Game Seven (5 page)

7

I COULDN'T TAKE
a chance on how long we'd be gone. So I sprinted over to our dorm room for my transistor radio. I quickly pulled it out from beneath my mattress. As I moved toward the door, a splinter of sunlight reflected into my eyes, freezing me in my tracks. It had shone down from that lamp, bouncing off the face of Aunt Blanca's photo. From where I stood, it looked like there was a halo surrounding her. Then I shifted the angle of my head, and just as suddenly, it was gone. I crossed myself and bolted for the bus.

Outside, Luis was standing between the bus's folding doors, making certain that Paulo couldn't pull away without me. Gabriel's Chevy was parked beside it with the engine running. Uncle Ramon was busy talking to Gabriel through the driver's side window before he followed me onto the bus.

“Paulo, take the team to the beach about a half mile past the big stone jetty. They'll like it there best,” said Uncle Ramon, slipping past both Luis and me, blocking us from getting to a seat. “I understand there are lots of teenagers at that section. I'll meet you there later. I'm going with my friend to a beach near his house first.”

I couldn't believe Uncle Ramon wasn't going to celebrate with us.

“It's quarter to four now. What time are we coming back?” asked Paulo. “Dinner in the cafeteria starts at six thirty.”

“Don't be concerned with that,” answered Uncle Ramon, handing Paulo some pesos. “There's food at the beach. Treat the team to whatever they want. You, too. No curfew either. Don't bring them back until they're too tired to party anymore.”

“All right, my pops is letting loose for a change,” said Luis.

Paulo grinned. “For a few more pesos, I'll give the players piggyback rides to the dorm one by one whenever they're ready.”

“What about our game tomorrow?” I asked Uncle Ramon. It seemed as if a brain other than his usual coaching one had been moving his mouth. “Are we going to stagger through that?”

“We'll deal with those consequences when they come,” he answered. “Right now, we're going to revel in this opportunity. Some of us may never be at this point in our lives again.”

Then Uncle Ramon fixed his gaze down the rows of players in their seats.

“You earned this reward, worked hard to get it!” he shouted to them. “Take what belongs to you! Embrace it!”

The players let out a roar, and Paulo turned up the music on his boom box.

I was even more surprised when Uncle Ramon said, “Luis, Julio, you'll ride with Gabriel and me. There are some things here in Cárdenas I want you to see before you join your friends.”

“Everything I want to see is at the beach where
they're
going, the one with all the girls,” Luis protested to no avail, as Uncle Ramon took us both off the bus. “This isn't fair. It's no reward.”

Uncle Ramon rode shotgun, next to Gabriel, in the front. Luis, still complaining, was in the backseat with me.

“Follow me,” Gabriel called to Paulo. “I know the area very well. I live here.”

Then Gabriel put his Chevy into drive, and the bus pulled out behind us.

“What did Moyano say to you in the locker room?” Uncle Ramon asked me.

“That he owned my future,” I answered.

“I know that feeling,” said Uncle Ramon, with his eyes on the road ahead. “I've dealt with it longer than you.”

“I only know from watching him, how he stands, acts,” said Gabriel, turning the wheel toward the coastline. “There are many officials like Moyano in Cuba. They want you to be dependent on them. They want to be your god, like you owe them your life.”

“Is Moyano the reason my party's on hold?” asked Luis, annoyed. “That fat swine?”

Gabriel and Uncle Ramon both began laughing at that.

“Officials like him, they're the reason everyone's good time is delayed,” said Gabriel. “Ballplayers, fishermen, farmers, factory workers—everyone. The island is littered with Moyanos, from the top of the government down.”

“Did he want something from you, Julio?” Uncle Ramon asked.

“He wanted to hear me say that I love Cuba and I would never embarrass it.”

“We all love our country—the land, the people,” said Uncle Ramon. “What he really means, what he really cares about, is that you would never disgrace
him
by defecting.”

“Do you want to give Moyano that kind of power over you?” asked Gabriel.

“I'd rather quit playing baseball,” I said.

“Even if you don't play baseball, they'll be another Moyano waiting,” said Gabriel. “You'll encounter them all your years here. That's from experience.”

Suddenly, the confines of that Chevy began to feel like a secure space where I could speak my mind about anything. And I started to wonder exactly who Gabriel was, and why we were sharing so much with him.

Ten or twelve minutes later, I saw that big jetty coming up. It looked like a long stone bridge, extending out into the ocean until it vanished beneath the distant waves. There was a kid with a fishing pole carefully walking on it, stepping from rock to rock, maybe sixty yards out into the surf. Just one misstep on those slippery stones and he'd be up to his neck in rough water, swimming for his life.

We drove for another couple hundred yards before Gabriel stopped the Chevy beside a sandy lot filled with a half dozen cars and a ton of bikes. That got me to thinking about my unlocked bike back in Matanzas, if I'd ever see it again. Or would I be wearing out Papi's good leather shoes, walking back and forth from my job at El Puente?

The bus pulled over and Gabriel pointed inside the lot.

“Paradise, that way!” he called out above Paulo's music.

Paulo honked his horn in response, and then Gabriel leaned on his own a little longer and louder before we drove off.

Luis uttered a groan as he watched the bus get smaller out the rear window.

“Two base hits I had today—a perfect pickup line to meet girls,” Luis said, shaking his head. “I wouldn't have even had to lie.”

“You won't be missing much, just a few hours of fun,” said Uncle Ramon. “Your time is just beginning. There'll be better days than this in your future.”

But Luis continued to sulk.

The odometer spun for nearly another three miles. Then Gabriel parked just off the roadside, in a small clearing beside a trio of huge boulders. There was one other car there and just a handful of bikes.

“Boys, unload what's in the trunk while Gabriel and I find a good spot on the beach,” said Uncle Ramon, stepping out of the car.

Gabriel got out and turned his key in the trunk lock, opening it a few inches for us. Then the two of them headed toward the sound of the ocean. Soon as they disappeared around the corner, Luis followed far enough after them to see who else was there.

“Two girls a little older than us. They're sitting on blankets, reading. They look all right, but they're not even wearing swimsuits,” reported Luis. “Besides them, there's a couple of families, some younger kids hanging out, and a few old folks.”

“Not exactly a party waiting to happen, huh?”

“I say we give it ten minutes. Then we walk back if we have to.”

In the trunk, there was a small barbecue, a bag of charcoal, blankets, folding chairs, and an ice cooler. We loaded ourselves down, taking it all in one trip.

“Guess I've joined you as Uncle's
burrito
,” I said, with the chairs on my back and both hands full.

“How about that cooler you're carrying? Think there are any cold beers inside?” Luis asked. “Maybe that could be our reward.”

“I wouldn't argue against it,” I said, laboring through the hot sand with every step.

Thirty yards from the water's edge, Uncle Ramon pointed to a spot beside him, and we began to build a little camp. Except for kids running past, playing tag, we were far enough away from the other people there to have privacy. But not so far as to look like we didn't want to be anywhere near them.

Gabriel opened the bag of charcoal, poured it into the barbecue, and then struck a match to start it burning.

“Luis, look inside the cooler,” said Uncle Ramon. “Gabriel brought us something special.”

There weren't any beers, but that didn't stop Luis's eyes from lighting up.

There were five huge swordfish steaks. I recognized them because they were on the menu at El Puente. Only these were thicker and pinker than any I'd ever seen. That cinched it in my mind that Gabriel was some kind of fisherman.

“We're going to cook these steaks and have some important conversation,” said Uncle Ramon in a serious tone, pointing to the close circle of chairs in the sand.

“Conversation? About what?” I asked.

“Your papi,” Uncle Ramon said, his eyes fixed on mine for a second. “And the future. All of our futures.”

My hand tapped at the transistor radio in my pocket. Just to feel that it was still there.

“What do you mean?” I asked, with my arms and legs almost trembling. “You've heard from him?”

Luis took a step closer to me.

“About a year ago,” Uncle Ramon said. “Via a messenger.”

“And you didn't say anything?” I shot back.

I looked hard at Luis. Only he seemed as surprised at the news as I was.

“Julio, your papi's the reason that Gabriel is here,” said Uncle Ramon. “We never played baseball together. He's not an old friend. We've only met in the last few months.”

“El Fuego has trusted in me to help his family,” said Gabriel, stretching a fresh sheet of tinfoil over the bars of the smoking grill and then putting the steaks on top of it. “When you hear what I have to say, Julio, you'll decide for yourself if you have trust in me, too.”

“Who are you?” I asked, point-blank.

“Just a man. A Cuban,” replied Gabriel. “But before this is over, you might consider me family. That's how it happens on a journey like this. I know. But for now, listen to Ramon. Let's sit while he speaks, before we have our good meal.”

As I lowered myself down into one of the chairs, I couldn't help but think of Mama and Lola, back home in Matanzas. In my heart, I didn't believe anything I was about to hear was going to include helping them.

8

FROM HIS CHAIR,
Uncle Ramon kicked his shoes off and dug his feet deep into the sand.

“Your papi was able to get a sum of money into Cuba through a Canadian
turista
,” he said, as the smell of swordfish filtered through the salty air. “That money was given to Gabriel.”

I was pissed. My family had struggled for every peso, just to meet the bills. No wonder Gabriel could afford steaks like these.

“Why?” I demanded. “How come
our
money went to
him
?”

“So Gabriel can get us out of Cuba,” Uncle Ramon replied, before popping the top on a can of soda with a
tsssp
.

Those words seemed to hang in the air for a moment—
get us out of Cuba
.

I only felt the weight of them when Luis grabbed hold of my arm and gasped, “Holy crap.”

My heart began beating harder and harder inside my chest, and I had to actually think about taking my next breath.

“And that's his payment?” I asked, hoping to steady myself.

“Payment?” repeated Gabriel, turning the steaks on the grill with a long metal fork. “No. There's nothing for me. That money covered the entire cost of building—”

“Look! Down the beach!” interrupted Luis. “Police!”

There were two officers on a motorcycle with a sidecar. It had three wide wheels, meant to power its way over the sandy shore. They were slowly making their way from the far end of the beach toward where we'd camped.

“Just act naturally. Remember the truth: you're baseball players from Matanzas celebrating a victory over Puerto Padre. Nothing more,” instructed Gabriel. “Besides, I know these two, what they're all about.”

“You
know
them?” asked Luis.

“I make it my business to,” answered Gabriel, through the smoke from the barbecue.

The policemen rolled past the families and kids without any interest. But they took a long glance at the two girls reading on their blankets. They seemed about to pass us, too, before Gabriel called out to them, “Officers! A moment, please!”

I shot Uncle Ramon a concerned look, already feeling the sweat on my palms.

“I've learned to trust him,” Uncle Ramon said quietly, barely moving his lips. “There's no other way.”

Gabriel took one of the steaks on a paper plate down to the officers, who were maybe ten yards from the water. They had some conversation. Then one of the officers gave us a thumbs-up and called out, “I used to play baseball myself.”

A minute later, they were gone with their steak.

“They'll pass this way again in a few hours, just before sundown,” said Gabriel, who'd walked back to us. “Their last patrol of the day. That's when we'll be packing up.”

“We're going to sit here that long?” asked Luis. “And do what? Talk?”

“How much of this does my mama know?” I asked Uncle Ramon.

“She knows enough,” he answered. “That there's a plan, and that it's happening sooner rather than later.”

“How soon?” I asked.

“Tonight,” answered Gabriel, handing me a steaming plate of fish.

“What about her and Lola?”

“Your mother thinks the trip is too dangerous for Lola,” answered Uncle Ramon. “And she won't leave her daughter behind. Your sister knows nothing of it.”

“They're both
staying
?” I asked.

“Your mother's made her choice,” my uncle said. “Now you need to make one.”

“How about me?” asked Luis.

“I'm your father,” said Uncle Ramon. “You go where I go, and we're leaving Cuba.”

Luis nodded his head, taking a plate of his own.

I turned to my cousin and said, “Besides, you don't want to be the son of a defector.”

Then Uncle Ramon looked at us both and said, “I'm sorry about all the deceptions, for keeping you in the dark so long. But the fewer people who knew, the better our chance of making it this far without being arrested.”

“Papi's
money
,” I repeated to myself in disgust.

“I know you're angry at him, Julio. But your papi does love you. He wants you to be free,” said Uncle Ramon, peeling off a chunk of fish with his fingers. “And if you decide to stay, well, Moyano will know that he can trust you. He'll make you a Nacional for sure.”

With all of that churning inside my stomach, Gabriel sat down, making four of us in a tight, seated circle.

“Before we make any decisions, let me be honest with you boys. Tell you what I know of a journey like this one,” Gabriel said. “When I was eight years old, from this beach, I boarded a raft for the US.”

My uncle stopped him and said, “If it's too painful, you don't need to go through all the details again.”

“Thank you, amigo,” said Gabriel, who took a deep breath before he continued. “Both my parents were dead and my grandfather was getting too old to take care of me. Our neighbors were planning an escape. It wasn't much of a raft, just wood and rubber tied together with ropes. They made oars from fish boxes. My grandfather gave them the rubber from some old car tires he had. So they agreed to take me along. There were eight of us—three grown men, two young women, one very old woman who could barely walk, me, and their family dog. Before the trip, we all went to church together.”

“To pray?” asked Luis.

“Yes,” he answered. “The priest even gave me my first Communion—the body and blood. As soon as it got dark, we put the raft into the water. The moon was cut like a sickle—thin and sharp. Everything went smoothly that night. But the next morning, instead of sun, there were black storm clouds and ripping winds. First, our food and water got washed overboard. Then, piece by piece, the raft started to come apart.”

A pair of kids chasing each other, kicking up sand behind them, did a close lap around our camp.

“Hey, watch it!” Luis hollered. “Keep—”

Uncle Ramon stopped Luis cold, showing him a single finger over his lips, followed by a long look.

Gabriel resumed his story. “We all huddled in the middle of the raft. At some point, the dog spotted something in the water and jumped in after it. I heard him barking for a while. But I never saw that dog again. The others tied the old woman and me to the raft. The waves pounded us. I couldn't open my eyes. They were stinging from all the salt water. When the sun finally came out and the waters calmed, there were only five of us left. Over the next eight or ten hours we floated in the middle of nowhere. Then the raft broke apart even more. I was clinging to the old woman. She was dizzy by that point, seeing things that weren't there. The others each had their own section of raft. We were floating within fifty yards of each other when we heard an engine in the distance. It was a boat. Unfortunately, it was Cuban.”

“So they brought you back here,” I said.

“They did, to the docks in Cárdenas,” he answered. “But before they pulled us from the water, the old woman asked me about the boat. ‘Who is it?' she wanted to know. I'd already recognized the flag on its side. All I said to her was, ‘We're saved.'”

“What did they do to you all?” I asked.

“The surviving adults went to prison. I got sent to an orphanage and never saw my grandfather again,” answered Gabriel, setting down his plate in the sand. “The old woman, I believe she died happy, because she never made it back to shore.”

“For almost thirty years now, Gabriel has worked as a fisherman in these waters,” said Uncle Ramon. “He knows these currents like the back of his hand—where they run, how swiftly they can change.”

“And thanks to El Fuego, now I have a vessel of my own to captain,” added Gabriel. “One that will hopefully sail us to freedom.”

I stood up and silently walked down to the shoreline, alone. I stared at the northern horizon, that distant point where the water and sky touch. I thought about what it would take to reach it. To be in a place where the higher-ups in Cuba didn't have control over me. Would it be worth maybe never seeing Mama and Lola again? Would it be worth risking my life?

For all his tough talk on the pitcher's mound, Papi never risked his life for freedom. He walked through a revolving door in a hotel lobby and into a waiting car. But now he wanted me to take a chance on practically swimming to Miami.

I dropped my eyes down to the whitecaps, watching them roll all the way to shore. One after another, they turned to foam on the beach until they disappeared back into the surf. And after a minute or two, my heartbeat seemed to be in sync with the rhythm of the breaking waves.

At the water's edge, there was a horseshoe crab turned upside down. It was stuck on its back. Its legs were moving a mile a minute, going absolutely nowhere. And its spiked tail kept whipping the damp sand, trying to flip its round shell upright. Finally, I walked over and picked it up, water seeping into my sneakers.

Despite all its armor, that horseshoe crab was lighter than I'd imagined. I was gentle enough with it, tossing it underhand into the ocean, where it vanished beneath the surface with a
plunk
.

When I turned back around, Uncle Ramon was standing a few feet behind me.

“This is all happening too fast. It's not a decision about
me
. It's about my whole family. I'm not going to have an answer for you, not without talking to Mama first. I'm not leaving her and my sister behind without a word, the way Papi did. That's not who I am, or who I'm ever going to become.”