Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) (18 page)

A few minutes went by before we heard the launch of Manny's second rocket. Again the crowd groaned—another miss. Acid gathered in the pit of my stomach. I wiggled my shoulders to relieve some tension and crossed my fingers that Manny wouldn't blow his last attempt.

Manny launched his third and final rocket without success. He had struck out on all three tries. My heart went out to him. Scattered applause rewarded his efforts, but I knew this was no consolation. Manny was our best rocket launcher, and I was afraid if any of our efforts would succeed. I felt disheartened.

Lazo was up next. His driver pulled the tank swiftly into position, and I hoped against hope that Lazo would hit the target. His success would mean I would not be required to perform—the difficult mission would be completed.

I held my breath as the first rocket left its launcher. A whizzing sound hung in the air. Then the rocket fizzled and hit a stand of trees on the far side of the beach. I waited, expecting an explosion, but none came—the rocket was a dud.

This whole exercise was turning into a disaster. I didn't want to think what would happen to us when we got back to base. Lazo made two more futile attempts at hitting the target, with both rockets dropping like lead pipes into the sea. The crowd remained mute, and the wind kicked up, blowing sand in front of my lookout glass.

“It's up to us,” I said to Milton. He gave me a wan smile and maneuvered our tank into position so the crowd could see us. I said a small prayer to St. Jude. I began calculating and recalculating the distance to the target. I turned to the blinking red lights on my control panel. The rockets were ready to launch.

I scanned the horizon for the target, but it was suddenly enshrouded in mist. I waited for a minute for the fog to dissipate. After
what seemed like an eternity, the barge reappeared only to disappear from sight below the waves. I waited for the wind to die down and the sand to stop blowing.

Milton was getting flustered, fidgeting in his seat. “C'mon, shoot,” he urged. I found his nervous energy to be distracting.

“Gimme a minute,” I snapped. I didn't want to let down my platoon in front of Raúl Castro. And if I didn't hit the target, Pino would come down hard on Manny, Lazo, and me. And also on Brown.

I gathered my wits, recalculated for the wind and distance, and concentrated on the task at hand. The acid in my stomach began to gurgle, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. I hit the launch button and heard an explosion so loud I feared my eardrums would burst. The tank shifted and shuddered. It was as if a violent volcano had suddenly erupted above my head. I sealed my eyes from the light and the sparks while Milton and I coughed back smoke.

I opened my eyes to see the rocket's trajectory right on course. I held my breath while the rocket sped steadily ahead. It was almost too good to be true. Suddenly there was a tremendous blast. We heard the screams of the crowd before we knew what had happened.

I saw a giant blaze in the distance. Flames arose as red as fire engines and as yellow as butter. Scraps of debris—wood and steel—littered the sky like giant matchsticks. Ragged shards made their way upward and then dropped helter-skelter into the sea. Clouds of black smoke billowed forth, suspended for a minute in the air before drifting downwind. It took Milton and me a minute to realize that we had hit the target.

Milton and I looked at each other, amazed at our accomplishment. Lieutenant Pino ran toward us and helped us out of our tank. We emerged to thunderous applause. I never expected such a reaction. People were cheering and jumping up and down in the stands. Milton and I smiled shyly and waved at the crowd as Raúl Castro made his way toward us. He was beaming from ear to ear. We stood at attention
as he approached. We saluted him and he congratulated us, shaking our hands vigorously in gratitude, and telling us how well we had performed for our country.

Lieutenants Pino and Brown quickly followed suit, holding up our arms like victorious boxers after a match. The band struck up a rendition of “The Internationale” as confetti and streamers filled the air. Milton and I were lifted onto the shoulders of our platoon and carried like heroes through the cheering crowds. They were screaming,
“Viva Fidel! Viva Cuba! Viva Fidel!”

There was a huge celebration when we got back to base. Our platoon was jubilant. We were instant heroes. Champagne bottles were popped and beer was downed. Platters of food were placed before us. Much was made of the fact that Raúl Castro had witnessed our performance and had congratulated us by shaking our hands. Pino and Brown praised Milton and me for a job well done. The fact that Manny and Lazo had not hit the target was all but forgotten. Everyone was happy.

I smiled and accepted the accolades, secretly hoping that I'd never have to use my skills against the Americans.

Unbeknownst to me, Magda's family had been engaged in serious discussions about leaving the country for good. This was a momentous decision that would put the entire family at grave risk.

Their main reason for leaving was that Magda's cousin Rigo and her brother Sergio, Jr., were quickly approaching draft age. Neither set of parents wanted their boys to serve in the army. As soon as Rigo and Sergio registered with the Revolutionary Armed Services, they would be forbidden to leave the country until they had completed their three-year tour of duty.

Obtaining a visa was not easy. Reams of paperwork were involved and it could take upward of a year, maybe two, maybe three, to obtain permission to leave the country. Making matters worse, the government could rescind your visa at any time. Nothing was certain. If the family wanted to leave, they needed to plan far ahead.

A decision to leave Cuba was irrevocable. Once you applied for a visa, you were automatically considered a traitor, a subversive, a counterrevolutionary, the scum of Cuban society.

It was common for young Communists to hold “Meetings of Repudiation” at the homes of these worms to scream obscenities and to hurl garbage. To avoid this, the Hernándezes's plan had to be kept secret for as long as possible.

Once you applied for a visa, everything you owned automatically became the property of the People. It belonged to the revolution, and you were forbidden to sell, barter, or give it away.

To determine the extent of your possessions, members of the militia
visited your home—often accompanied by representatives of the CDRs—to inventory everything you owned, right down to your shoes, your clothes, and your silverware. When you received permission to leave Cuba, the militia conducted a second inventory to make sure nothing was missing.

Anything you broke in the interim—glasses, cups, plates—had to be kept and shown to the authorities as proof that it hadn't been sold or given away. If any item that originally appeared on your chart was missing, the police placed a cross on your application, and your visa was voided. Once you left Cuba, you could never return, not for a visit, not on business, not to see family.

Magda's relatives had spent many hours discussing their options. In addition to their son being drafted, the Hernándezes had little financial incentive to remain in Cuba. Uncle Rigo's restaurant, hotel, and dry cleaning business had been nationalized, and Lancha had been long since shuttered. The family believed that conditions in Cuba—the shortages, the rationing, the lack of freedom—would only get worse. Unlike Abuelo, they thought the Americans would not intervene to save Cuba, especially in light of the Missile Crisis and the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion.

Making matters more dangerous, Magda's grandfather had been active in politics under the Batista regime—he had been elected councilman in Guanabacoa—and was now regarded with suspicion by the
Fidelistas.
He could be rounded up as a counterrevolutionary at any moment.

After weeks of deliberations, Sophia and Estel decided to discuss the family's plans with Magda. It was a little after seven p.m. and Magda had just gotten off the phone with me. She was sitting cross-legged on her blue bedspread, reading a book. She looked up curiously as her mother and aunt entered her room. She glanced at their faces and knew that something was wrong.

They told Magda that that needed to talk to her about an important issue. Magda nodded, put her book aside, and smoothed her bedspread,
making room for them to sit. Estel took her daughter's hand in hers.

“Magda, you aren't going to be happy about this, but the family has decided to leave Cuba—for good.” Magda took a deep breath and held it for a minute. She pursed her lips and then let her breath escape in a puff.

“But why?”

“For several reasons,” explained Sophia. “But mostly because we don't want Rigo and Sergio to be drafted.”

“When would we leave?”

“Not right away. We'll need time to obtain our visas. But we've got to act quickly so we can get out while we can.”

Magda's eyes grew wide. “The Communists have made it impossible for everyone.”

“They have,” said Sophia.

A look of alarm crossed Magda's face. “But what about Frankie?”

“What about Frankie?” echoed Estel.

“He's in the army. He can't just leave,” said Magda. Panic grated her voice.

“Of course,” said Estel. “He'll have to stay and finish his military service.”

Magda looked up, distraught. A sinking feeling gripped the pit of her stomach. “But he has more than a year to go in the army, and then he has to serve in the reserves until he's twenty-eight. It'll be years before he can leave the country.”

“We know this is difficult for you,” said Estel. She put her arm around Magda's shoulder. “We
all
love Frankie. He's like a son to us. But it's an impossible situation. It's hard to know what to do.”

Magda thought for a moment, turned her head to the side, and said, “I'm not going anywhere unless Frankie goes.”

Estel sucked in her breath. “This is ridiculous. What do you mean you're not going?” Her voice was an octave higher than normal. This was a development she hadn't anticipated.

“It's simple,” said Magda. “If Frankie goes, I go. If he stays, I stay.”

“You can't stay here alone, without your family,” said Estel.

“What else can I do? I love him.”

“But Magda, darling, there's no way for you to support yourself here. What would you do?”

“I can work. Take in laundry—do something.”

“Honey, you're not ready. You're too young to work, and no one would hire you anyway. Unemployment is sky-high. Besides, you have to finish school.”

“It's more important that I be with Frankie. He's the man I'm going to marry, the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. I can't just leave him.” Magda looked at her mother for comfort, knowing she had no real answers to give her. Estel took her daughter in her arms and Magda began to cry. As she thought more about it, her sobs became louder.

“I know this is terrible for you, darling, but you're going to have to come to terms with it.”

Magda stiffened and looked up at her mother. “But if I leave without Frankie, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. You don't know what it's like.”

Sophia and Estel looked at each other, remembering what it was like to be young and in love.

Magda's aunt stepped in. “I'm sorry, but you've got to think of the rest of the family,” she said.

Magda hugged her aunt. “It must seem to you like I'm being selfish, considering what might happen to Rigo and all. I don't want the boys to have to go into the army. But I just can't go without Frankie.” She sighed and her shoulders sank in desperation. “Please understand. I can't do it. I can't!”

Sophia and Estel traded worried glances. They understood Magda's concerns, and they were sympathetic to her predicament. But this seemed to be a problem with no solution.

“Isn't there some way we could get him a visa?” asked Magda.

“Magda, honey, Frankie's privy to important military information. They'd never grant him a visa,” said Sophia.

“Couldn't we sneak him onto the plane?”

Estel shook her head. “No, Magda. They'd shoot him on sight. You can be sure of that.”

Magda was grasping at straws. She looked at her mother. “There must be another way,” she said. “We just have to find it.”

The family discussion about leaving for Miami went on for two months, but I was unaware of it. Sometimes Magda was sad and distracted, but she never told me why. And while I tried to be sensitive and attentive, I was a little distracted myself.

Although my dealings with Pino had improved since my successful rocket launch, my antennae informed me I was still under suspicion. My fellow soldiers continued to challenge him about political issues. I tried to remain above the fray but, on occasion, I too gave in to the urge to speak my mind.

Pino was a man who was used to being in control, and his frustrations with us—especially with me—were palpable.

It was Friday night and I was home on leave. Magda, Manny, Lazo, and I had just lit a bonfire on our favorite spot on the beach when my skin began to crawl. As part of our military training, we learned to be hyperalert to our surroundings, and my senses were telling me something was amiss.

“Manny,” I whispered, “do you feel that?” Manny stood up and casually looked around. Then he knelt beside me, poking the fire with a stick. A handful of sparks jumped into the air.

“Like someone's watching?” he asked under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh, I've felt it for about an hour now.”

“Have you seen anyone?”

“Just shadows. I think someone's hiding in the underbrush.”

Manny nodded to Lazo. “Let's go for a walk,” he said. The two
men sauntered casually down the beach, and I knew Manny was telling Lazo about his suspicions. When they returned, we started talking about baseball, while I snuggled with Magda. I wrapped a beach towel around her to keep her warm in the chilly night air. She had no idea what was happening.