It’s only when I re-read Our Man in Havana that I realized I
shared a street with the hapless spy hero of Graham Greene’s novel. My
own office was in a grand trading exchange in the old city that dated
back to the early 20th century. At Calle Lamparilla 1, the building was
just a short distance from the fictional vacuum cleaner store run by Jim
Wormold. The novelist gives the address of Phastkleaners as Lamparilla
37, but I’ve walked up and down the dusty street before without locating
any building with that number. There are no houses at all between 2 and
61, just a small park. This time, though, I’m returning to the search
with fresh information.
Calle Lamparilla cuts through the historic heart of the city down to
my old office near the dock. Sidestepping a couple of elderly men
playing the fool for tips at a restaurant window, I turn into the top of
the street. Reggaeton music, catchy but crude, thumps from a window and
there’s the usual chorus of oye! as Cubans greet each other
enthusiastically, starting conversations at a hundred paces. A small
crowd has gathered to admire puppies for sale in a cage. Arctic huskies
are in fashion in humid Havana but this vendor is offering a Chihuahua
and a poodle with sculpted leg fur. A few steps further down a man
perched on a tall chair is having his head close-shaved surrounded by
stalls laid out with bric-a-brac and fake designer T-shirts.
There’s a reason for my newfound confidence about finding number 37.
On an earlier trip I’d visited a branch of the City Historian’s office
in a grand stone mansion just back from the waterfront. Inside an icily
air-conditioned room piled high with papers I met a researcher named
Arturo. He had the film of Our Man in Havana somewhere at home
and was intrigued by my request to locate Wormold’s shop. Eager to help,
he started scrolling through spreadsheets and scans of old city plans
on his computer. After a while Arturo looked up. “It seems Lamparilla 37
was originally a house of tolerance,” he ventured, lowering his voice
slightly. “You mean a brothel?” I asked, amused that Greene, who kept a
list of favorite prostitutes, should have chosen such an address. But
that first map dated from 1881 so Arturo went on with his search.
I described the little park I’d seen where I thought number 37 ought
to have been. Such spaces were common when houses collapsed so it was
possible the building Greene picked had simply gone. But after much
scrolling Arturo unearthed a plan of Lamparilla from the 1930s and
peering over his shoulder I realized that the numbering in those days
was very different. 37 was higher up Lamparilla, much further from my
office. There were tailors and cafes marked on the street and a New York
bank. The map didn’t note any business at what was then number 37 but
there was an electrician on the same block and two midwives called
Maria. Arturo’s map also tallied with a scene in Greene’s book where
Wormold’s daughter Milly walks home from school along Calle Compostela,
right beside that spot. ... [mehr] https://lithub.com/searching-for-graham-greenes-havana/
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen