The Red Umbrella (3 page)

“Lucía! I’ll hang up on your friend if you don’t hurry up!” Frankie hollered, snapping me back to reality.

I ran downstairs and took the black receiver from Frankie’s hand.

“Make it quick, ’cause I’m not setting the table by myself,” Frankie warned.

I ignored him and said hello.

“Lucy, have I got some great
chisme
for you!” It was Ivette. “Can you talk? Do you feel better?”

I faked a small cough. “I’m still a little sick. What’s the big gossip?”

“Well, I heard about it at the Jóvenes Rebeldes meeting.”

“Since when do you go to
those
meetings? You’ve never been interested in politics. Aren’t you the one who says it’s more important to change your nail polish than change the government?”

Ivette laughed. “True, but my brothers were going, and since you were sick and I didn’t have anything else to do …”

I winced. “Sorry.”

“Oh no, it was great. There were lots of kids from
school and, ooh, so many good-looking boys! You have to come with me. We’ll pick out a really nice outfit for you to wear.”

“I don’t know if I can go. Mamá worries about the soldiers and stuff.”

“But these aren’t soldiers … they’re more like wannabe soldiers. You know, Manuel was there.”

Just at the mention of his name, a smile spread across my face. “He was?”

“Yep, and he looked so cute, even in his
brigadista
uniform. He says he’s leaving in a few weeks to go teach the peasants.”

“Oh.” My heart fell. I knew that the government was calling on all students over the age of thirteen to leave their families and go teach in the countryside for a few months, but no one I knew had actually signed up to go.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back before your birthday party.”

I tried to sound calm. “I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

“Ha! Don’t act like you don’t care. You’re talking to
me
, remember? I’ve seen how you look at him.”

My cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Do you think he knows?”

“Nah … well, maybe. He may have failed eighth grade, but he’s still somewhat smart … for a boy. But don’t worry about that. What about the meetings? You
sure you can’t go with me? My mother says everyone should go.”

“Maybe in a few days. When my parents settle down a little.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ivette sounded disappointed. “It’s just boring not being able to gossip with anyone. The boys were cute, but the girls there had no sense of style. Most of them were wearing the ugly
brigadista
uniforms. Ugh.”

I laughed. Ivette always had a way of making me feel better. “And you, Miss High Fashion, what were you wearing?”

“Are you kidding? I had this pretty yellow and white dress that matched my purse perfectly. No one says you can’t rebel in style.”

Ivette chuckled at her own joke.

“Ooh, and I almost forgot to tell you the
chisme.”
Ivette lowered her voice. “Did you hear about Laura Milian’s dad?”

“No, what?”

“Seems Little Miss Perfect’s father got arrested last night in some big roundup. They picked up a bunch of anti-revolutionaries. Her father’s such a lowlife. What a stupid
gusano.”

“What was he doing?”

“I heard that he was writing lies about Castro. You’d think after they shut down his precious newspaper he’d have learned his lesson. It was the talk of the meeting. They said—”

Frankie pulled on the phone cord. “Hang up. You’ve been talking for hours.”

“Hold on, Ivette. Frankie’s being a brat.” I pushed him away.

“Mamá, Papá, Lucía isn’t helping!” Frankie yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Mamá! Papá!”

“Ivette, I gotta go. My parents think I’m setting the table, and Frankie’s ratting me out.”

“Okay, okay. Call me tomorrow.
¡Besos!”

I hung up the phone and looked up toward Frankie’s room. The door had remained shut. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what they were still talking about.

After two full days of drenching spring storms, the darkest clouds parted and I began a campaign to recover my freedom.

“Please, Mamá, Frankie can go, too. We’ll get groceries. Don’t you need something? Anything?”

Mamá grabbed a pencil and began making a list.

I grinned. Finally, I was going to escape from house arrest.

“Okay,
vámonos.”
Mamá folded the paper and tucked it into her skirt pocket. “Call your brother.”

“What? No, I meant I’d go for you, not with you.” The moment I said it, I braced myself for a tongue-lashing. I could already hear the words.
¡Qué falta de respeto!
What disrespect!

Mamá simply raised an eyebrow and continued to fasten her light blue pillbox hat into place.

I followed as she walked to the hallway mirror to put on some lipstick. “Please, I need to be with my friends. What if they open up the schools tomorrow and I miss my chance to have fun? I can’t take being cooped up anymore!”

“Lucía,
por favor
, it’s barely been three days.” She popped her lips together. “You act like you haven’t seen them in months.”

“It might as well be! You and Papá treat me like a baby! I’m fourteen. Kids my age are leaving home to join the revolution and you act like I’m still a little kid. Pretty soon you’ll make me hold your hand when we cross the street!”

This time Mamá was not going to let it slide. She spun around. “Lucía, you watch your tone! I will not have you disrespecting me. When I was a child, I would never speak to my mother in that way. You have no idea what your father and I are going through.”

I turned and rolled my eyes. What
they
were going through? What about me? My only consolation was knowing that someday I’d be free of all their stupid rules and worries.

“Frankie, let’s go. We’re going into town.” Mamá pulled back the curtain, revealing the overcast sky. She took a deep breath. “I know you’re upset, Lucía. Look,
if we have time, we’ll go by Machado’s Pharmacy and see if they have any new fashion magazines.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t going to be bought off that easily. A trip to Machado’s for a lollipop or paper dolls worked when I was a kid, but not anymore.

Frankie ran down the stairs, skipping the last two steps. “All right! We’re finally out of here!”

Mamá smiled and grabbed her large bright-red umbrella and tucked it beneath her arm.

I hated that umbrella. It was like carrying a big stop sign that made everyone pause and take notice of us. A ridiculous umbrella for a ridiculous woman. Why couldn’t she bring a plain black one? Why did she insist on embarrassing me with that thing?

“It’s not even raining anymore,” I said, and pointed outside.

“Well, just in case,” she answered.
“Mejor precaver que tener que lamentar.”

It was one of Mamá’s favorite sayings …
Better safe than sorry
.

I followed her out the door. “Just because you’ve had that umbrella forever doesn’t mean it’s the only one you can use, you know.”

“I like my umbrella. It’s the only one I’ve ever found that’s big enough to protect all of us from the rain,” she said as Frankie jumped over the puddles lining the sidewalk.

“But red is the color of the revolution.” I hoped this would make her reconsider.

Mamá stopped walking to look at me. “No, Lucía. The revolution may have taken over a lot of things, but it doesn’t own a color. For me, red is the symbol of strength, and that’s
all
it will ever represent.”

*  *  *  *  *

That evening, I begged Papá to let me join the Jóvenes Rebeldes. On our trip to town, I had noticed that the soldiers seemed to be everywhere. On every street corner, in every park. Despite what I’d seen and how nervous the soldiers made me feel, there was an intoxicating kind of energy that filled the air, cloaking everything. I even saw some classmates putting up flyers regarding the youth movement. They were laughing and waved to me, but Mamá ushered us along. I wanted to be with my friends. To be part of that excitement.

“Please, Papá, reconsider. Everyone is going.”

Papá shook his head. “Why can’t you invite your friends over to the house and listen to music like before?” He leaned back in his favorite chair and unfolded the evening paper.

I read the headline at the top of the page:
Apoya la CTC la Nacionalización de las Escuelas Privadas
. I thought about it for a few seconds. Maybe I could use the fact that Cuba’s labor union was supporting the nationalization of all the private schools to convince
Papá that going to the meetings was okay. Show him that the school closings were nothing to worry about.

I placed my hand on his arm. Ivette had explained that some parents were afraid of change and that it was up to us to lead the way. “Papá, look.” I pointed to the headline. “The schools will open again, and everyone will think it’s strange that I don’t go to the meetings.” I used my most serious voice. “It’s important.”

He took his reading glasses from the coffee table and slid them over his nose. “Doesn’t matter what others think.” He popped open the newspaper. “And the private schools won’t open again, only the ones run by the revolution. A revolution my daughter is not getting involved with.”

“But why?”

“Lucy, you’re just too young,” he said, staring at the newspaper.

“The revolution doesn’t think I’m too young. See.” I pointed to a picture of teenagers waving from a train that was headed to the brigades’ camp in Varadero. “Thousands of kids my age and younger have joined the brigades.
Their
parents trust them.”

Papá slapped the side of the chair with the newspaper as if swatting an imaginary fly. “It’s not about trust. Don’t you realize that they’re
having
to leave their homes for months to go teach and live in the mountains?
How it’s now expected that all
good revolutionaries
will send their kids to the brigades? Is that what you want? To be by yourself in a new place?”

“Better than being stuck here,” I muttered.

“You think your mother and I enjoy saying no to you? We only want the best for you, to protect you.
They
don’t care about breaking up families. It’s actually what they want. To destroy the family so the only thing left is the revolution, just like Karl Marx suggested.” Papá shook his head. “And this so-called revolution continues to go after anyone who dares to think. To disagree.” Papá sighed. “Lucy, it’s just so complicated …”

“It’s complicated because you and Mamá don’t understand that I’ve grown up!” Tears rose in my eyes. One blink and they’d land on my cheeks. “You are so unfair!” I turned and raced up the stairs. I slammed my bedroom door and felt a scream rise up in my chest. Now I understood why the soldiers got so angry. People like my father couldn’t see that the younger generation wanted Cuba to change for the better. They didn’t see all the good things that the revolution could do. He’s so stubborn, I thought. Why can’t he be like Ivette’s father?

I caught my breath as I heard Papá coming up the stairs. I didn’t want to confront him again. My heart beat faster. I’d never raised my voice at him before. The
footsteps stopped right outside my door. After a few seconds, I heard them continue down the hall.

I slowly exhaled.

Stupid
gusano
.

*  *  *  *  *

The smell of onions and garlic brought me down to dinner. As much as I didn’t want to see Papá, I figured maybe my mother could reason with him.

“Mi
hija
, can you get the glasses, please?” Mamá took out a starched linen tablecloth and snapped it open over the kitchen table.

I walked past the open kitchen window and took the glasses from the cupboard. “Mamá you’ll let me go to a Jóvenes meeting with Ivette, right?”

She shook her head. “Don’t try playing me against your father. I know he doesn’t want you going.”

I set the glasses down and reached into the kitchen drawer to take out the silverware. “But …”

“There’s no need for you to get involved with the revolution … it won’t last. It never does. I’ve seen Cuba go through so many leaders, all of them with their promises. Each of them just as corrupt as the one before.”

“Yeah, but this time it’s different. You know that.”

“I know that this revolution is jailing good people. That decent, God-loving priests and nuns are being kicked out just because they dare to voice their concerns about what’s going on. Different is not always a
good thing.” Mamá went to the stove to flip over the
palomilla
steaks. “Plus, now that your father is running the bank, he hears things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that Ivette’s mother is involved with the CDR,” Papá said as he walked into the kitchen and took his seat at the head of the table.

“Hmm, the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution … now it makes sense,” Mamá muttered.

Papá flashed her a strange look.

“No, Fernando, nothing bad. She called me this morning to ask why we weren’t more involved with the revolution. She said we seemed ‘suspicious.’ She suggested I send Lucía to the Jóvenes meetings and that Frankie go to the Pioneros group … so we could show our loyalty.”

Papá shook his head. “Who do we have to prove anything to?”

“Maybe I should join something, just so that there isn’t talk,” Mamá offered.

“No, Sonia. We do what is required and that’s it. But we need to be careful with that family; the CDR are glorified neighborhood spies.”

I couldn’t believe how judgmental Papá was being. I’d read the newspapers and knew how much the revolution wanted to help people. It said that the factories had been closed because the owners were giving all their profits to foreigners and that the churches had
been infiltrated by American sympathizers. Castro had no choice but to have the government take over many of the businesses so that there wouldn’t be so much corruption. It was all for the benefit of the country, and everyone was expected to pitch in and help. What harm was there in that? Even if I didn’t agree with what had happened with Señor Betafil, so many smart people supported the revolution, they couldn’t all be wrong. “Not all of the CDR are bad. Tío Antonio joined—”