Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) (35 page)

George nodded, knowing full well the gravity of his mission. He reconnoitered the neighborhood, ducking in and out of doorways to avoid the soldiers. He was very nervous. When he finally found Jabao, he pulled him aside, his face flushed, his voice low.

“What are you doing here?” asked Jabao. He looked stunned to see him. George hesitated a moment, catching his breath.

“Do you know who you're looking for?” asked George, trying to quiet his panting.

“A rapist and murderer,” said Jabao. But a quick perusal of George's face led him to believe he might be wrong.

“It's not a rapist. It's Frankie.”

A soft whistle escaped Jabao's lips. “Whoa! Frankie? Your brother, Frankie? They didn't tell me that.”

“Well, it's true.”

“You're sure?”

“Very sure. He's trying to escape the country. He's left the army, and they're after him.”

“Christ almighty!” Jabao turned and waved his men in. “We need to suspend the operation,” he said in a voice filled with authority. “They lied to us. It's not a rapist we're after, it's Frankie Mederos.” Since most of the men knew me from town, there was no resistance.

Jabao was furious, and when he got that way, there was no stopping him. Disregarding possible consequences, he marched straight to the bridge and confronted Pino.

“I thought you were looking for a goddamn criminal,” he charged.

“We are—a murderer. Is that criminal enough for you?” Pino looked at Jabao as if he were a creature lower than a slug. He had neither time nor patience for such nonsense.

“You lied to me, you bastard. And I don't like being lied to.”

“What are you talking about?” snapped Pino.

“You aren't looking for a murderer. You're looking for an old friend of mine.”

“How do you know that?”

“Trust me, I know it,” retorted Jabao. “I know Frankie Mederos and he's no criminal.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” sneered Pino. Frustration had seeped into every line of his face. “We're after a criminal—and we're going to get him.”

Jabao looked at the water and laughed. “I've got news for you, buddy. If it's Frankie you're after, you're
never
going to get him. He knows this area like the back of his hand. You're wasting your time.”

Pino glared at Jabao, enraged. “What are you talking about? Do you know something you're not telling me?”

“I sure do,” said Jabao. “Frankie was here—right under your nose—and you missed him. You think you're so smart, but you have no idea how to catch him.”

“What do you mean, I missed him?” demanded Pino. He was seething at the gall of this man for speaking to him this way.

Jabao laughed, hesitating to tell Pino exactly what he knew had happened. Instead, he said, “Do you think you're going to find Mederos here? On his own turf? Impossible.”

“We'll see about that,” said Pino. “I've got men on both sides of the river and more on the bridge. And at this very moment soldiers are scouring the fields. We've got him trapped. There's no way he can escape.”

Jabao threw back his head and laughed. “Do you think Frankie would wait for daylight to escape? He's already gone. He left under the cover of darkness—he's miles away from here by now.”

Lieutenant Brown looked down at the flowers and reeds in the water, and it suddenly dawned on him what had happened. A faint smile of pride danced on his lips.

“Then you're going to help me find him,” said Pino.

“Don't count on it,” said Jabao.

Pino started to threaten and protest. But Jabao just shook his head. He raised his chin, set his jaw, and with a steady gait walked away from the lieutenant.

Once my clothes were dry, I decided my best plan of action was to head to Macho's house in Cojimar. Going back to my parents was too risky. I thought Macho's place was my safest bet, especially since I believed the boat was leaving in just a few days. I was sure Macho would welcome me, and I figured if I stayed there we could all leave for the States together.

I followed the path of the river and stopped at tunnels and caves I knew along the way, biding my time until it got dark. For obvious reasons, I didn't want to arrive in the daylight. I was keenly aware of all the pitfalls, all the places I would most likely be apprehended. I moved quickly, stealthily.

When I burst into Macho's front door, his eyes widened and he almost collapsed. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What the hell are you doing here? The whole army is looking for you. How in God's name did you escape?”

“It's a long story,” I said.

Macho looked me up and down. “My God, you're all cut up. What happened to you?”

“It's nothing.”

“Well, it looks pretty bad to me.”

Macho called his wife, Ana, to help me. I sat at their kitchen table as she plucked the thorns and burrs with a pair of tweezers, clucking in admonishment as she worked. I had removed as many as I could, but several burrs were still firmly attached to my back—well beyond my reach. Ana twisted them gently to extract them, and I winced in pain. She then applied iodine to my sores, wrapped the deeper wounds in gauze, and secured her work with adhesive tape. I thanked her with my eyes.

Macho shook his head at me. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“Well, I'm pretty damn tired of being amazing,” I said. All I wanted was a meal and a bed.

“I bet you are,” said Macho.

Ana offered to make me something to eat, which I eagerly accepted. I was ravenous.

“I just want to get to the States and have this whole thing over,” I said. “I miss Magda terribly.”

“You'll get there,” said Macho. I wolfed down a sandwich and upended a bottle of orange soda. I was so thirsty I gulped it all down at once. I wiped my face on a thin paper napkin, careful not to disturb my sores.

“Can I stay here until the boat goes out?”

“I'd like to put you up, but I can't,” said Macho. “The schedule for the trip is a little uncertain—it could be a couple of weeks, maybe longer. My brother Gerardo is likely to come by in the meantime. He knows who you are. It's too dangerous for you to stay here.”

“Why can't we leave sooner?” I asked. My patience was at its end.

“The damn motor on my boat gave out. I'm buying a used one. It's the only thing I can get my hands on. The blockade has made things impossible.”

“I understand,” I said in a voice that telegraphed my unhappiness.

“Once I get it, I'll have to take the boat out a couple of times to test the motor—make sure it's okay. I can't take us out to sea and have it conk out.”

“I know it's important,” I said. My mind harkened back to what happened on our last trip. If the motor had died, we would have all perished—that was for sure.

“The timing on the trip is still unclear,” said Macho. “I also have problems with Gerardo. He takes his job at the coast guard station very seriously—I guess they didn't make him director for nothing. He's very suspicious about what I'm up to. He needs to see me go back and forth from fishing a few times to relieve his mind.”

I grunted my dissatisfaction. “What do you recommend I do in the meantime?” I asked. I was trying not to be too short with Macho, but I was fed up. The fact that I was facing yet another delay was sending me over the edge.

“Let me get Cuni,” he said. “He'll know what to do.”

Macho turned to his wife and asked her to run to Cuni's house to tell him where I was. Within thirty minutes Ana and Cuni arrived in Macho's driveway. When Cuni saw me, his handshake soon gave way to a hug. When he pulled back, he shook his head.

“How the—”

“I know,” I said and waved him off. I was too tired to provide him with the details of my escape.

“Everyone's looking for you.”

“So I hear. Sorry to have caused so much trouble. I—”

“Can you get him out of here—now?” interrupted Macho. He was obviously nervous. “I'll feel a lot better once he's gone.”

Cuni turned his attention to Macho. “Just a couple of things,” he said. “Did you get the boat?”

“The boat's all lined up,” said Macho. “The problem's the motor.”

“Well, hurry it up,” said Cuni. “You're giving me a heart attack with all these delays.”

“I have to get the motor and test it—and I have some issues with my brother,” explained Macho.

“Then figure them out,” snapped Cuni. “This can't go on any longer. It's gotten too dangerous. You've got to leave within a couple of days—no matter what.”

“I'll do my best,” said Macho, looking simultaneously concerned and annoyed. The two men glared at each other. I cleared my throat.

“In the meantime, what should we do with Frankie?” said Macho.

“Don't worry about him,” said Cuni. “Worry about your own part of this operation. I'll take care of him.” He nodded at me. “Let's go, the car's outside.”

Cuni and I bid Macho goodbye, and we clambered into the car. I slid down on the seat to avoid detection. Cuni put the key in the ignition and the car roared to a start. He stretched out his arm and adjusted his rearview mirror.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You don't want to know,” said Cuni as he backed out of the driveway.

“Well, you might as well tell me. I'll find out soon enough.”

Cuni was silent for a moment. “Where's the last place Pino would look for you?”

I sighed and shook my head. By now I knew the way Cuni's mind operated. I thought for a moment and then it occurred to me.

“No,” I moaned.

“Yes,” said Cuni. My heart lurched like a train off its tracks. I had gone full circle.

Cuni drove me back to Luis's house. I was right back where I had started.

Luis was both flabbergasted and delighted to see me. Although Rosa was very nervous, he willingly agreed to hide me again, despite the heightened danger. Cuni told him what had happened and assured him it would be only a couple of days before we'd be able to board a boat for the States.

On April 11, 1967, Cuni informed Luis and me that the boat was leaving that very night. Finally! Luis and I could not have been more thrilled. When his girls got home from school, Luis took them separately onto his lap. He told them he loved them and would miss them dearly, but that this was something he had to do for them all to “live happily ever after.”

They were too young to understand the full implications of what he was saying, but they understood the storybook analogy, listened attentively and assured him in small brave voices that they would all be okay until he could arrange for the family to join him. I followed suit and bid Rosa and the girls a sad—but hopeful—goodbye.

To lessen our chances for apprehension, the launch was scheduled to take place in a little-traveled area south of the harbor—a place that was sheltered and out of the way. In addition to me, the group would consist of the nine soldiers and my Uncle Luis.

Joining us were Macho and his family—his wife and three young children, including the boy who had proclaimed me to be a murderer. Macho would serve as the captain, and another fisherman would serve as his mate. A total of seventeen people would try to escape in one small boat.

Cuni informed us that Macho's boat would pick us up at nine p.m. He wanted us to be on the shore two hours earlier, awaiting its arrival. I thought this was too much time to hang around. I was very aware of the danger involved, and the very thought of apprehension gave me the willies. Not wanting to be a sitting duck, I postponed our leave-taking until eight p.m., figuring we would still have plenty of time to get to our destination.

We called a taxi and, in an effort to avoid suspicion, asked the driver to drop us off at the Cultural Center—not far from our place of departure. I figured this would be an innocent enough looking place to wait.

I was thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong with so many people involved when the taxi driver—a friendly black man with a Louis Armstrong smile—interrupted my thoughts.

“It's very strange,” he said.

“What's that?”

“I've had three other fares tonight, and they all wanted me to drop them off at the same place.”

“What's strange about it?”

“The thing is,” said the driver dryly, “there aren't any events taking place at the center tonight.”

“Just a coincidence, I guess,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I guess,” said the driver, but he didn't look convinced.

Luis and I exchanged concerned glances. My antennae were up for something that might be wrong. As we passed the Cultural Center, I saw a group of people sitting on the limestone stairs: two pregnant women; two old men; some people in their sixties; and several families, including young children. The ages of the people and the looks of anxiety etched on their faces gave me pause.

“Driver,” I said, “I've changed my mind. Why don't you drop us off a block or so down the road.”

“Are you sure? There's nothing there.”

“Yes. We just want to take a walk and look at the ocean for a while before we meet our friends.”

“Suit yourself.” The driver shrugged and pulled up to the curb. I got out and paid him the fare with some of the money my father had slipped me the last time I saw him. I gave him a generous tip, knowing my pesos would be worthless once I left Cuba. I had five American dollars left in my pocket. It was going to have to suffice for whatever eventualities lay ahead. The taxi driver thanked me, smiled, and then drove away slowly in his big, black Cadillac.

I stood for a couple of minutes on the side of the road, mulling over the situation. There were too many people at the Cultural Center on an eventless night to be a coincidence. My stomach felt queasy. “Something's not right,” I said to Luis. He looked at me in alarm.