The Ludmila Confessions

Ludmila on the cover of magazine “Momento”

Things were starting to look very black, or I should say red, in Venezuela. After Cuba, the people here also wanted a revolution. My great friend and lover from years back, General Marcos Perez Jimenez, now had to flee the country. Venezuela seemed to us like a haven after World War II, with food, and work available, it was a very rich, beautiful and secure country for us, but now it had become chaotic.

Thank God my dear mama filed documents at the American embassy five years earlier so she was now welcome in the U.S. as a resident. She had secured green cards for the entire family; instinctively after father left she did this. She was still afraid of being snatched back by the communists. My father had went back and we never heard from him again. The way the communist regime worked, and this was not known to many people, but for those who went back they were all considered traitors. If he was an officer, he would be shot on the spot; if it was a mother with grown children, they would all be sent to Siberia. Younger children would be taken to state schools to be brainwashed. Mother did not want to have anything more to do with war, and the U.S. was at peace– at least it never had wars on its own soil, and that was heaven for us.

Our friend Horacio was a close friend to our home. He liked my mother and sister, and generally admired our family, so he took us to the Aeropuerto de Maiquetia. But my sister could not leave because she had divorced from her husband and had a daughter. She was in the middle of a custody battle so they  stayed behind. My sister’s second child had died and was buried on Venezuelan soil with others from her husband’s family.

There were tears of goodbye and gratitude at the humble home where we had lived for many years now. The building was owned by Italians. I had met many Italian men– car racers, pilots, and chefs. I always loved to eat the Italian food in our friends homes, because it was so different and much richer than the borscht and peasant food of our family. I met lots of beautiful Italians, some humble and some rich. Most of them would go to the Tamanaco Hotel, which was the best in Caracas, and then to the Humboldt on the mountaintop, with incredible views of the other side and the Caribbean ocean.

We went many times with Walter and friends to the Humboldt Hotel, even a Gala for this last New Year  drinking champagne until morning, and than playing around.

I had many happy memories of spending New Year’s Eve and other celebrations at these hotels– too many memories to recollect in writing.

Tears rolled from mama’s eyes and mine and everyone that was saying goodbye to the two of us. I think they were tears of happiness rather than of sorrow, looking forward to an even brighter future.