Invented by Spies

Another bite from John Sayles’ A Moment in the Sun:

Carnaval was invented by spies. There is no other explanation — an entire week when one is allowed, no, expected, to traverse the city behind a mask, one among the thousands of dizfrazados, black and white, rich and poor, attending gilded balls or singing in processions or just noisily decorating the streets of La Habana. The gaslights are on now, the breeze blowing ever so slightly out into the Harbor as Quiroga strolls along the Malecón. It is a calm night, waves caressing rather than assaulting the sea wall, and the few lights left burning on the big ships anchored not so far away rise and fall in a gentle rhythm. Quiroga wears a simple domino and his dress suit, only a lector de fábrica down from Florida for the holiday. Nobody to worry about. There is tension, yes, and he heard footsteps behind when he left the hotel this morning, but with so much life on the street, so many crowds to lose himself to, Quiroga is certain that his sombra has been lost as well. (page 81)

[And by the end of the chapter: Remember the Maine. . .]