Flight to Freedom (13 page)

Papi took lots of photographs with Abuelo's camera, including one of the entire family around a table full of
bocaditos,
guava and meat pastries, and a twotier cake Tía Carmen baked. Papi wants to make several copies of that photograph and send it to Cuba so
our relatives can see how abundant food is in this country. I think that would just make them feel horrible about their situation, but I guess Papi wants to show off our good fortune. Let's just hope that Papi's bruises from the car accident don't show up. They are now turning yellow, and he looks like he has a terrible, contagious illness.

Just when I thought life was going smoothly, Papi decided to sneak out of the house to go to a luncheon meeting with his militia friends. Mami was so angry! She stomped around the house all afternoon. I am not surprised, though. I think Papi cares too much about returning to Cuba to give up. He will always try to do everything to change the Communist government, and in his mind that means fighting our way back.

Happy birthday to me! This is my first year celebrating Cuban Independence Day in another country. Papi said we should all be in mourning because our
island is not truly free. “We need a new proclamation of independence,” he told us at dinner.

Ileana seems to be doing her own proclaiming already. When she offers her opinion on something, Papi says she is waging her own war of independence. I used to wonder about this, but in the last few days I have realized he may be right. Ileana—all of us children—are like a colony, subjected to another bigger, stronger power. Rules are imposed on us, and we have little say in our own affairs. Why can't we have our own opinions on the Vietnam War? Why must my mother decide what I should wear? Why do we have to do everything an adult tells us?

I told this to Mami, who nodded as if she understood, but she really did not. Instead she changed the subject and asked me if I liked my cake. She baked me one for my birthday and filled it with guava jelly. It was so delicious I had three—yes, three!—pieces. Ileana refused to have any because she is on a diet. (“Do you want to look like an
americana,
a walking skeleton?” Abuela María asked her. Abuela María thinks North American women are much too thin.) I will take a piece to school for Jane and Alina. Mrs. Henderson has promised to take us to a movie for my
birthday since I did not have a party. When Papi gave his approval to this excursion and even said that it sounded like fun, I was very surprised. Maybe this means he will say yes to the car trip, too. (Ileana, being her usual sarcastic self, said he got some sense knocked into him in the car accident.)

Though it is a year away, Mami is already talking about my
quinces
party. My introduction to society will not be a big affair, but Tía Carmen says one of the customers at the Laundromat where she works is the forelady in a garment factory and perhaps she will be able to find some discounted fabric for my dress. Mami has also begun to look through the bargain bin at her shoe factory.

Papi shakes his head during our lively discussions. He says we will be home for my next birthday, but Abuela wags her finger at him and says that man proposes and God disposes.

More good things happened today. In school Srta. Reed called me to the front of the class to read aloud an essay she had assigned last week about the most important event that had happened in the past school year. I wrote about how I had learned English, so I did not expect to get a big red A on the corner of the first
page because everybody else had written about more significant subjects. But Srta. Reed told the class that my essay was “a fine example of the correct use of grammar, proper development of ideas, and overall good writing.” Though she congratulated me, my knees shook when I read. My pronunciation is still so embarrassing. After class, Juan Carlos—the cute new boy who transferred here from New Jersey—asked me if I had seen the movie
The Dirty Dozen,
about a group of criminals who become heroes in a war. I had not, of course, but I was so thrilled that he had spoken to me that I arrived at social studies after the bell had rung.

Well, who do you think came over this afternoon? Tommy. Ileana's Tommy. Remember him? And Ileana was at work! After he left, Abuela María kept nagging me to tell her who that
americano
was and what he wanted with Ileana. I kept my mouth shut, pretending to know nothing. My silence didn't help matters any, though. Abuela María still tattled to Mami.

Ileana says Tommy wants her to help him draw posters for a protest march. She is not sure what to do. One minute she wants to help because she likes Tommy and enjoys spending time with him. But the next minute she decides she doesn't have any time and is hurt that he is using her. He visits her only when he needs her to do something, but he doesn't bother to be nice at other times.

“If he really liked me,” she said, “he wouldn't care if I had to go to a party with a chaperone. True love is about overcoming obstacles.” She is sounding just like Mami.

Efraín announced to the family that he has signed up with the U.S. Marines. Tía Carmen nearly fainted when she found out, and Tío Pablo stood there like he had been frozen in place, mouth open. Only Papi went over to shake his hand. Efraín leaves in a few days for another state to begin a training program. I won't believe it until he actually goes. I think this is another one of his jokes.

Jane's grandparents called this morning to talk to Papi. I don't know what they said on their end, but Papi was very polite and his English was surprisingly good. Later I overheard him tell Mami that the trip would take about ten days. We would visit Key West and Saint Augustine (the oldest city in the country), as well as Cape Canaveral and Tallahassee, the state capitol. We would spend some time in a couple of beach towns on the west coast of the state. It sounds so wonderful. Would it be selfish if I said a prayer for myself?

Americans celebrate Memorial Day in honor of those who have fought and died in war. It is a holiday where everybody flies the American flag. We don't have one, but Tío Pablo does and he displayed it from a pole on the side of the house. He also put a smaller Cuban flag beside it. I wonder if he feels a commitment to both or to only one. Do you stop loving your homeland if you live somewhere else and fly that country's flag? Must you surrender your memories to adapt to all the new demands of another life?

When I first started school, Srta. Reed had me memorize the Pledge of Allegiance. Remember that? I had to recite it to her by the end of the week. Though I was able to do it, I had no idea what the words said or what the whole pledge meant. It was like reciting gibberish. But now I know what those words stand for. When I put my hand over my heart, and when I declare my allegiance to those colors and to the republic they represent, I cannot help but wonder if this means I have forgotten my own country, my own flag, that first allegiance of my birth. This is very confusing, and I'm not sure I can even explain the division I sometimes feel inside my heart.

Efraín has left to train with the marines. How we miss him already! I am not exaggerating when I say that it seems as if the sun does not shine as bright and the house is quieter without him. Everyone walks around as if they are still asleep. Abuelo Tony complains his heart hurts, and Tía Carmen looks like she is twenty years older.

Efraín will probably be sent to Vietnam. That's
what Ileana says. Does that mean he will get killed there? Now I will pray for both Pepito and Efraín. I will pray in the morning, which I never do, and before bed, twice as long.

Every night this week, long after Ana Mari was asleep, I could hear Ileana sobbing into her pillow. At first it sounded like a strange breeze coming through the window. Then I thought it might be hiccups. Finally I realized what the sound was. When I asked her why she was crying, she said she was scared something horrible would happen to Efraín or Pepito because she was having nightmares about bombs and guns and babies being killed. I wish she hadn't told me because I do not want to think about it. I, too, worry about my brother and cousin.

Miami won't be the same without Efraín. I feel like I am alone trying to figure out the city and the people and the events that happen to me.

Mrs. Henderson visited today. She spoke with Papi for a long time, explaining why this trip would be good for me. He didn't tell her either way about his decision, but her visit certainly helped.

Abuelo Tony also talked to Papi, and he was very, very convincing. He explained that sometimes we have to give up control to gain something more valuable. He also assured my parents that they should not worry about money because he had “a little grandfatherly sum” squirreled away for an event of this kind. “You have to allow your children to fly,” Abuelo told Papi. I think my father may be ready to give in. I am so excited at the thought that I cannot fall asleep.

We are waiting for a phone call from Cuba. Mami said she dreamed Pepito called during dinner, just as we were sitting to eat
tasajo.
(The shredded beef is one of his favorite meals.) Mami thinks the dream is a predictor of something, so now nobody can tie up the phone in the late afternoon or evening. Just in case Pepito calls.

I sure hope dreams come true, for my mother's sake.

The whole country is sad. A man who was running for president, Robert F. Kennedy, was shot yesterday by a criminal, right there in a hotel where everybody could see. He died today. He is the brother of a president who was also assassinated, but that was before we had moved here. Again today, Abuelo said, “These are dark times.” It is very depressing. On the television they showed Mr. Kennedy's wife crying. He has a whole bunch of children and they were crying, too. Now they are all orphaned.

I don't understand all this shooting. I don't understand the wars, either. Any war. I suppose the grownups think they have good reasons to fight each other, but if they do, I wish then they would leave my brother and cousin out of it. Jane told me she has a second cousin who refused to go to the war in Vietnam, so now he lives in Canada. Doing that is against the law, so he can never come back to see his family. In a way that situation is like my family's, but in reverse.
Pepito is in the Cuban army. He didn't want to be, but the government forced him anyway. This also means we don't know when we will see him next.

It is so hot now that Abuelo has decided we should do our exercise walks after dinner, when it's almost nightfall. Every day this week, though, it has rained on our plans. “That's summer in the tropics,” Abuelo says. “Rain, rain, and more rain.” We were finally able to walk today, and along the way we saw many beautiful plants and flowers as well as dragonflies and butterflies, grasshoppers, snails, slugs, and tiny aphids. Plenty of mosquitoes, too, unfortunately. We kept having to flap away the bugs.

We walked a little farther than on other days because Abuelo felt stronger and because the overcast sky kept away the worst of the heat. I am so glad we did, too. We got to see a house five blocks over that has a well-tended garden with a wide variety of species that Abuelo said made his heart sing. There was a beautiful shrimp plant and a golden shower tree, and marigolds, crossandra, and purple pentas in
a flower bed bordering the house. Along a chain-link fence there were several kinds of flowering vines, too, but I can remember only one of the names—the jade vine because it had the most stunning aquamarine flowers. That wasn't all, though. In the far corner of the yard, a royal poinciana—we call it
framboyan,
which sounds like
flamboyant
—was in full bloom, and the red-orange flowers covered most of the branches. I have never seen such beautiful colors.

“Only God can make them like that,” Abuelo told us.

To which Ana Mari responded, “If it is fine with God, then I want to be very rich when I grow up so I can live in a very big house with a very large garden. Then, Abuelo, you can come and help me plant it. I do not want to sweat, though, so we will plant only in the winter or when the sun is setting.”

This made Abuelo laugh.

When we were returning home, I could tell Abuelo was tired. He had a hard time catching his breath. I kept insisting he rest, but he would not. He said his heart was still singing with the joy of the flowers and the colors, and that does not happen too often.

“When you are old,” he added, “you take advantage of every happy moment.”

Ileana bought herself a record player with her own earnings. It is a small one we can put on the dresser in our bedroom, but it still cost a lot of money. She will not say how much, and Mami got very angry when she saw how she had wasted wages on something we do not need. But the money is, after all, hers. She earned it.

Ileana also bought several singles, and she has been playing them over and over all afternoon. Loud. By
loud,
I mean loud enough for the windows to rattle. About every fifteen minutes Mami knocks on the door and tells her to lower the volume. Ileana does. Then she waits about five minutes and slowly turns up the knob. She likes to play a singer named Bob Dylan all the time. If you listen closely to the words in his song, you understand how sad and angry he is. Ileana likes “A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall.” I think he has a whiny voice, but Ileana says I don't know diddly-squat about music. What's diddly-squat? I have never heard that phrase in English. She also listens to the Rolling Stones and Jefferson Airplane. I like the Monkees. Their songs are happy and romantic. They are also very cute.