Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) (32 page)

“Balbina gave me bad news today,” she reported. I sucked in my breath involuntarily.

“What did she say?” asked Luis. He seemed detached and depressed, and from the sound of his voice, I knew he was only feigning interest.

“She said someone close to me was trying to do something illegal and blood would be shed.”

“And?” said Luis.

“And he wouldn't accomplish it,” said Rosa. “She said he'd get shot.”

I pursed my lips and glanced over at Luis. “Anything else?”

Rosa looked down and began wringing her hands.

“What?” demanded Luis.

She looked at me almost accusingly—or perhaps it was just my imagination. “She said someone else close to me would die, and there would be grave consequences for me and my family.”

I felt a sudden stab of guilt, wondering what I had gotten my relatives into. Luis didn't respond. He heaved a sigh and got up and walked outside, leaving the back door wide open behind him. I knew the burden of what we were about to do was weighing heavily on his mind.

I squeezed Rosa's hand for a moment, got up, and followed Luis into the backyard. We sat on the ground, and Luis removed a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He offered me one, but I declined. Luis lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. A sprinkling of stars winked overhead. I looked over and saw the cow standing in the moonlight. We sat quietly for a few minutes and then I said, “I think this wait is actually more difficult on you than it is on me.”

Luis shrugged and opened his hands in a gesture of resignation. “It's just a terrible situation.” His tone was sad and weary.

“It's hard to believe that one man could make so many people so miserable,” I said.

“Damn Fidel!” said Luis.

“Damn them all!”

We sat looking up at the sky without speaking. We both needed a few minutes to calm our nerves. When Rosa told me what Balbina had said, the specter of death felt suddenly very close. Balbina's prediction made me feel vulnerable in a way I had never felt before. It also made me more conscious of my responsibility toward Rosa, Luis, Marisol, and Magali. These were people who were literally risking their lives for me.

“What do you think about what the fortune-teller said?”

“I don't know,” said Luis. “I don't put much faith in those things, but it's unnerving to hear—and it makes Rosa crazy.”

“Are you sure you want to try to escape?”

Luis sighed. “I don't know, Frankie. How can you be sure of something when the possible consequences are so horrific?”

“You can't.”

“And what happened to Joey and Pedro brings everything closer to home. I keep seeing the body of that poor dead boy in my mind.”

I shivered. “I can't talk about it right now. I can't get my head around what happened—the loss is too fresh.”

“Those poor kids.” Luis shook his head despondently. His cigarette ash had grown long and curly, and he tapped it off with his forefinger. It was spent and loamy. I watched it float aimlessly to the ground.

I nodded my agreement, and we sat for a moment in silence. “What has you most concerned?”

“Rosa and the girls, of course. I worry about what will happen to them if I die.”

My uncle echoed my thoughts exactly. I patted Luis on the back. “Of course, it's only natural,” was all I could manage to say.

• • •

That night I had a dream about Lieutenant Pino. He was as tall as a sycamore tree with arms that branched for miles. I was hiding in a dark box that was floating in water. His arms were drifting toward the box, getting closer by the minute.

Suddenly, they reached the box and broke it open. Icy water began
rushing over me. I could hardly breathe. I felt cold, sad, and out of control. When the water reached my shoulders, I woke with a start. I lay in my bed staring up at shadows that dappled the ceiling.

The future that had always seemed so certain to me suddenly loomed as muddy and fragmented as this dance of light. A new species of fear invaded my soul, one far more powerful than I had ever felt. If I didn't succeed in my escape, my loved ones would pay a very high price. I stood and rolled my head in a circle, hoping to relieve my anxiety.

Rosa kept an altar in her living room that displayed statues of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the Virgin of the Seas. White votive candles were nestled in front of the altar, and a small pillow invited you to kneel. I approached the altar, lit several candles, and dropped to my knees.

This was the first time I had seriously considered the possibility of being caught—or shot—while trying to escape. Up to this point, I had felt somehow invincible—a conceit of youth. But with the death of Joey and the arrests of Pedro and Señor Lopez, reality had set in. My cloak of denial had been rudely ripped away.

Tears flooded my eyes and streamed down my face like raindrops on a windowpane. I let them flow freely. I longed for Magda, her laugh, her warmth, her smile. I wanted to touch her and hold her in my arms, but more than that, I just wanted to talk to her, to smell her skin, to hear her voice.

I tried to focus on what it would be like to be married to her. I imagined coming home to her after a long day's work, eating dinner with her at the kitchen table, and making love to her into the wee hours of the morning. If only I could get to her. But, with all that had happened, I felt like my chances of escape were becoming more of a pipe dream than a possibility.

I tried to imagine Magda's life in America, but I was having a difficult time picturing it. My uncle had learned that she lived in Union City, New Jersey, but I knew nothing about that place. I envisioned
her sitting in her pink bathing suit, laughing and sipping lemonade by the side of a pool, flowers blooming and royal palms swaying in the breeze. Did they even have palm trees in New Jersey? Who knew?

With the financial and other pressures facing new immigrants, I figured this was a highly unlikely and romantic scenario—but it was a comforting thought. For a brief moment the idea of Magda dating American boys flashed through my mind. I knew they would find her attractive and would be eager to date her. But remembering the promise I had made to never doubt her love, I banished the thought. Besides, the idea that she was seeing someone else would have driven me crazy.

Still, I had the terrible feeling that Magda was impossibly far away and I feared I would not be strong enough—or smart enough—to elude my captors and find her. The worst part was that she'd never know how hard I tried to get to her or whatever became of me. My mother once told me that not knowing what happened to someone you love is the greatest anguish anyone can experience. More than anything, I wanted to spare Magda that pain.

I rested my head on the altar and began to nod off to sleep. As I did, an image of a gas stove rose in my mind. Its burners were lit and red-and-blue flames leapt into the air. My hands gripped the metal grates surrounding the burners. I was playing them as if they were a musical instrument. Although discordant notes issued forth, I was desperate to finish my piece. I opened my eyes and focused on the image.
What did it mean?

I thought for a moment and then it came to me. I was playing with fire. The question was how long could I do so before getting burned? It was beginning to feel too much to handle.

Something moved me to make an offering to the Virgin Mary. I cast my eyes about the room for an item to place before her, but I had no flowers, no trinkets, nothing of any value. I went to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. I opened the cabinet door, removed a tall glass, and filled it to the brim with water. I brought it back to the
living room, careful not to spill any on the floor. I placed the water before the statue, hoping Mary might appreciate this simple gesture.

I bent my chin to my chest, covered my face with my hands, and prayed.
“Dear Mary, give me your help and guidance in this endeavor. Grant me the wisdom and strength to do what must be done to keep people safe.
” I pulled out my handkerchief and blew my nose softly so as not to wake the family.

“Help me make the right decisions for myself and others. Please let Luis bring his family to freedom. And please look after us and bless us on this long and dangerous journey.”

I lifted the rosary that was sitting on the altar. I fingered the crystal beads in my hands, kissed the crucifix, and made a sign of the cross. I said the Apostles' Creed, an Our Father, and three Hail Marys. I offered up another Our Father and started to recite the five Sorrowful Mysteries of the rosary.

The beads slipped through my fingers as melted wax pooled around the wicks of the candles. One after another, they crackled briefly and then flickered out, leaving an igneous spark and a brief trail of smoke.

I no longer knew whether I was capable of doing what was required to get to Magda. I no longer knew whether I had the strength to go on. I was beginning to doubt my abilities. I was thinking I had been delusional in believing I could outsmart the force and escape to freedom. It had been a very long fight, and I was very tired. I wiped the tears from my eyes with my knuckles.

I remained on my knees for almost two hours, feeling more alone and depressed than I had ever felt in my life.

While hiding under the bed the next day, I developed a terrible cramp in my leg. I needed to stand and put some pressure on it to relieve the pain, so I came out from under the bed without my usual signal from Rosa. It was just getting dark and no one was home. I figured it would be safe for me to go outside to exercise.

When I opened the back door, I found a young boy standing right in front of me. I was so startled, I almost knocked him over. He was about nine years old with piercing blue eyes and fine blond hair. He was barefoot and was wearing bib overalls, clothes not usually worn by boys in Cuba.

The boy seemed as unsettled to see me as I was to see him. Not knowing who he was or who might be with him, I quickly closed the door, went back inside, and hid under the bed. Then I laughed at myself for hiding from such a young boy. After all I'd been through, it seemed very foolish. But it alerted me to just how keyed up and attuned to danger I was. And it did make me wonder—about myself and about the boy.

I described the boy to Luis, but he said he didn't know anyone who fit that description.

The next night when I went out to exercise, I saw the same kid in the cornfield about a hundred yards from the back of the house. His body was backlit by an outside light from the neighbor's farm. He looked at me and waved. I didn't wave back. I just continued to do my exercises.

Meanwhile, Luis had talked to the neighbors about the boy, but
no one knew who he was. That in itself was very strange, since everyone knew everyone else in the neighborhood. The next night I saw the boy walking near the back of my uncle's property. He waved at me and I chased him, but he jumped over the wall and got away.

The boy appeared every night thereafter, sometimes walking, sometimes sitting on an overturned aluminum pail. Whenever I told Luis to look for him, the boy mysteriously disappeared—like he had melted into thin air. Yet he continued to wave to me whenever I saw him. The whole thing was beginning to unnerve me.

Luis began to think the boy was a figment of my imagination. He told me he feared the stress of hiding for so long was beginning to affect my mind. Luis discussed the matter with Cuni. The next time he visited, he asked me about it.

“Luis tells me you often see a boy in the backyard,” he said.

“I do.”

“Does he talk to you?”

“No, he never says anything, but he always waves.”

“Has he threatened you in any way?”

“Actually, he seems quite friendly.”

“Who do you think he is?”

“I have no idea. At first I thought he must be a neighbor's child, but Luis has asked around, and no one seems to know him.”

Cuni thought for a moment. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

I laughed. “No. This kid is as real as you are. He's not a ghost.”

“I'm a little worried about you, Frankie. Are you feeling all right?”

“I'm feeling fine.”

“Are you sleeping well?”

“As well as I can under the circumstances.”

“Luis says he's never seen this boy, even though he's looked for him many times. He's worried that you might need some medication or something.”

“I'm fine. The kid is very elusive. But I'm not losing my mind, if that's what you're suggesting.”

“I'm not suggesting anything,” said Cuni. “Just let me know if I can do anything for you.”

I was annoyed at Cuni's implication, but I knew he had good reason to be concerned. Due to the nature of what he did, he had to be very cautious about safety. The last thing he needed was for me to have a nervous breakdown.

“I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

Late the next night I saw the blue-eyed boy again. He waved at me from the cornfield, and for the first time I waved back. I didn't know what to make of the situation, and I was beginning not to care.

The following day Cuni came to see me again, obviously concerned about my mental health.

“Have you seen that boy?” he asked.

I smiled. “Yes, last night. I know you think he's an apparition or something, but I'm telling you he's real.”

“All right, Frankie. I'm just worried you're going to crack on me.”

I laughed. “It's been nerve-racking, but I'm not going to crack. At least not over a nine-year-old boy.”

Cuni studied me for a minute while I looked out the window. It was dark outside. “I've been thinking—” he said.

“Yes?”

“The lights in Havana go out every night for forty-five minutes between eight and nine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It would give me an opportunity to bring someone to see you with less risk than usual.”