“It’s hard to sleep in heat, ”I told him.
Raul smiled, replied. “I love hot nights. Such nights remind me of my Cuban childhood. No air conditioning. After supper, Mama hung hammocks for each of us across the expanse of our tiled main room. My brothers and I swayed to sleep, safe from skittering night creatures a fan’s hum, our lullaby. I slept so well then.” Raul left. Our meal was delicious, service lovely. Raul’s gift of his precious childhood memory—a lagniappe beyond price.