You see it in the stolid faces of taxi drivers, hotel clerks, croupiers and waiters—the sullen resentment of a captive population; once too indifferent to resist the Castro onslaught; now too disillusioned to allow itself the luxury of hope.
At the airport you see Cubans and Americans milling about, trying to find seats to Miami to replace flights abruptly canceled by Cubana Airlines. Cubana ticket clerks won’t tell you why, but you suspect a Cubana pilot or stewardess had been denounced for political nonconformity. Or now that the Cubans have taken over Texaco and Shell and Esso there may not be enough gasoline for Cubana’s fleet of Viscounts. You watch Cubans producing huge envelopes of documents for official inspection before they are allowed to enter the flight room.
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