Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) (37 page)

He reached over and turned off the motor.

We sat in the darkness for several hours, waiting, praying, and drifting with the movement of the waves. The boat rocked back and forth, sometimes lurching violently. Almost everyone was nauseous. With no food or water, people were becoming dehydrated.

A thick mist settled over the boat, adding to our discomfort. One of the old men was shaking, tears drifting down his thin, parched skin. I grabbed a rubber-lined sack to cover him, hoping it would ward off hypothermia. He looked at me with gratitude and a terrible fear in his eyes.

A young woman was vomiting, and her husband was trying to comfort her. She was eight months pregnant and afraid she would go into labor in the boat. She was holding her belly and crying that she didn't want to deliver her baby at sea—with so many people watching. She feared she and her baby would die. Her husband urged her to be brave, and he promised to get her to a hospital as soon as we reached the States.

Occasionally, someone would mutter something about going back, but these comments went almost unnoticed—and definitely unheeded. By this time, everyone seemed resigned to their fate, silently bemoaning the fact that they had lost control over their destiny.

After a while, the fog lifted and we spotted the lights of a boat headed our way. The mood lifted in the boat, but I instructed the captain not to start the motor until it got closer. I wanted to save as much gas as possible. The passengers who were awake were nudging those who had fallen asleep. They were very excited.

Unfortunately, as the boat got nearer, I could see it was even
smaller than the one we were on. It just wouldn't do. A collective groan rose from the throats of the passengers, and the boat grew heavy with disappointment.

About a half hour later, another boat appeared in the distance. It looked big enough, so I told the captain to start the engine and head toward it. Some passengers were hopeful. The more sanguine were relieved.

When we got closer, however, I could see that another fishing boat sat alongside it. I was afraid they would defend one another. Even if we could overtake two boats, it would make things too complicated. The passengers grumbled in resignation. A few started weeping. Dreams were turning into desperation.

“Just hang on. The right boat will come along soon,” I said. I didn't want people to abandon hope. Another hour elapsed before I spied a third boat. It was just the right size and appeared to have three men on board. The outlines of their hunched bodies were black against the midnight-blue sky. With all the soldiers at my disposal, I figured it would be a cinch to overtake them.

“That's it. That's our boat,” I screamed to the captain. I was both excited and relieved at the sighting. People started sitting up straighter and looking around expectantly. A couple of people pointed in the direction of the boat.

“Crank up the motor,” I ordered.

“It's no use,” said the captain. “It's too far away. Our boat is too heavy. We can't go that fast. We'll never catch up.”

“Just do what I say, damn it. Do it anyway.” I was desperate not to miss this opportunity.

The captain started the motor and we inched toward the boat in the distance. It was about four miles out at sea. The men aboard it were fishing. We traveled at a sluggish pace. Still, we were moving and they were sitting still. We were gaining on them, slowly but surely.

“Just keep going,” I said. “We'll make it. How's the gas holding out?”

“We're still okay,” reported the captain.

I motioned to one of the soldiers to come and talk to me. “When we get there, I want the soldiers to commandeer the boat.” I handed him a circle of rope.

“Tie and gag whoever is on it, and then we'll redistribute the people to balance the weight. Do whatever you have to, but take that boat.” I looked at the young soldier and said, “Just watch out; the fishermen may have knives.” The soldier nodded and passed the order along to the other men.

I leaned over to speak to Macho. He was looking more hopeful. “Once we take the boat, I want you to drive it. As soon as the soldiers secure it, we'll tie the two boats together so they won't drift apart. It's not going to be easy. Have your friend serve as your mate.” Macho silently nodded.

With our plan in place, I watched as we drew closer to the boat. It seemed like an eternity. But little by little we were catching up. Conditions in our boat were becoming increasingly difficult, and I hoped against hope for success.

As we approached the boat, I called for our captain to kill the motor. We slid next to the boat, and I used an oar to keep the two boats from ramming into each other. Once the boats slowed down, I reached out to the other boat to steady us.

Before the three men in the second boat knew what was happening, six soldiers jumped into their vessel and grabbed them. They struggled, but were soon overpowered.

The soldiers bound their hands and feet, but I instructed them not to gag the men until I had a chance to speak with them.

“Who are you and what are you doing out here?” I asked.

The first man spoke in an outraged voice as if he were king of the sea. “I'm director of the fishermen's cooperative,” he said, looking as if I should be impressed with his credentials. He was so supercilious, he made my flesh crawl. He nodded toward the younger man sitting next to him, a man with kind eyes who looked to be about thirty. He
regarded the man with contempt. “This worm tried to escape the country and was sent to jail for five years.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, shooting the young man a sympathetic look.

“This is the first time he has gone fishing since his release. We've accompanied him as part of his probation. We wanted to talk to him to make sure he was rehabilitated—that he had learned his lesson in jail.”

“What lesson is that?”

“That he needs to remain loyal to the Party.”

“What has the Party ever done for him except rob him of his freedoms?”

The man looked astonished at the audacity of the question. He did not reply.

“Who are you?” I demanded, turning my attention to the second man.

He was a thin, intense man with dark, beady eyes. “I'm a member of the Communist Central Party,” he said proudly. “I'm here to do my duty.”

“Good for you,” I said, sarcastically.

I turned to the man who had tried to escape Cuba.

“And you?”

“I'm nobody—just a guy trying to live his life.”

“Well, it may be your lucky day,” I said. “Because we're all on our way to Florida.”

“What—?” started the director. I didn't wait for him to finish his sentence before ordering the soldiers to gag the three men so they couldn't cry out.

The soldiers and I redistributed the people so there were slightly fewer than twenty in each boat. I ordered the pregnant women and the old men to remain in the boat with me. We tied the two boats together—one behind the other—and resumed our journey.

We traveled for a couple of hours with me periodically adjusting
our course by reading the stars. The wind was picking up, but with what Abuelo had taught me, I knew how to compensate for it, calculating how far north I needed to travel to reach the Florida Keys.

I wondered whether my grandfather ever anticipated something like this. I guessed he had. I remembered him saying, “Mark my words, Frankie, someday this knowledge will come in handy.” I smiled thinking about him.

Knowing we were approaching the danger zone—the area of the patrol boats—I ordered the two captains to cut their motors. I remembered Ralph saying the patrol boats could pick up an engine on radar. I ordered everyone to be quiet.

We sat in silence while waves sloshed over the sides of the boat, occasionally splashing someone in the face. It was still very dark and the slap of cold water always came as an unwelcome surprise. It was just another assault on the nerves of people who were close to the breaking point.

After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, the passengers began to grumble. Several people had urinated in the boat and vomit was clinging to clothing and skin. The stench was horrific. Everyone was hungry, thirsty and, most of all, very afraid of dying.

One man became hysterical, accusing me of waiting for nothing. No one was thinking clearly. People began doubting that the patrol boats actually existed—they even started accusing me of making up the need to patiently sit and wait. Why, I could not imagine—other than the fact that they were operating on pure emotion. But, without a doubt, two groups of people knew the value of waiting: the fishermen and the soldiers.

Because the patrol boats traveled without lights, I knew they'd be difficult to spot in the distance. I kept a careful lookout and insisted we stay put, while trying to quell a near mutiny. People were pushing and fighting, and I was afraid we'd soon have a man overboard. The soldiers
worked relentlessly to nip arguments in the bud and to calm people down.

Suddenly, we heard a din in the distance. It soon became a hideous, thunderous roar. All arguments ceased and voices grew silent. Some people covered their ears, and children scrambled onto the laps of their parents for protection. The adults strained their eyes to see a patrol boat approaching.

It looked like a black leviathan, a large, threatening, and ominous presence. The adults sat in stunned silence as my heart constricted in fear. This was the moment of truth. I blessed myself and whispered a short prayer to the Virgin Mary that we wouldn't be apprehended.

Then I spotted another patrol boat coming the other way. Both were heavily armed military boats with guns pointed outward. The passengers had never seen anything like them before—no one could believe their power and size. They totally dwarfed us. Our small boats looked like toys beside them. We watched in awe as the behemoths crossed in front of each other. Their horns boomed in the distance, producing a solitary, preternatural moan in the darkness.

Once they passed completely out of sight, I gave the captains the signal. “Go, go, go!” I hollered, as if screaming would make the boats go faster. I was filled with a sublime excitement and a boatful of apprehension. The captains revved up their engines, and I readjusted our course to compensate for the drift the boats had taken while we were waiting.

I looked up at what had turned into a crystalline, star-sprinkled sky and hoped it wouldn't be long now until we all tasted freedom. I held my breath as we slowly crossed into international waters.

Believing that our biggest challenges were now behind us, my muscles relaxed, and I drifted into a deep sleep. I dreamt of Magda wearing a white lace blouse, her hair pulled back and fastened with a blood-red rose. She was unspeakably beautiful, standing on a red, white, and blue balcony, her smile broad, her arms outstretched. I was running toward her, my fingertips straining to touch hers. I was just about there, but I couldn't reach her. She was dissolving into nothingness, slipping away. It was at once a soothing and unnerving dream, the kind I had grown used to in recent months.

A breeze kicked up, and I struggled to lift my eyelids. When I opened my eyes, the water was pink. Red. Orange. Purple. A Crayola splash of storybook colors. The sky boasted long slivers of deep crimson that melded into scalloped gunmetal gray, creating mysterious shapes that hung as low as an old rope swing and then slowly burst into bubble-gum pink.

The sun exploded through thick bunches of moving whirls that twisted back and forth upon themselves and then morphed into faces of dolphins, mermaids, and cats with long wondrous tails. A pyrotechnic display of smoldering embers under lit clouds of violet blue.

The sun crested the horizon, trumpeting its arrival with blinding rays that shattered into a million gold discs that floated like water lilies atop a pond. The incandescent ball was radiant in its triumphant ascension, its rays shooting across the horizon as if blessing the ends of the earth.

The boats rocked gently in the deep-blue water as the sun moved higher in the sky. It was an achingly profound and wordless moment. We sat in awe, some people crying softly, some nodding their heads, some closing their eyes in silent prayer. Mothers drew their children to them, holding their heads in the palms of their hands and thinking of how they would raise their offspring in a land of freedom. Fathers regarded their wives and children with renewed hope for their futures.

I searched all the passengers' faces, thinking of what this moment meant to them—and to generations to come. I thought about Magda and how I would someday tell my children and grandchildren how this all came to happen.

Never was there a more glorious sunrise.

Once the moment passed, the mood in the boats became almost celebratory. Although many of us were sick, the sun promised to both warm our bodies and to dry our clothes, and that alone was enough to make us feel better. The icing on the cake was that we were now free people, no longer suffering under the tyranny of Fidel. And, after our harrowing experience, we were now well on our way to the United States.

I calculated that we had enough gas to make it to Florida. The bigger problem was that almost everyone was in need of medical assistance—some more than others. Our throats were parched. Our stomachs were empty. Many of us were suffering from either dehydration or hypothermia—or both. The children, the elderly, and the pregnant women were in the worst shape, but their spirits were buoyed by having crossed into international waters.

We made our way toward Florida for about an hour before I spotted a massive ship in the distance. Russian cargo ships often plied international waters and, given the Soviet Union's close ties to Cuba, they
were known to pick up Cuban refugees and return them to their native land for prosecution. Apart from your boat being shot out of the sea, this was an escapee's worst nightmare.

I hollered to Macho who was driving the other boat. “What do we have out there?”