I want to think that death surprised him while he was reading, with his eyes shining when he found some clue, some lost piece in the puzzle of our culture
14ymedio, Yunior García Aguilera, Madrid, 8 July 2024 — In one of the presentations of the play Jacuzzi [written by the author of this article] in Madrid, someone from the group came running to the dressing room with the news that Carlos Espinosa Domínguez was in the audience. If there had been a nerveometer to measure the ensuing panic, it would have broken instantly. But not because of the fear that fierce critics provoked; we already knew that Carlos was very elegant when it came to giving a professional opinion, even if it was negative. What triggered our anxiety was the privilege of acting before one of the most authoritative voices of Cuban theater, whose name was synonymous with rigor, wisdom and excellence.
At the end of the show, the actors approached me: “Did you see him? Did he tell you anything about the play?” Nothing, I answered them. And we all felt low, and neither the audience’s applause nor the congratulations could raise our spirits. Nobody confessed it that night, but each of us went home with the terrible feeling that he didn’t like the play.
However, the next day, I received a call. On the other side of the phone, a soft and slow voice said good morning to me. It was Carlos. He had gotten my number through a mutual friend and wanted us to know that he had been deeply excited about Jacuzzi. He apologized for leaving the theater in such a hurry, but he had to return to Aranjuez, almost 50 kilometers from Madrid. After that he didn’t write just one, he wrote two articles for Cubaencuentro about the show. The second carried a title where it positioned itself without hesitation: The dream of a free and inclusive Cuba*.
Since that day we haven’t stopped talking. He wanted to know everything. He wondered with a child’s curiosity about details that I hadn’t even noticed myself
Since that day we haven’t stopped talking. He wanted to know everything. He wondered with a child’s curiosity about details that I hadn’t even noticed myself. I went to see his apartment in Aranjuez, a retreat where he avoided any distraction that would take him away from what was important: to investigate, rummage through the bowels of Cuban culture until he found what they call soul. I was surprised how up-to-date he was, especially about wha
