Warm spring thunderstorms flicked lightning across the sky, crackled, then poured soft rain on Havana's tree-shaded streets. Sea birds screeched and wheeled, and lovers ran to cover from the concrete sea wall along Malecon drive. The air smelled, as always, of strong tobacco and stronger coffee. Most of the prostitutes and pimps that used to degrade the city were gone, cleaned out by Fidel Castro's moralistic revolution. In eastern Santiago, teen-agers danced in the streets to the latest Afro-Cuban rhythm, a hip-buster called the pachanca.
Cuba's outward tranquillity, however, was being synthetically...
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