Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) (23 page)

I scanned the crowd for Cuni. He was standing on the curb of the sidewalk with a look of alarm on his face. He locked his eyes on mine and shook his head ever so slightly, indicating that I was not to get off the bus.

I knew something had gone terribly wrong and it was incumbent upon me to stay put. A few people disembarked, and I leaned back in my seat, feeling grateful to have avoided disaster. The bus driver turned to me and asked, “Are you getting off?”

“No. I forgot something in Guanabacoa. I need to go back home.”

“Suit yourself,” said the driver. He put the bus in gear. A cloud of exhaust smoke filled the air. We waited a few minutes for the traffic to clear before moving on.

When I got off the bus in Guanabacoa, I went immediately to Magda's house. I was emotionally exhausted and full of angst. I banged on the door repeatedly, but no one answered. I realized the family had probably gone to Sophia and Rigo's house for the evening, so I waited for them in the park. I checked every fifteen minutes to see whether they had returned.

Magda and her parents arrived home around ten thirty p.m., totally amazed to see me.

“
Dios mio!
What happened?” asked Sergio.

“There was a problem in Cojimar. It looked like people were caught trying to escape. There was a big ruckus. The police and soldiers were there. They were leading people away in handcuffs.”

Magda covered her mouth with her hand and emitted a noise from deep in her throat. I had never heard her make such an awful sound before. She ran to me and threw her arms around my neck. Her eyes were red and puffy as if she'd been crying.

“Thank God, you're all right.”

Sergio regarded me with paternal concern. He was full of misgivings. “Did you see Cuni?”

“Yes, but just out the bus window. He shook his head at me. It was obvious that he wanted me to stay on.”

“Thank God!” said Sergio. “Are you okay with this?”

“Okay with what?”

“With everything that's happened?”

“I guess,” I said, still unsure of Sergio's meaning.

Sensing my confusion, he clarified his question. “Are you willing to give it another try?”

I took Magda's hand in mine. She squeezed it hard and smiled at me. I opened my eyes wide, anticipating her response. She nodded.

“We'll give it another try. See what Cuni has to say.”

“Okay,” said Sergio. “Now let's get you back to the army.”

Sergio drove me back to Santa Maria, and I practically ran back to base. I asked the guard on duty to radio Lazo, who came to open the gate to let me in. Lazo was stunned. He looked at me quizzically, turned to the guard, and said sternly, “This never happened, do you hear?”

The guard regarded us with suspicion. He narrowed his eyes and looked at me closely. I held my breath for a long, agonizing moment. A lot depended on this young man's response. I wondered if this would be the end for me. If he reported my transgression, there would be hell to pay.

I looked at the soldier pleadingly, and he looked back at me with more understanding than I ever would've expected. He hesitated a moment, making up his mind about something that had nothing to do with me.

Then he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I understand. Okay.”

After my foiled escape attempt, Lazo decided to form a basketball team to provide me with cover should I need time to make arrangements for my next “trip.” Highly organized and very persuasive, he told Lieutenant Brown that we needed some extracurricular activities to boost morale and to build a relationship between the army and the civilian population.

Brown agreed, and Lazo recruited enough men to form a special forces basketball team to compete against local schools. The team came together quickly.

At first we played Santa Maria High School and the school in Guanabacoa. Many of the men knew each other from their former neighborhoods. The games were greeted with much enthusiasm.

Lieutenants Brown and Pino attended these events, cheering us on from the sidelines. But when the number of games increased and we had to travel farther to get to them, the lieutenants decided they had better ways to spend their time.

Lazo benched me for most games. He built a lot of leeway into the schedule, so I could get away to talk to Sergio or meet with Cuni without being missed.

With the last attempted escape having come to ruin, Cuni was more cautious than ever in making his plans. He was suspicious about who had tipped off the authorities on the last go-round and wary about whom he could trust. He refused to employ any fisherman he didn't
know personally, limiting the number of boats he could use to take people out of Cuba.

Weather was also a major concern. Hurricane season extended through late September, making it more difficult for anyone who wanted to leave Cuba. Storms were also common in October. We waited and waited, but no opportunities presented themselves for escape. My chances for anything happening in 1965 grew slimmer by the week.

Magda and I saw each other during my monthly leaves. I continued to strengthen my relationship with Lieutenant Brown and my fellow soldiers. I improved my military skills, played basketball, and bided my time.

In November, the CDRs took their inventory of the Hernándezes' home. They questioned the family regarding their lack of possessions and were suspicious that things had been sold. But they had no proof of transgressions. The months dragged on with the Hernándezes getting increasingly nervous about getting out of Cuba before Rigo turned fifteen. They had not yet been granted a visa.

By now a fresh group of recruits had entered the force, and Manny, Lazo, and I were looked up to as veterans. The new soldiers seemed very green to us, and we were chagrined to think we had once looked and acted the way they did. There were too many new soldiers for me to get to know them all. It would take a while.

My relationship with Pino continued to be strained, and I knew he was looking for any excuse to nail me for even the slightest infraction. I tried to remain deferential toward him, but I still spoke my mind on occasion, which he found infuriating. What's more, many of the other soldiers still challenged him politically. He blamed their defiance on me.

But I had managed to cultivate a good relationship with Mikhail, the Russian commander who had taught us many technical aspects
of the ATGMs. As I got to know him, I realized he was more like us than I would have imagined.

A man about thirty-five, he had been forced to leave his country and family to come to Cuba. His parents were farmers, and he had grown up knowing the shame and pain of deprivation. He was married, had three children, and was eager to get home.

He often shared meals with Manny, Lazo, and me, and we spent a lot of time together talking about sports and the differences in our respective cultures. He was no more enamored with communism than were we.

In early March of 1966, Cuni informed Sergio that he was planning another “trip,” and Sergio and I needed to meet with him—soon. Lazo scheduled a basketball game on the day in question so I could leave to see Cuni without raising suspicions. We met at the park in Guanabacoa.

“I have a fisherman who can take you and two others,” Cuni informed me.

I started to ask a question and Cuni held up a hand for me to stop. “I know and trust the man.”

“Good. When?”

“March twentieth. There's a small bar at the far end of
El Malecón
, a short way from the coast guard station in Cojimar. Meet me there at eight p.m.”

I nodded, shook his hand, and made my way quickly back to the basketball game.

Built in 1646, the coast guard station was located in a beautiful Spanish fort called
El Torreón de Cojimar
that once was the pride of Cuba. A gray stone, turreted building overlooking the harbor, it was a lively tourist attraction before the days of Fidel. It now served as a checkpoint for boats leaving and entering the harbor. It was heavily guarded
and impossible to avoid. Every boat going in and out of the harbor had to stop there for inspection.

My escape was to take place the Sunday night of my regularly scheduled leave. I savored the weekend, thinking it might be the last one I'd spend with Magda and my family for a very long time. Possibly ever. I spent Friday night with my family and the remainder of the weekend with Magda.

I kissed her every chance I could, and I told her how much I loved her. I was bereft at the thought of leaving her. Once again, we talked about our promise not to doubt each other's love—no matter what. On Sunday night, I bid Magda and her family a tender goodbye, and Sergio drove me to my meeting place with Cuni.

The night was dark with gathering storm clouds. I studied the sky for a moment, a little concerned with what I saw. I got out of the car and shut the door quietly. As soon as I saw Cuni, he lifted his eyebrows and turned his back on me. I wasn't alarmed. I knew what he was doing. He whistled softly as a signal for me to follow him. I walked behind him, sure to keep a safe distance.

We walked about a block and a half to an old, run-down bar. A small wooden sign declaring its name dangled from a rusted pipe. It rattled against the brisk wind. Rawness seeped into the air, and a chill whipped my shoulders. There were very few patrons, only three old men smoking cigarettes and sipping beers and a young man drinking jiggers of rum. Cuni nodded for me to follow him through a side door that led to the basement.

We walked down a narrow staircase with cracked plaster walls and holes in the ceiling. Mouse droppings covered an uneven mud floor, and a bare lightbulb cast an eerie glow on two boys. Cuni introduced them to me as Joey and Pedro Lopez. Joey was thirteen and Pedro was fifteen, although Joey was bigger and looked slightly older than his brother.

We shook hands, and Cuni made a small joke about us “all being
in the same boat.” I wondered what they were doing there before I realized that these frightened boys were to be my traveling companions.

Cuni told me their father had owned the candy factory in Cojimar that Fidel had seized several years before. I remembered Abuelo buying me candy from there when I was a child. It was always a special treat. Once a large and successful business, the building that housed it lay abandoned, its equipment stolen, its windows shattered. Pigeons perched on its windowsills, its sole inhabitants.

After talking for a few minutes, Cuni took us outside to the edge of the water. There was no beach, only sharp ragged rocks that jutted at dangerous angles like giant slabs of Arctic ice, rocks that could slice your feet or cause you to break a leg or to sprain an ankle. It would have been difficult enough to navigate them during the day, but at night it would be an exercise in balance and agility. I hoped the boys were careful enough to make it safely over this rough terrain.

I assumed this was our place of departure, that a boat would be along soon to pick us up. Cuni pointed to a light bobbing on the horizon. It looked like a beacon or lantern of some kind, but I wasn't sure. Although I didn't have any equipment with me to measure distance, I reckoned it to be about a mile out.

“Do you see the light in that fishing boat?”

“Yes,” I said, glad that Cuni had told me what it was.

“That boat will take you to a larger one, which will take you into international waters.”

I nodded my understanding. “How long before it comes to pick us up?” I was hoping it would arrive shortly. I was cold and apprehensive and wanted to get started as soon as possible.

“The boat can't come in here. It's too rocky,” explained Cuni. “The fisherman doesn't want to chance wrecking his boat.”

“How do we get to it then?”

“You'll have to swim.”

“All of us?”

“All of you. I remember you said you were a strong swimmer.”

“I am,” I said, feeling suddenly apprehensive. “But what about the kids?”

“Their father says they can swim. I take him at his word.”

My eyes widened. I looked at the boys in alarm, unsure of what to do. They didn't look very strong. I doubted they could make it.

I leaned down to talk to them. “Do you think you can swim that far?” They both nodded yes. The younger boy seemed more certain than his brother. I just shook my head. “You can back out if you want. There's no shame in it.”

“No, we want to go,” insisted Pedro. He hesitated a moment. “We promised our father.”

“And you, Joey?”

“I go wherever Pedro goes,” he said matter-of-factly. The boys looked at me expectantly. I was surprised at myself for feeling so paternal. They were very charming kids. I was thinking of my own brothers and how they would react in such a situation.

“Okay. You'll need to swim quietly. No talking or splashing around. You hear?”

The boys nodded. I took off my shoes and instructed the boys to do likewise. They looked very somber. We walked carefully over the rocks and lowered ourselves slowly into the water. It was bracingly cold, and a shiver ran through my body. I looked back to see how the boys were faring. Pedro was up to his waist in the coal-black water. Joey was close behind him.

I started doing the breaststroke as quietly as I could, and the boys followed suit. We had not removed our clothes, and they weighed heavily upon our bodies. I heard the steady strokes of the boys and was heartened that they seemed to be good swimmers. Still, the boat was a long way out to sea. About halfway there, the wind picked up and the waves started splashing our faces. I kept a close watch on the boys. None of us said a word. We needed to conserve our energy.

Every so often I heard one of the boys cough. It was a sharp, rasping
sound that quickly disappeared into the night air. The sea was choppy and the boys were having difficulty keeping their heads above water. I was trying not to think what would happen if one of them got into trouble.

The boat was getting closer, and I hoped Joey and Pedro would make it. Pedro was struggling. I called to him to keep going. He looked like he could use some encouragement. The fisherman held up a lantern to help us see.