The rest of us collapsed in our bunks and fell asleep. In the morning, Luis’s things were gone.
“He’s going home,” Tito informed me. “And I wish I were going with him. Some adventure this turned out to be.”
“I wish I were, too,” I said.
The front door banged open, and there stood our tormentor.
“Everybody up! Let’s go! Fall in for breakfast, and then let’s get to work!”
Breakfast was a steaming pot of white beans. We could see the worms in it. I remembered Papa’s stories of the conditions at the work camp. This place was no better. I wondered how on earth he’d survived living like this.
We worked all morning, picking onions out of the mud. At lunch, we got another bowl of wormy beans. In the afternoon, after we’d knocked off for the day, we were herded into a large horse pen and hosed down until most of the mud had dripped from our bodies. Dinner—another bowl of beans. Then bedtime. I’d caught a single glimpse of Olga as she worked with the girls, but I was so exhausted I couldn’t even bother looking a second time. My interest in her had dissipated. All I could think about was my empty stomach and my aching back.
“We have to escape,” I said to Tito that night. He sat cross-legged on his bunk, eating a raw onion.
“How?” he said. “Where would we go?”
“Anywhere.”
“They’d catch us before we got a mile.”
“So? What are they going to do, execute us?”
“Maybe not, but how impressed will Olga be if she hears you ran away?”
I didn’t even bother replying to this.
“You’re going to be sick,” I said. “Eating raw onions is a surefire way to get diarrhea.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Just you wait.”
“That lucky bastard Luis,” said Tito. “I wish I had asthma.” Suddenly, with a panicked look, he shot to his feet and headed for the outdoor latrine.
“I told you!” I yelled after him. But I was too tired to laugh. I lay on my bunk and stared up at the rafters. About an hour later, Tito reappeared, looking white and shaken.
“Oh, my rear end,” he moaned.
“Stick an onion in it,” I advised him. “That will keep everything inside.”
“Calcines, I have to tell you something.”
“What?”
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone? I’m really worried.”
“Promise.”
“When I was sitting in there, I looked down at my—my you-know-what.”
“How did you see it without a magnifying glass?”
“Quit screwing around. I’m seriously worried here. I saw something . . . growing down there.”
I became alarmed. “What are you talking about?”
“Uh . . . well . . . I’m getting hair.”
“Oh, that,” I said. “That’s normal.”
“You’re getting it, too?”
“Sure,” I lied. “I’ve had it for months.”
“Wow. Thanks! I was afraid there was something wrong with me.”
“There is,” I said, “but not that.”
I would have flung a few more barbs his way, but I was so tired that I fell asleep before I could say another word.
The following Sunday, after we’d been there a week, we were given some time off. Tito and I walked toward a nearby river, on a dirt road that led away from the onion farm. We kicked stones and told each other stories.
“You know, I used to have a lot of big dreams,” he said. “I wanted to be a sports hero or a millionaire. But you know what I want more than anything now?”
“What?”
“I just want a job and a wife. A couple of kids, maybe. Nothing special. That’s all. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?”
Under Castro, it might be more than you’ll ever get, I almost said. But the look on his face was so hopeful that I couldn’t tear him down.
“Sure, you can do that if you want,” I said. “You can do anything, Tito. Castro can’t stop you.”
“That’s right!” he said, his eyes bright with excitement.
Why not let him dream? He knew he had to stay. I wanted nothing but happiness for Tito. But this desire was made all the more poignant by the fact that in a country where getting ahead was illegal, he would have a very hard time achieving even these simple goals.
A Taste of Freedom
It was a hot, humid day in late June 1969. The boys and I lounged in front of the Jagua Movie House. The heat shimmered madly above San Carlos Street, as if the very asphalt were on fire. Moving our limbs was a major effort. As usual at this time of the month, the last of our rations had run out. Mama now had a hard time coming up with one meal a day, so all of us were on sugar water and hard bread until the first of July, when we would have the privilege of standing in line for three or four hours to collect our canned horse meat. I no longer dreaded the taste of the stuff. I actually looked forward to it. At least it was protein.
“Look at Benao,” said Luis. “How come he always has so much energy?”
We all turned and looked at the mailman as he came marching down the street, chipper and spry in his freshly pressed uniform.
“That’s why they call him ‘Deer,’ ” said Rolando. “I bet he gets extra rations.”
“Man, I’d hate that job,” I said. “How would you like to walk around town in all this heat?”
“You’d like it if you were getting extra food!” Rolando said.
“That would depend on what I got.”
“How about a nice big slice of roasted pork with congris?”
“I want a cheeseburger, like they eat in America!”
“Oh, shut up!” Luis groaned, holding his stomach. “Why do you guys always talk about food? It drives me crazy!”
“Hey, Calcines!” said Tito. “I think Benao is going to your house!”
We all sat up and looked. The mailman was crossing my yard, a letter in his hand.
Suddenly, I had plenty of energy. “I’ll be right back!” I said. But the boys all got up and ran across the street with me. We rushed to the front door just as Mama and Esther appeared.
“Gracias, señor!” Mama called after Benao. Then she held the letter up and looked at it.
“It’s from America!” she said, her voice shaking with excitement. “From Milwaukee!”
“That’s where Tía Dinorah is!” shouted Esther.
“Open it, Mama!” I said.
“All in good time,” Mama said. This was not our first letter from Tía Dinorah, but we hadn’t gotten one for a while. Besides, every letter from America was something to be savored. The four of us boys trooped inside and sat on the floor, as if it were story time. Esther sat primly on the couch. Mama arranged herself on the rocking chair, smoothing her apron over her lap. Then she held the letter up to the window.
“There’s a letter inside, and there’s something else, too,” she said. “They put a little present in there for you kids, I think. It’s long and thin and rectangular, and it’s—”
“It’s gum!” I yelled, getting up and dancing. “They sent us a stick of gum! Open it, please, Mama! You’re killing me!”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should wait until your father comes home,” Mama said.
“Aaaagh!” the five of us kids yelled.
“Relax, I’m just kidding.” Mama slit open the envelope with her finger. “It’s gum, all right,” she said, holding it up. “Juicy Fruit!”
“Mama, let us have it!” Esther said. “Please, please, please!”
“No, you have to wait until I read the letter first.”
“Read it out loud!”
“Let’s see. ‘Dear Concha, Felo, and kids. This is just a short note to let you know that we are doing well. Arturo’s job is going well in the metal fabrication plant. We moved to the second floor of a beautiful home, in a nice neighborhood called West Allis. Our block is lined with big oak trees that reach the sky, and when it snows and the sun shines
, they glow like they are covered in diamonds. You will love it here. There are giant hams in the supermarkets, and you don’t even have to wait in line to buy them! We miss you and hope that your telegram will come soon. We talk about you every day. Hugs and kisses to everyone, especially my dear parents. Love, Dinorah.’ ”
Mama held her apron to her nose and closed her eyes. We waited for her to compose herself. Then, with a sigh, she folded the letter and put it in her apron pocket.
“I must go read this to Abuela at once,” she said. “Now, here’s the gum. Niño, I leave it to you to divide it fairly.”
“I will, Mama.”
Mama went out the front door. I tore the gum in half. One half went to Esther, who held it to her nose and smelled it.
“Mmm!” she said. “I never thought it would smell so good!”
“Go ahead, Esther, chew it,” I said. The four of us watched as Esther experienced chewing gum for the first time in her life. The expression on her face went from curious to pleased to rapturous. I wished I had a camera.
“Oh, hermano, I could chew this all day!” she said. We all laughed.
“What about the other half, Calcines?” said Tito. “Are you gonna—”
“Relax,” I said. Carefully, I tore the remaining half stick into four equal pieces, and handed one to each boy. They held them solemnly in their palms until I was ready. Then we popped them in our mouths all at once.
“Freedom!” said Rolando. “That’s what this gum tastes like.”
“You said it,” Luis said.
“Man, I forgot how good Juicy Fruit is,” Tito said. “Can you imagine what it must be like for American kids? They can go buy a pack of gum whenever they want!”
Our jaws worked on our minuscule treats, and my mind drifted. American gum. Giant hams. No lines. Nice neighborhood. Papa would have a good job. I wouldn’t have to defend myself every day—at least, not for being a dissenter. I wondered if American kids ever got into fights. Probably not, I decided. In such a rich country, why would anybody need to fight over anything? Americans were probably the happiest people on earth. I bet they walked around with full stomachs and big smiles on their faces all the time.
“How can freedom have a taste?” Tito asked.
“If it does, it tastes like this,” Luis declared.
“I wanna go to Fort Jagua,” Rolando announced, out of nowhere.
We all looked at him in surprise. El Castillo de Jagua, or Fort Jagua, had been a favorite destination for families, mine included. There was a beautiful beach club next door, called Rancho Club, which was open to the public. Once in a while, on weekends, Mama and Papa had taken me there, and we’d spent the day swimming and playing. Then our freedoms had been whittled away one by one, and such trips had become too expensive and too difficult.
“Just like that?” demanded Tito. “Suddenly you wanna go to Fort Jagua?”
“You’re not allowed!” said Esther to me. “Mama and Papa said you have to stay home, Eduardito. You can’t leave the street.”
“She’s right,” I told the boys. “I’ll get in big trouble.”
“If you get caught, you mean,” Rolando said.
“What do you mean, if? Between Abuela and Esther and Mama, of course I’ll get caught. I can’t even blow my nose without someone making a full report on it. And why do you wanna go all the way to the fort all of a sudden?”
“This freedom gum is going to Rolando’s head!” Tito said. “It’s giving him crazy ideas!”
“I just feel like going,” Rolando said. “It might be the last time we all get to go together.”
This statement settled over us with a somber weight. Something about the way Rolando was acting made me believe he was right. His sense of purpose was contagious.
“All right,” I said. “I’m in.”
“Me, too,” said Tito and Luis.
“That’s it! I’m telling,” said Esther.
“Esther, did I or did I not just give you half of that entire piece of gum?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, what a way to repay me! If you tell on me, I’ll never give you another piece of gum as long as I live!”
Esther’s mouth began to crinkle. “But I don’t want you to get hurt!” she said. “Mama says it’s not safe anywhere!”
“Nothing’s going to happen if we stick together,” I told her. “Don’t tell anyone where we’ve gone, m’entiendes? We’ll be back by dark. If they ask, we’re playing baseball in the field.”
“They’ll know I’m lying.” Esther hiccuped. “And lying is a sin! Don’t make me lie, hermano!”
“Fine, don’t lie, then. But don’t tell them the truth, either.”
“That’s the same as lying!”
“Esther,” said Luis, “what are you, a lawyer? Come on, prima. Cut us a break here.”
“Don’t worry, Esther,” Tito consoled her. “With four of us, we’ll be all right. And we’re not going to do anything bad. We’re just going on an adventure. That’s all.”
“If you’re not back by dark, I’m telling!” Esther said. She flounced out of the room.
“Man, she’s only nine, and already she’s got your butt whipped into shape, Eduardo,” Luis said in wonder.
“Women start their training young,” said Rolando. “Now let’s get going!”
To get to the fort, we had to take two separate buses to the docks, then catch one of the two ferries that ran out to the tip of the peninsula, which encircled the Bay of Cienfuegos like a protective arm.
No one gave us a second glance as we paid our fares with pocket change and went up to the second deck, which offered a grand view of the turquoise bay and the deep blue sea beyond. We sat facing the open ocean, enjoying the smell of the salt air and feeling the fresh breeze on our faces.
“Now, this is more like it,” said Tito. “Better than sitting around and sweating to death all day!”
“That water looks good enough to dive into right now,” said Luis.
“Go ahead,” I said. “It’s full of sharks.”
“And ghosts,” added Rolando. “This bay is haunted by a pirate. Didn’t you know that?”
The rest of us made noises of disbelief, none of them particularly polite.
“Tell us another one,” said Tito.
“It’s true! He drowned right here in a shipwreck, in this very bay! Every time there’s a storm and his bones get disturbed, he sinks a ship and takes the passengers down to the bottom of the bay with him. And instead of going to heaven, they have to stay down there for all eternity!”
“Stop it!” said Luis, shivering and laughing. “You’re scaring me!”
“Just don’t ever get caught on this bay in a storm,” Rolando advised us.
“I’ll make it a point not to,” I said. I worked to keep a tone of derision in my voice. At the same time, I scanned the horizon anxiously, looking for the slightest hint of thunderclouds. But the sky was a perfect, clear blue, with not a wisp in sight.
The fort was next to the beach and a source of endless wonder for curious boys. Papa had told me it was built by the Spanish long ago, to protect their colony from pirates. Now, though it was a crumbling stone ruin, it was still an imposing presence—and a haunted one, too, if the legends were to be believed. Being impressionable, we believed all of those ghost stories: about the headless Spanish nobleman; the weeping bride in the white gown; the soldier in old-fashioned armor, pacing back and forth on a rampart that no longer existed.
But our fear of encountering such phantasms was dissipated by the bright sun and fresh breeze. My friends and I spent the afternoon scrambling around the gloomy old castle, trying to scare one another and hoping to find treasure. We chomped at the slivers of gum from Milwaukee long after the flavor was gone—to spit them out would have been sacrilege. Luis fell and skinned his knee. Tito and Rolando got into a fight, and I had to pull them apart. We ignored the grumbling in our bellies with practiced discipline and forgot about the time.
It was the perfect day, and it ended all too soon. As we rode the ferry back, I realized I wasn’t going to make it home in time to beat the sunset. Not even close.
As if reading my mind, Tito said to Rolando, “It’s the spoon for us for sure, hermano.”
“Me, too,” said Luis.
“We’re all gonna get it. So what?” I said. “It was worth it.”
The boys nodded in agreement. We sat facing the stern of the ferry, watching our wake unwind as the sky turned a deep purplish orange.
“We ought to hijack this boat and turn it around,” Rolando said suddenly. “There’s four of us. We could overpower the captain and throw him over. Then we head for Florida!”
The three of us froze. I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Would you shut up?” Tito whispered furiously. “If anyone hears you say that—”
“I don’t care. This is insane. I don’t want to live like this any more! I want to get off this damn island and go to America!” Rolando yelled.
The three of us looked around in a panic. Mercifully, we were alone on the upper deck.
“You better watch it,” I warned Rolando.
“We’re not going to America,” said Tito.
“But I want to go!”
“Every night now he says this to our parents,” Tito told me and Luis. “They’ve given up trying to beat it out of him. Now they just yell at him and lock him in his room.”
“I’m not a traitor. All I want is to be free!” said Rolando. “What’s wrong with that? Why does that make me a bad person?”
I’d known Rolando had his gripes about the hardships we all suffered, but for him to say this out loud was heresy. He was the son of a Party member, after all. His whole family would be in deep trouble if the C.D.R. heard about this outburst—and on public transportation, no less!
“Rolando, I wasn’t sure you felt this way,” I said.
“Well, I couldn’t tell you before. I had to keep quiet about it. But now I have the feeling you’ll be going soon, Calcines. That’s why I wanted to come out here today. We’re not little kids anymore. It’s the last time the four of us will have this much fun together.”
Leaving Glorytown Page 14
