Eladio Martínez was close to tears as he stood wringing his hands on a rag of a handkerchief that was once beautiful, beautiful linen. “I couldn’t find any!” Eladio reached out for the railing around the terrace, balanced himself, and then slowly raised his feet—first one, then the other. He wanted his employer to see that the soles of his shoes had eroded almost completely, so much so that the paper he’d lined them with was also worn through in places, and the balls and heels of his feet were walking directly on the ground. “Just like the other times, Señor Luis, nothing!” “Thank you, Eladio, I know you tried your best—it’s not your fault. As always, I appreciate all your work.” Luis RodríguezLópez looked down at the shoes and shook his head in sorrow. Lifting his head then, as if it were heavy, he gave Eladio a wan smile. “I’m so sorry about your shoes. I’ll see what can be done; maybe get you a new pair to replace those.” Even if Luis had been able to afford to purchase a new pair of shoes, it would be highly unlikely he would find them, as footwear was either in very short supply or priced out of reach in present day Cuba.
