RAFAEL LIMA Rafael Lima, born in Cuba and raised in Miami, is a writer and playwright who teaches drama writing at the University of Miami and the New World School of the Arts. He is the author of the critically acclaimed play El Salvador. He has recently completed an HBO miniseries on a Cuban family reunion, scheduled to air late this year. His father and uncle were Cuban air force pilots. His uncle once flew a prisoner, a young revolutionary named Fidel Castro, from Moncada barracks to Havana for trial.

The Dysfunctional Family

You see, Macho's own ancestors had come from the craggy Galician hills, a land of fierce men who killed bulls, fought honorably in duels and rode horses bravely into battle. So it was that Macho fought his own battle in his own hills and gave birth to his own sons and daughters. Macho believed by virtue of his victory that he had the authority and duty to impose his -- at times he thought divine -- will on his sons and daughters. He believed if the family dared to show contempt for his authority that they should be punished.

And punished they were. If a son's eyes flickered upward to meet his father's black gaze to speak out about this or that injustice, he was imprisoned, locked in a closet and told he should use that time to "adjust" his thinking.

Because the family wanted Macho's love, or at least to keep him from turning his anger toward them, they turned on each other. At first it was painful for this close, loving family to become accustomed to a brother or a sister spying on each other, denouncing each other to Macho. It was difficult for them to watch -- or maybe to look away -- as another member of the family was forced into another closet.

Soon, it was not unusual for members of Macho's family to disappear and grow old behind locked doors. All around Macho's house, labored breathing and sobs seeped from the dark spaces behind the walls. Macho himself could hear the sobs, but he just crossed his arms and whispered through the keyholes: "This hurts me more than it does you."

Over time it grew easier to live with all the frightful noises. It became easier for those still free to move around the house to remain silent, if only from the habit of silence. When many years later, one of the family decided to speak up about his imprisoned brethren (Macho was old now. Maybe he'd reconsider) he found, to his horror, that only gurgles and choking sounds came out.

Macho, now graying, his speech slurring at times, took the inarticulate gagging of this child as a throaty roar of approval. In any case, he kept the doors locked and the lights dimmed and felt satisfied that now his children -- at long last --= were being born without eyes, without mouths and walked only on their knees.