90 Miles to Freedom (8 page)

“
Something must have changed,” Collin thought, then shrugged and got back to work.

Collin’s original plan had been to rebuild, then sell the yacht at a higher price when the market went up. That way he’d make a profit. However, Collin had decided not to sell it. However painful they were to remember, the yacht was filled with wonderful memories of his parents. Selling the yacht would feel like selling their home, which he hadn’t even considered doing. He just couldn’t do it. The memories were worth more to him than any profit that might be made by selling the yacht.

Collin was like his mother Betty in many ways. He always thought of the future. He planned what needed to be done and what items needed to be purchased. Joey had no idea what the packages were for or what they contained. But the idea that he had to plan and be prepared for anything was continuously on Collin’s mind.

Collin’s yacht did not need any further repairs. It was in perfect shape and in the best possible mechanical running condition. It was clean and perfect, just as it had been when his parents had died. Collin made sure to keep everything dusted and in their proper places. His mother would have been proud.

Chapter 13

Despite everything his family believed, Collin had stopped taking visiting tourists on fishing excursions years ago. But he did have a business, and he was busy. And he was making a boatload of money.

Collin had a secret activity that no one else knew about. Two or three times a week Collin helped transport Cubans from Cuba to Florida. Cuba was approximately ninety miles from Key West. That meant Key West was even closer to Cuba than it was to Miami. Instead of shuttling tourists around, Collin transported Cubans.

Collin’s large fishing boat was perfect for the task. She was strong enough to withstand rough sea weather and large enough to easily hold ten people, but Collin never transported more than five Cubans at a time. Collin was paid five hundred dollars for each person that he transported, which meant he could make anywhere from fifty-five hundred to seventy-five hundred dollars per week. That, in anybody’s opinion, was a pretty good chunk of change. That was more than what some people could earn in a six months working an average minimum wage job.

Because of his earlier fishing excursions, Collin was very knowledgeable about the waters in the Straits of Florida. He knew the current, where to fish and where not to fish. He also knew not to cross, come too close, or cross over the invisible dividing line separating the United States from Cuban waters.

Five years before the death of his parents, Collin had been on a fishing excursion by himself, testing out his new fish finder. He’d been enjoying the water and relaxing, thinking about nothing much, when another large fishing boat came about and slowly headed towards Collin’s boat. Thinking nothing of it, since the Straits of Florida were widely known for deep sea fishing and scuba diving, Collin went back to watching his fishing poles.

The unknown boat came closer to Collin’s boat and finally stopped at a safe distance, about fifty feet away. A young Cuban man, maybe a bit older than Collin, waved his arms and shouted, “Ahoy there!”

The young Cuban man, Adelio, was friendly and interesting, and he spoke English very well. Fortunately, Collin knew a little Spanish as well, so the two men understood each other fairly easily. Before long Collin found himself having a detailed conversation with the man. Adelio came right out and asked Collin if he might be interested in becoming a business partner with him. He explained the need for human transportation, helping Cubans get safely to America.

“
Thousands of men, women and children have perished in the water. They are so desperate to escape Cuba that they are willing to try to float ninety miles on an inner tube or a shabby little raft. Those who illegally left Cuba on homemade rafts are known as ‘Balseros’”. Adelio hung his head and continued. “They did not have fear of the many sea creatures brushing up against them, such as sharks, because they would spread themselves with old motor oil to keep the creatures away. This was a trick they learned from fishermen.” A quick smile crossed Adelio’s face, then disappeared.

“
Many Cubans are swindled and captured by human traffickers. The captured Cubans are made to do forced labor or are pressured into sex slavery because they feel they have no other option.”

Collin had heard this before, the stories of how many Cubans, not knowing how to make a new life in another country, believed the lies that the human traffickers told them. The traffickers promised them a new life and a different kind of work, but through these lies the Cubans are pulled into a web of deception and deceit. They end up with something else, something far worse than what they had been running from.

“
I’ve heard about these things,” Collin told him.

Collin couldn’t help but feel that Adelio’s helping his people get to America was personal somehow. Why else wouldn’t Adelio just go to America himself?

Collin sensed that Adelio was an intelligent man, but he seemed to be taking it upon himself to help as many people as he could. For a man to deliberately place himself in a dangerous situation in order to help others that he didn’t know, well, to Collin’s mind, that didn’t even come close to rational thinking. Especially when it meant the man could possibly get killed.

On the other hand, thousands of people join the military, putting themselves in harm’s way. Many of them die for their country and for people they don’t know. But that was different, wasn’t it?

“
You sound like this is something very personal to you, Adelio. I mean, more than just helping your people.”

“
Oh, it is, my friend. I shall tell you my story.”

Chapter 14

When Adelio was only ten years old, he had helped his father build a small wooden raft and an ore. All the time they were building their raft, Adelio’s father told him stories about the free world, America.

“
Sailing to freedom,” his father would say.

The reason they were building a raft was because it had the advantage of not being easily detected by radar. He had to be very careful. Because he was leaving Cuba without permission, he feared reprisals against his family and friends.

While Adelio and his father prepared the raft for his illegal exit, his father reluctantly explained that the journey was extremely dangerous. It was true that on some summer days, when there was a stiff wind from the south, crossing the straits could be relatively easy. If the prevailing winds blew in the direction of the Gulf Stream, they could propel a raft from the north coast of Cuba all the way to the Florida Keys. The current, at times, could be like a warm river which coursed northeastward along a route. When this happened it was quite convenient for a Cuban refugee.

But for the most part, the trip could be deadly. Adelio’s father told his son that only about half of those who embark on the crossing actually make it to Florida. The others are either caught by Cuban authorities or they drown. As soon as a raft leaves Cuba, it enters waters that are three thousand, three hundred and ninety feet deep. On rough summer days and throughout the winter, when the wind and sea currents clash, the seas can get “ungodly high”. During those times, the waves rise so high they are like mountains.

Adelio’s father didn’t want to tell him everything, but knew he had to be honest with his son. So he told him how nature can sometimes be a rafter’s best accomplice, but rarely. Adelio almost couldn’t listen when his father told him that over the years, many rafts had been found floating either empty or cradling a dead, sunburned body.

But the family was so desperate for a different life from the one they led in Cuba that they, and so many others, were willing to attempt this almost impossible voyage.

Adelio’s father’s raft was hidden off the shoreline, camouflaged within the heavy brush where he and Adelio often went fishing. It had been outfitted with water, nets, and extra clothes to keep him safe from the harsh elements.

Adelio remembered clearly the day his father was to leave for America. He had given his son a long, tight hug, then told him to be a good boy. He promised that when it was time, he would send for both Adelio and his mother. By then it would be legal for them to come to live with him in America.

Adelio remembered his mother crying so hard she was almost unable to speak. She handed her husband a sack which contained the bare necessities for his voyage. The sack was heavy - Adelio could see that from the way his father slumped a bit after slinging the bag over one shoulder. They had worked together compiling this little bundle, filling it with a can of old motor oil from a mechanic they knew, an old pair of binoculars, an old wind-up watch, two boiled chickens, a few cans of evaporated milk, and some rice and beans.

His father reached into his pocket, pulled out a knife and a compass, needing to assure himself that he had them both packed away. Nodding with satisfaction, he dropped them back into his pocket, then gave it a little tap for luck.

He held Adelio’s weeping mother tightly against him, kissing her and muttering something meant to reassure her into her ear. It didn’t seem to be working, though Adelio could see she was trying to contain herself, if only for him. His father stepped away from her at last, patted Adelio on the head, then turned to leave.

When he was only a few steps away from the door, Adelio’s father turned back towards Adelio. He knelt in front of his son and removed the cross necklace which had always hung around his neck. This he draped around Adelio’s neck. He told his son that the cross had been given to him by his father and it would keep Adelio safe.

“
But Father, you need it to keep yourself safe,” the little Adelio said.

His father shook his head. “I shall be fine. I need you to be safe and take care of your mother. Can you do that for me?”

Adelio nodded somberly and felt his mother’s fingers squeeze his shoulders from behind. He held the cross in his fingers and examined it carefully. In the middle was a small red gem, which shimmered beautifully in the dim lamplight. Inscribed on the back of the cross was his family name.

His father patted his head again, then nodded slightly. He got to his feet, turned to the door, and walked away without another word. That was in the year 1992.

Five years later, when Adelio was fifteen years old, his mother got sick. They couldn’t afford the proper medicines to help her survive the illness, and she died while Adelio sat at her bedside. Ironically, Adelio’s father had been a doctor, and had he remained with them in Cuba, he might have been able to heal her. But being a doctor in Cuba meant very little. In their country, a taxi driver made more money than a doctor.

Adelio had received no word from his father in five years.

By then, Adelio was old enough to work and take care of himself. Now that he wasn’t responsible for his mother anymore, he decided to start a new life.

That was what had brought him here, to the side of Collin’s boat. It had been fifteen years since his father’s departure, and Adelio still had not heard from him. He feared the worst, believing his father had probably died while “sailing to freedom”. Either that, or he had been captured and enslaved by the traffickers. Adelio didn’t know which would have been the better option.

Adelio told Collin he had dedicated his life to the memory of his father. And the way he did this was by helping Cubans find freedom and happiness in America. He wanted to safely transport them while keeping them out of the hands of human traffickers.

“
When someone is told that they can get free transportation to America and when they get there they might even be given a job, they will most likely jump at such a generous offer. They are so desperate to get a job and money that they will do anything. The fall of the economy and lack of jobs has made people eager for any opportunity at a better life.” Adelio looked Collin straight in the eye. “Wouldn’t you do the same for your family?”