Even the sun was rationed,
but once a month the gay inmates
turned El Morro into a nightclub.
Leonardo da Vinci was homosexual,
so was Michelangelo, Socrates, Shakespeare,
and almost every other figure that has formed
what we have come to understand as beauty.
Bon Bon, the hearthrob of El Morro,
was no different.
She was so glamorous, that when she walked by,
she made everybody feel like they were in the movies.
Bon Bon was also famous for another quality.
He was one of those transporters,
who by the grace of countless activity,
could carry unfathomable quantities in the deepness
of his rectum, even if given a thorough ass check.
Excuse me,
I heard that you can get things in and out of here.
Could you carry a package for me?
Of course, he denied it.
I don't know what you're talking about.
But every ass has his price.
It took me a thousand cigarettes and Bon Bon
five trips to smuggle my novel to the other side of El Morro.
Por favor!
- Por favor, no me metan ahí! - Camina!
Por favor! ¿Por qué?
Si no le he hecho nada a nadie, hombre!
Por favor!
Abran la puerta!
Abran la puerta, por Dios! No me entren aquí!
Abran la puerta!
¿Por qué me hacen esto?
Está bien... está bien.
Por Dios!
Abran la puerta, por Dios!
Abran la puerta!
Espera, por Dios, espera!
I felt an indescribable sadness to see my mother
with that white shirt, demanding that I come home
and telling me that I had no other choice.
I gathered all the strength I had.
After two years of prison,
you think my only choice is to go home with you?!
I turned my back on my mother and ran away.
I will always remember her standing there like that.
I wanted to go back and hug her.
But instead,
I ran towards these gigantic black men playing volleyball.
...también me despertará.
A mí me despertará de este sueño,
que también es pesadilla,
que también es pesadilla...
Vamos, afuera!
The truth is that there is no possibility
of rehabilitating a faggot.
How many times have we confiscated this...
counterrevolutionary poop?
Don't you realize...
that this can cost you your life?
We can make you disappear,
or you could be free tomorrow.
It's up to you.
But, if you keep writing this,
you're not going to get very far.
I'm going to give you five minutes to make up your mind.
It might take a queer more than five minutes
to make up his mind while watching this handsome
lieutenant stroke his magnificent organ.
What do you say?
Can I have some paper and a pen?
All the work I've done until now is garbage.
I quickly accused myself of being a villain,
a traitor, a depraved counter revolutionary,
and while fixating on his generous projectile,
I thanked the government for the largeness,
and about the grandness of Lt. Victor.
I deny my homosexual condition.
And I am converted into a man illuminated by this Revolution.
Good.
Very good.
This is how a man behaves.
I almost fainted when I felt his member near my face.
Your five minutes is up.
You got a lot of publicity,
but friends,
where are they now?
Pepe Malas is your friend?
He's someone you can trust?
Why isn't he here with you?
You recognize this book, Reinaldo?
That book was the only proof to me that I was alive.
No. I've never seen it.
This book was published in France
without permission of the Writer's Union.
Therefore, you must have had someone to smuggle it out.
You didn't go to France did you?
Maybe I should be discussing this book
with the Writer's Union and not here in State Security.
Abre la boca.
La boca...
La boca!!
Así...
Así, Reinaldo...
I will close my eyes now and you will be gone.
You're gone.
The revolution will find a way to use your talent.
We could fit you in somewhere,
some speeches, a letter to your friends, publisher,
telling them how well you're being treated
and that's a good beginning.
You thought it was me who turned you in.
I thought it was...
Pepe.
Can you really blame him?
Yes, I can.
And, I will blame him for the rest of my life.
Look at this.
This book...
won best foreign novel in France...
and I don't even have a place to live.
What am I going to do?
What are you going to do?
You're in luck.
I'm in luck?
Remember Blanca Romero, the painter?
She lives in the Hotel Clarita,
next to the convent of Santa Clara.
Hey, Blanca wanted a window.
We thought it went to the street.
We're selling this stuff on the black market.
So, this is the surprise.
Something else...
making a fortune.
We got a hold of these parachutes
and we're going to sail them to Miami.
You're kidding, right?
No, I'm not kidding.
This is my friend, Armando
He's an expert with the blowtorch.
He can fix anything,
even steal electricity from the street.
He's an engineer.
I knew him in jail.
We figure that the balloon will take three passengers.
So, we are going to draw lots to see who goes.
I'm definitely going.
Blanca's definitely going.
Tú no vas a estar haciendo dieta ahora.
The rest of us will draw lots.
We need some help, there's only six of us.
I can help.
- Who's the guy? - Reinaldo.
Someone is here.
She's such a bitch.
She hates me just like my mother.
Why do you think your mother hates you?
She put me in an asylum so she didn't have to feed me.
What?
She put me in Mazorra so she wouldn't have to feed me.
Her own son.
She's just like her.
You can sleep here anytime you want.
Just friends, okay, just friends.
A pillow, you have a blanket...
and I don't have anything to offer you...
but a book...
that you asked me for a long time ago,
you remember that?
It's your-- It's your book?
Yes, it's my book, now it's yours.
Thanks.
Why do you write?
Revenge.
Could you teach me how to write?
I don't know, Lázaro. I don't know.
I want to die at the end of the day,
in the high seas,
with my face towards the sky
when it seems like agony is just a dream
and the soul, a bird ascending in flight.
Who is that?
Manuel Guitérrez Nájera. Mexicano.
I mean, you're a writer even if you don't write.
You know what I mean?
Yeah, I know what you mean.
- Hey. - Hola. ¿Cómo están?
You know what I mean?
iCoño! Pero mira...
...and if you need anything else,
just let me know. I can find it for you.
What is this pig doing here?
He's the one who got the propane.
Grab his leg, come on.
Psst, psst!
Oh, no, no, no.
If you let me out of here,
it's yours.
Untie the ropes,
and I'll bring you to Miami with me.
Come! Come! Despierten!
El globo se va! Baja!
See you in Times Square, faggots!
Lázaro, take this, sell it and try to get me some lemons,
and tea...
and some paper, please.
Sure.
That's all you need?
Yes, and whatever you want.
- Have you seen Lázaro? - No.
He hasn't come home in two weeks.
He's probably in the Peruvian Embassy.
You heard about the bus crashing through the gate?
Yes, of course I've heard about that.
Fidel said that anybody who wants to leave can.
There's 10,000 people there.
Now, he's mixing the dissidents
with the criminals, homosexuals, and mentally ill.
That's a great idea.
All you have to do is go to the local police station
for your exit permit.
You tell them that you have a criminal record
or that you're a homosexual,
or that you're mentally ill.
I don't believe that.
It's a trap.
Maybe.
Next.
What's your name?
Reinaldo Arenas.
State your reason for wanting to leave.
I am homosexual.
Where do you go to pick up men.
En la parada del Hotel Plaza, en "El Prado," en "La Sortija."
What position do you like in bed?
I like it from behind, and on my knees.
Walk!
- Walk! Walk! - Walk.
Report to Abreu Fontan.
What are they doing?
They got a list of everyone
they don't want to let out.
Like who?
I don't know.
- Do you have a pen? - No.
- Do you have a pen? - No, sir.
Avancen, avancen, avancen!
I don't care where I sleep.
Just promise me you won't bring any of your friends here.
I can cook. It's no problem.
How much is it?
$350 per month, plus utilities.
The difference between the communist system,
and the capitalist system,
is that when they give you a kick in the ass
in the communist system, you have to applaud;
in the capitalist system, you can scream.
- Hello, Mr. Greenberg. - Thanks.
Happy holiday.
Thank you. Here let me help you.
The doorman...
Hey, let's go. I've got a break.
You're writing a novel!
Laz.
What happened?
- Oh, I broke a glass. - Hey, you're bleeding.
Leave it alone. Laz! Laz!
I'm trying to help.
What's the matter, Rey?
You are like a milk cow that gives milk
all the time and then kicks over the bucket.
There's the door, doorman.
Walk through it. Walk through it.
I don't want to see you again.
I'm tired of living with a moron.
You are a moron, Laz.
Please, leave the keys on the table.
The moon bathes Death in a light
that makes him look like a white star
twinkling in the middle of the backyard.
That used to be my bicycle.
( knocking on the door )
Rey!
Open the door!
Rey!
Reinaldo. Hey, Reinaldo.
How ya doing? Come on, get up.
It's time to go.
Where?
It's time to go home.
Cuba?
No, I think you should go to your apartment first.
Come on, I'll give you a hand.
Here we go.
Are these your things here?
How are you feeling? You feeling alright?
I can't believe they're sending you home.
Do you have any insurance?
- Yes, I do. - I don't.
- Don't forget the plant. - I won't.
Hello.
You got everything?
Yes.
Give me a glass...
and a straw.
Where is the straw?
- What? - Where is the straw?
The straw, yeah.
You do it.
Laz...
I have something to show you.
Look.
Here's "The Doorman."
"For Lazaro, his novel."
It just came out.
You can have all the money.
The money?
It's my book, Rey,
you took it and now you're going to insult me
by paying me for it?
Okay, sorry. Thanks.
- Don't say nothing. - Okay.
Give me a glass with a...
This bag is important, Laz.
You can take it.
You're going to need it more than me.
Take it.
I want you to promise me something, Lázaro.
I don't want to wake up in the hospital.
Promise me.
I promise.
Sure?
Yeah.
Sure?
Hmmm?
I'm sorry.
Yes.
Give me the glass, please.
I want you to mail these.
This is for---
This is for my mother.
This is for "The New York Times,"
Margarita and Jorge Camacho.
"Miami Herald."
And, this is for you, but, don't open it.
Mail this to yourself,
and then you open in your house.
I have never met a boy as authentic as you, Lázaro.
Never.
Read me something.
Oh, not that one.
Not that one, where's the glass?
Not that one.
Rey. Rey.