"|by Ezequiel Vieta.
And the honorable mention|goes to Reinaldo Arenas
for "Celestino Antes de Alba. "
Thank you.|Gracias.
Thank you for coming|ladies and gentlemen,
and another round of applause|for our contestants.
- Congratulations.|- Thank you.
You're invited to|Lezama Lima's house.
Hello.
He left after his brother|made the film "P.M."
You've heard about it.
The brother had to leave, too.
Simple film.
Just a group of people|dancing and getting drunk.
It made no judgments.
It made no judgments.
People that make art are|dangerous to any dictatorship.
They create beauty.
And beauty is the enemy.
Artists are escapists.
Artists are counter-|revolutionary,
and so you are a counter-|revolutionary, Reinaldo Arenas,
and you know why?
Because there's a man|that cannot govern
the terrain called beauty,|so he wants to eliminate it.
So, here we are, 400 years|of Cuban culture
about to become extinct|and everybody applauds.
And what happened to your lip?
I found somebody who doesn't|like French music, that's all.
Be careful.|Be careful.
No, no, no.|Keep it-
He would love for you|to have it.
There are 150 books that|contain everything
that literature has to offer.
You read them and you don't have|to read anything else.
So which book would|be the first?
"The Bible. "|You have to read the Bible.
Oh, croquettes.|Ooh, Mara Luisa.
These croquettes don't stick|to the roof of your mouth.
They are delicious.
What kind are they?
I n this country, you don't|ask that question.
We're all being placed|on an international diet.
Let's go back|to the Bible,
it's far|more interesting.
Now, I don't mean|to convert you.
Just read it like a novel.
I tell you what, I'm going|to give you five books-
Correction, I'm going to lend|you five books.
You return them,|then I'll give you five more.
"Moby Dick," Melville,
Robert Lewis Stevenson's|"Treasure Island,"
Proust's,|"Remembrance of Things Past"
Kafka's "Metamorphosis,"
Flaubert's,|"Sentimental Education. "
Mara Luisa,|coffee please.
One, two, three-
four, five.
Reinaldo, I don't mean|to be presumptuous,
but we've read your book.
We both think|it's far superior
to the one|that won first prize.
They robbed you|of the first prize.
But, to be frank,
there's always room|for improvement.
If you'll allow,
Virgilio would like|to help you clean it up.
Right now it's good,
but it's too good|not to be great.
Let's fix it.
Second prize|gets published too.
That's the real prize.
We both think that|you were born to write.
You can't be too careful.
This is the only possession|that you really need.
...de la vida.
Las lagartijas son muy grandes|en este baado.
Si t las vieras!|Las lagartijas...
tienen aqu distintas formas...
Where's Pepe?
He's getting supplies.
I don't have to work today.
Let's pick up|Nicolas and Juan.
Okay.
Look, look, Toms.|"Celestino Antes de Alba. "
Now, you are really a writer.
- You like that cover?|- I like it, it's beautiful.
I thank Virgilio|for this book.
He gave me a lesson|in literature and editing.
...my brothers Juan|and Nicholas are writers too.
Oh, come on.
Pepe, we've got the Bronte|sisters in the back-seat.
Look at them.
Lezama is a Catholic;|Virgilio is an atheist.
So what do they|have in common
besides being faggots?
Lezama doesn't type,|he writes everything by hand.
Something you|wouldn't understand
It's called|intellectual honesty.
I don't understand!
Well, if you took the time|to actually read their books,
maybe you'd have something|intelligent to say about it.
Oye,|look at this.
Give him the cigarettes.
Oye, guapo!
Maricones!
Mariquita! Mariquita!
Hazle comer|el mojn de caballo!
Coo! Qu es eso?
Qu pasa ahora?
Oye, welcome to our picnic,|compaero.
Tranquilo,|no te muevas de all.
- What do you want?|- Shut up.
What do I want?
I want Carlos first|to frisk this guy.
Why him?
See if he's got a weapon.
He's not even dressed.
What's your name?
My name?
Franz Kafka.
You're funny.
You think I'm ignorant?
Let's see how|ignorant you are.
Ever heard of a summer camp|called La Isla de la Juventud?
No, then maybe|you can tell me...
when was the last time|you took it up your ass?
The last time?
Oh, I don't remember.
You don't remember?
But, I remember|the last time you did.
When was that?
Maybe the last time|you bent over
to tie your boots?
Est bien,|lo ves, no?
Est bien, est bien.
Do you have a cigarette?
Yes, I have a cigarette.
There was also a sexual|revolution going on
that came along with excitement|of the official revolution-
but the drums of militarism|were still trying to beat down
the rhythm of poetry and life.
When I wasn't at my job|at the library,
or guard duty,|or attending rallies,
there were three|wonderful things
that I enjoyed|in the 60's:
my typewriter, at which I sat|like a dedicated performer
sitting at his piano;
the youth of those days,
when everyone was ready|to break free;
and lastly, the full discovery|of the sea.
Did you ever notice there|are four categories of gays?
Really?
Really.
Which are they?
Well, the first one|is the dog collar gay-
He's loud,
shows off that|he's gay,
there's no limit|to his sexual voracity,
therefore he's constantly|being arrested.
The system has created|a permanent collar
around his neck,
so they can|hook him up
and take him to|a rehabilitation camp
like a Valparaso.
Two is the common gay.
He's made his commitments|with other gays,
has a job, film clubs,
likes to sip tea|with his friends,
writes a poem|now and then,
only has relations|with other gays,
never takes a risk,
and never gets|to know a real man.
The third one,
the closet gay,|okay,
nobody knows|he is gay.
He's married,|has children,
hides on his way|to the bathroom,
still wearing the ring|that his wife gave him.
They're hard to spot,|but I've got one here.
Most of the time they're|the ones who censor other gays.
And fourth, the royal gay,
a unique product|of our country,
a communist country.
Because of his closeness|to our Maximum Leader
or special work with|the State Security,
he can afford|to be openly gay,
travel freely in this|country and abroad,
cover himself|with jewels, clothes...
Coo, he even has|a private chauffeur.
Hey, hey.|Stop!
Reinaldo!
Hey, Reinaldo!
Come on.|We'll give you a ride.
Where are you going?
Don't worry.|Take a seat.
Hello.
How are you?
Now, we're going to take|a little shortcut
and show you a beautiful|part of Havana
that not many|visitors get to see.
The crackdown began in earnest.
The horror and ugliness|advanced day by day
at an ever increasing pace,
but the oppression only|acted as a stimulus
and sex became a way|of fighting it...
a weapon to use|against the regimen.
Needless to say,
the Revolution wasn't|for everybody.
Mr. Heberto Zorrilla Ochoa,
are you aware of Article 243|in the Penal Code?
Yes.
And what does Article 243|of the Penal Code state?
It states that no assembly|of over three people is allowed.
And yet, you had an assembly|of over 20 people at your home
on the night of July 10th.
What were you doing?
It was a poetry reading.
Whose poetry?
My own-|others.
And are you sure that|this was a poetry reading
and not just an|opportunity to recite
counterrevolutionary|propaganda?
Yes, I'm sure.
Mr. Correa, is poetry|ever propaganda?
I suppose it could be.
But not your poetry.
No.
Mr. Correa, who else|was present
at this so-called|poetry reading?
Some friends,|other writers.
Tell me, does the name|Jos Lezama Lima ring a bell?
Virgilio Piera?
Your wife, Fina?
Yes.
Were they there?
Yes, they were there.
Are you aware|that Lezama Lima
and Virgilio Piera|are homosexuals?
Yes.
I am aware of my errors.
that are unpardonable,
errors that demand|to be severely punished.
But I must confess|that I see before me
in this room,
the faces of many comrades|who like me,
have lost their way,
whose ideology has waivered,
who have committed|similar errors...
errors that also demand|to be severely punished.
I'm sorry.|I'm late.
We got a call about|an hour ago.
They said they would be|at the Hotel Nacional
and they're leaving|today at 4:00 p. m.
That's all they said?
They're friends of|Lezama Lima.
- Reinaldo?|- Yes.
I'm Jorge Camacho.
- This is my wife, Margarita.|- Hi.
Have a seat.
We live in Paris.
Jorge is in a show|at the Saln De Mayo.
He's a painter.
We are big fans|of your work.
My work?
We bought your book|in a bookstore
and Jorge stayed up|all night reading it.
He said it was|the greatest novel
he ever read|about childhood.
Would you put|the book away, please.
Yes, of course.
Of course.
Reinaldo!
Margarita went ahead.
I thought you|were gone.
I went to the hotel-|I didn't know.
But, I knew you|were here.
This is a friend|of ours,
who works at|the French Embassy.
If you ever|need anything
you can give|her a call.
She'll get in|touch with us.
It's a small present|from Margarita and me.
Thank you|very much, Jorge.
You have to go.
What do your|paintings look like?
Because I didn't|ask you before.
You'll have to|see them in person.
Sure.
Who knows?
Maybe you could|write something
about them someday.
Hey Mister,|can I have my kite, please?
Get lost.
You almost killed me.
Come on,|give him the kite.
You want to give|him the kite?
Give him the kite?
Forget it!
Come on,|give him the kite!
Oye!
You want to give|him back the kite?
Okay, I'll give|him the kite.
What are you doing, Pepe?
What are you doing, Pepe?
Get out of here!
Aljate de aqu!|iBruto!
Here.
Excuse me.|Excuse me.
I was on the beach|and these boys
stole my flippers|and my clothes.
Could you identify them?
No, but it's okay.
Get in the car.
No, it's okay.
Get in the car.
Ah estn!|That's them!
Come over here.
You have something|belonging to this man?
Look at him.
Give me your ID cards.
I was going to return this|stuff to the police station.
That faggot and his friend,|tried to touch our pricks.
Yeah, we beat them up|and they ran off,
so, we were going to bring|this to the station.
They molested us.
- They molested you?|- Yeah.
- You're sure?|- Yes.
You're under arrest.
Why!
Because I said so.
Lugando Barnes!
What are you doing here?
I live right over here.
I need a towel, t-shirt,|anything you have.
Please.
Thank you.
I need a place to hide.
I don't know,|I have to get out of here.
Why, what did you do?
They said I|molested these kids.
You should see these kids.
They were all bigger|than me.
Have you heard from Toms?
I was told that he was|in a work camp in Oriente
and he was killed|while trying to escape.
I've heard you've|had some trouble
with the police.
No, it was a mistake,
they had me mixed up|with somebody else.
The way I see it,|you have two choices:
You can try to make it|to the U.S. Navy Base
in Guantnamo;
or you can try to float|your way to Florida.
It's about 90 miles.
You can make it in a few|days if the current is good.
I have an inner tube|I was saving.
It's yours.
Who is it?
It's me, Pepe.
I'm sorry about today.
What do you want now?
Where are you going?
I don't know.
H uh, where have you been?
I'm leaving right now.
How?
How?|Inner tube.
You're crazy,|you're going to drown.
Listen, do you want|to help me?
Yes, I want to help you.
Then give me all the|money you have on you.
You can have|the gold, clothes...
you can sell|it everywhere.
Please, give me all|the money you have on you.
You have money in here?
Give me the money.|Give me the money!
You can take-
you can take everything,
You can stay here|if you want.
Reinaldo, I have|some friends
that can solve|this problem.
What kind of friends|do you have?
You know what|kind of friends.
Why kind of friends|do you have?
Don't go away.
- Reinaldo.|- I'm leaving.
I'm leaving...
I- I'll keep in touch|with you, alright?
Bye.
Reinaldo-
I have to hide|you somewhere,
because we are|surrounded by police.
...a photo of you
just in case you forget|what you look like,
and last,|"La lliada. "
"La Ilada," Juan,|"La Ilada. "
Here are the pills|you asked for.
What are they?
I don't know,|but they make you happy.
Will they kill me?
I suppose if you|took enough of them.
Hello.
Can I have two|croquetas, please?
Two?
Yes, and a drink.
Do you have a light?
Yes.|Sure.
Do you have|a cigarette?
What is your name?
Adriano Faustino Sotolongo.
When did you get|that name, Reinaldo?
You are Reinaldo Arenas,|aren't you?
Buen trabajo.
Mira, encontramos|este paquete.
Este es Reinaldo Arenas,
un pjaro que agarramos|ah en el parque.
Dale! Dale!
Dale, coo!|Dale!
Ya vas a ver|lo que es bueno.
Vas a ver lo que es bueno|ah adentro.
I arrived at El Morro not|as a political prisoner
or writer,
but with an infamous|reputation as a rapist,
a murderer,|and a CIA agent.
a supernatural air|of nonchalance
and gave me an aura|of danger and respectability
among the real murderers,
real rapists,
and common criminals|who would kill each other
for the slightest reason.
Skies lit by bolts|of lightning
were replaced|by electric lights
that blinked on and off|with regularity,
killing the possibility|or chance that I might dream
or forget where I was.
I thought here|I could go unnoticed.
But prisoners are those|beings that know everything,
especially about|other prisoners.
Soon they knew,|maybe from the guards,
or the warden himself,|or a killer named Torre,
that I was a writer.
Say, you think you could|write a letter for me?
What?
Not for nothing,
I give you two cigarettes.
Carlota-
tell her that I miss|her so much.
Your words or mine?
I'm sorry.
My fame as "The Writer"|spread all over the prison.
Mara...
From the 17 cells of El Morro,
and for those who couldn't|see me directly,
petitions came in the form|of hundreds of balls of soap,
tied to long strings,
that the prisoners|could pass on to my cell.
It was called "The Mail. "
I never wrote so much.
I accumulated a small|fortune of cigarettes
that provided me with|enough paper and pencils
for my own novel,
which I wrote in the middle,
of all the screaming|and crying.
Cubans are defined by noise,|it's their nature.
They need to bother others.
They can neither enjoy,|nor suffer in silence.
Even the sun was rationed,
but once a month|the gay inmates
turned El Morro|into a nightclub.
Leonardo da Vinci|was homosexual,
so was Michelangelo,|Socrates, Shakespeare,
and almost every other|figure that has formed
what we have come|to understand as beauty.
Bon Bon, the hearthrob|of El Morro,
was no different.
She was so glamorous,|that when she walked by,
she made everybody feel|like they were in the movies.
Bon Bon was also famous|for another quality.
He was one|of those transporters,
who by the grace|of countless activity,
could carry unfathomable|quantities in the deepness
of his rectum, even if given|a thorough ass check.
Excuse me,
I heard that you can get|things in and out of here.
Could you carry|a package for me?
Of course,|he denied it.
I don't know what|you're talking about.
But every ass|has his price.
It took me a thousand|cigarettes and Bon Bon
five trips to smuggle my novel|to the other side of El Morro.
Por favor!
- Por favor, no me metan ah!|- Camina!
Por favor!|Por qu?
Si no le he hecho|nada a nadie, hombre!
Por favor!
Abran la puerta!
Abran la puerta, por Dios!|No me entren aqu!
Abran la puerta!
Por qu me hacen esto?
Est bien...|est bien.
Por Dios!
Abran la puerta, por Dios!
Abran la puerta!
Espera, por Dios, espera!
I felt an indescribable|sadness to see my mother
with that white shirt,|demanding that I come home
and telling me that|I had no other choice.
I gathered all|the strength I had.
After two years|of prison,
you think my only choice|is to go home with you?!
I turned my back on my mother|and ran away.
I will always remember|her standing there like that.
I wanted to go back|and hug her.
But instead,
I ran towards these gigantic|black men playing volleyball.
...tambin me despertar.
A m me despertar|de este sueo,
que tambin es pesadilla,
que tambin es pesadilla...
Vamos, afuera!
The truth is that there|is no possibility
of rehabilitating a faggot.
How many times have|we confiscated this...
counterrevolutionary poop?
Don't you realize...
that this can cost|you your life?
We can make|you disappear,
or you could|be free tomorrow.
It's up to you.
But, if you keep|writing this,
you're not going|to get very far.
I'm going to give you five|minutes to make up your mind.
It might take a queer|more than five minutes
to make up his mind|while watching this handsome
lieutenant stroke his|magnificent organ.
What do you say?
Can I have some|paper and a pen?
All the work I've done|until now is garbage.
I quickly accused myself|of being a villain,
a traitor, a depraved|counter revolutionary,
and while fixating on his|generous projectile,
I thanked the government|for the largeness,
and about the grandness|of Lt. Victor.
I deny my homosexual condition.
And I am converted into a man|illuminated by this Revolution.
Good.
Very good.
This is how a man behaves.
I almost fainted when I felt|his member near my face.
Your five minutes is up.
You got a lot|of publicity,
but friends,
where are they now?
Pepe Malas is your friend?
He's someone you can trust?
Why isn't he here with you?
You recognize this|book, Reinaldo?
That book was the only|proof to me that I was alive.
No.|I've never seen it.
This book was|published in France
without permission|of the Writer's Union.
Therefore, you must have had|someone to smuggle it out.
You didn't go|to France did you?
Maybe I should be|discussing this book
with the Writer's Union|and not here in State Security.
Abre la boca.
La boca...
La boca!
As...
As, Reinaldo...
I will close my eyes now|and you will be gone.
You're gone.
The revolution will find|a way to use your talent.
We could fit you in somewhere,
some speeches, a letter|to your friends, publisher,
telling them how well|you're being treated
and that's a good beginning.
You thought it was me|who turned you in.
I thought it was...
Pepe.
Can you really|blame him?
Yes, I can.
And, I will blame him|for the rest of my life.
Look at this.
This book...
won best foreign|novel in France...
and I don't even have|a place to live.
What am I going to do?
What are you|going to do?
You're in luck.
I'm in luck?
Remember Blanca Romero,|the painter?
She lives in the Hotel Clarita,
next to the convent|of Santa Clara.
Hey, Blanca wanted|a window.
We thought it went|to the street.
We're selling this stuff|on the black market.
So, this is the surprise.
Something else...
making a fortune.
We got a hold|of these parachutes
and we're going|to sail them to Miami.
You're kidding, right?
No, I'm not kidding.
This is my friend, Armando
He's an expert with|the blowtorch.
He can fix anything,
even steal electricity|from the street.
He's an engineer.
I knew him in jail.
We figure that the balloon|will take three passengers.
So, we are going to draw|lots to see who goes.
I'm definitely going.
Blanca's definitely going.
T no vas a estar|haciendo dieta ahora.
The rest of us|will draw lots.
We need some help,|there's only six of us.
I can help.
- Who's the guy?|- Reinaldo.
Someone is here.
Someone is here.
She's such a bitch.
She hates me just|like my mother.
Why do you think|your mother hates you?
She put me in an asylum|so she didn't have to feed me.
What?
She put me in Mazorra so she|wouldn't have to feed me.
Her own son.
She's just like her.
You can sleep here|anytime you want.
Just friends, okay,|just friends.
A pillow, you have|a blanket...
and I don't have anything|to offer you...
but a book...
that you asked me for|a long time ago,
you remember that?
It's your-|It's your book?
Yes, it's my book,|now it's yours.
Thanks.
Why do you write?
Revenge.
Could you teach me|how to write?
I don't know, Lzaro.|I don't know.
I want to die|at the end of the day,
in the high seas,
with my face|towards the sky
when it seems like|agony is just a dream
and the soul, a bird|ascending in flight.
Who is that?
Manuel Guitrrez Njera.|Mexicano.
I mean, you're a writer|even if you don't write.
You know what I mean?
Yeah, I know what|you mean.
- Hey.|- Hola. Cmo estn?
You know what I mean?
iCoo!|Pero mira...
...and if you need|anything else,
just let me know.|I can find it for you.
What is this pig|doing here?
He's the one who|got the propane.
Grab his leg,|come on.
Psst, psst!
Oh, no, no, no.
If you let me out|of here,
it's yours.
Untie the ropes,
and I'll bring you|to Miami with me.
Come! Come!|Despierten!
El globo se va!|Baja!
See you in Times Square,|faggots!
Lzaro, take this, sell it|and try to get me some lemons,
and tea...
and some paper, please.
Sure.
That's all you need?
Yes, and whatever you want.
- Have you seen Lzaro?|- No.
He hasn't come home|in two weeks.
He's probably in the|Peruvian Embassy.
You heard about the bus|crashing through the gate?
Yes, of course I've|heard about that.
Fidel said that anybody|who wants to leave can.
There's 10,000 people there.
Now, he's mixing|the dissidents
with the criminals,|homosexuals, and mentally ill.
That's a great idea.
All you have to do is go|to the local police station
for your exit permit.
You tell them that you|have a criminal record
or that you're a homosexual,
or that you're mentally ill.
I don't believe that.
It's a trap.
Maybe.
Next.
What's your name?
Reinaldo Arenas.
State your reason|for wanting to leave.
I am homosexual.
Where do you go|to pick up men.
En la parada del Hotel Plaza,|en "El Prado," en "La Sortija. "
What position do|you like in bed?
I like it from behind,|and on my knees.
Walk!
- Walk! Walk!|- Walk.
Report to Abreu Fontan.
What are they doing?
They got a list|of everyone
they don't want|to let out.
Like who?
I don't know.
- Do you have a pen?|- No.
- Do you have a pen?|- No, sir.
Avancen, avancen,|avancen!
I don't care where I sleep.
Just promise me you won't|bring any of your friends here.
I can cook.|It's no problem.
How much is it?
$350 per month,|plus utilities.
The difference between|the communist system,
and the capitalist system,
is that when they give|you a kick in the ass
in the communist system,|you have to applaud;
in the capitalist system,|you can scream.
- Hello, Mr. Greenberg.|- Thanks.
Happy holiday.
Thank you.|Here let me help you.
The doorman...
Hey, let's go.|I've got a break.
You're writing a novel!
Laz.
What happened?
- Oh, I broke a glass.|- Hey, you're bleeding.
Leave it alone.|Laz! Laz!
I'm trying to help.
What's the matter, Rey?
You are like a milk cow|that gives milk
all the time and then|kicks over the bucket.
There's the door, doorman.
Walk through it.|Walk through it.
I don't want to|see you again.
I'm tired of living|with a moron.
You are a moron, Laz.
Please, leave the keys|on the table.
The moon bathes Death|in a light
that makes him look|like a white star
twinkling in the middle|of the backyard.
That used to be my bicycle.
Rey!
Open the door!
Rey!
Reinaldo.|Hey, Reinaldo.
How ya doing?|Come on, get up.
It's time to go.
Where?
It's time to go home.
Cuba?
No, I think you should go|to your apartment first.
Come on, I'll give|you a hand.
Here we go.
Are these your|things here?
How are you feeling?|You feeling alright?
I can't believe they're|sending you home.
Do you have any insurance?
- Yes, I do.|- I don't.
- Don't forget the plant.|- I won't.
Hello.
You got everything?
Yes.
Give me a glass...
and a straw.
Where is the straw?
- What?|- Where is the straw?
The straw, yeah.
You do it.
Laz...
I have something|to show you.
Look.
Here's "The Doorman. "
"For Lazaro, his novel. "
It just came out.
You can have|all the money.
The money?
It's my book, Rey,
you took it and now|you're going to insult me
by paying me for it?
Okay, sorry.|Thanks.
- Don't say nothing.|- Okay.
Give me a glass|with a...
This bag|is important, Laz.
You can take it.
You're going to need|it more than me.
Take it.
I want you to promise|me something, Lzaro.
I don't want to wake up|in the hospital.
Promise me.
I promise.
Sure?
Yeah.
Sure?
Hmmm?
I'm sorry.
Yes.
Give me the glass, please.
I want you to mail these.
This is for-
This is for my mother.
This is for|"The New York Times,"
Margarita and Jorge Camacho.
"Miami Herald. "
And, this is for you,|but, don't open it.
Mail this to yourself,
and then you open|in your house.
I have never met a boy|as authentic as you, Lzaro.
Never.
Read me something.
Oh, not that one.
Not that one,|where's the glass?
Not that one.
Rey.|Rey.