Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) (36 page)

“What are you thinking?”

“I don't have a good feeling about this. We might be better off if we don't go near those people.”

“Whatever you say,” said Luis. He looked worried too.

“Let's take the back streets that lead to the coast,” I said. “I think it will be safer.”

Having thoroughly searched the area, Pino figured I must be leaving Cuba from the port of Cojimar. Various places were commonly used for departure—places near the fort and on the ocean side of Havana.

Pino mobilized the force to Cojimar and went to talk to Macho's brother, Gerardo, who was in charge of the coast guard station. This was the same man who had accosted me outside of Macho's house the day after my aborted escape with Pedro and Joey. The lieutenant informed him that he was conducting a high-security operation, and he would need to set up a command center at the fort to carry it out.

Pino then ordered the troops to search all the docks in the area and to look for me in every single fisherman's boat—he wanted no rock left unturned. The search was conducted quickly, thoroughly, and
efficiently. Brown had done a fine job training his troops in search tactics. Their performance was exemplary. Fortunately, they were looking in all the wrong places.

When we arrived at the shoreline, there was a group of people sitting on a spit of land full of large ragged rocks tilted at various angles like crushed metal. This was the same place of our planned departure. I had envisioned us being here alone, and I found sharing this space to be unnerving. Waiting with an assemblage of strangers was the last thing I had expected. It made me hyperalert, edgy, uneasy.

As we got closer, I recognized them as the same people who'd been waiting on the steps of the Cultural Center. I sidled up to a middle-aged man and asked him what they were doing. After hedging a bit, he told me they were waiting for a boat that would take them to the States.

“When is it coming?” I asked.

“It should be here within a half hour. You're leaving, too, I presume.”

It was obvious what we were doing, so I nodded my agreement.

I scanned the heavens and wondered whether Magda was looking at the stars and thinking about me, too. It wouldn't be much longer until I saw her. My mind drifted for a moment imagining our reunion, and then I quickly regained my focus. I couldn't think about
mi novia
now. I had to concentrate on the task at hand.

I inspected the horizon, hoping to see Macho's boat coming toward us. There was no sign of it, but it was still a little early.

I caught something out of the corner of my eye and saw nine strapping young men approaching. These were the soldiers who were to accompany us on our journey. We made our introductions. They all seemed quite friendly. I got the feeling my presence provided them with a sense of leadership and security.

Macho's wife and children soon arrived, and I settled them down
next to me on the rocks. I thanked Ana again for taking care of me the last time I saw her. Fortunately, her little boy had lost his fear of me.

To my left a frail old man was holding the arm of a younger man. He had a dry, rasping cough and looked like he might be fighting the flu.

Another elderly man sat next to a woman whom I assumed was his daughter. She had the same high cheekbones and aquiline nose. He seemed very nervous, and she was trying to calm him by talking softly. His face was heavily lined and sprinkled with age spots. He was spry for his age. I judged him to be well over eighty.

I introduced myself, and he said his name was Miguel. He seemed sweet-natured, and I took an immediate shine to him. We struck up a short conversation. He told me his wife was deceased. He had eight children and forty grandchildren. Under different circumstances he might have shown me their pictures.

Behind us, lounging on a rock and smoking a cigarette, its incandescent tip glowing orange in the dark, was the taxi driver, the same one who had just delivered Luis and me to our destination.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“I've always wanted to leave Cuba. When I saw all the people at the center, I was suspicious. When they left, I decided to follow them.”

“So you hadn't planned to go?” I asked, amazed. After all I had been through to try to escape, it seemed like such a quick decision. I felt a little envious.

“No, I just figured I'd take advantage of the situation.” He uttered this as casually as if he had decided to suddenly drop in at a neighborhood bar.

“Where's your car?”

“The Cadillac? I left it by the side of the road.” He said it like it was a wad of tobacco he had spit on the sidewalk.

“Pretty nice car to abandon.”

“Who cares about a car? Freedom is what matters.” He hesitated for a moment. “I left the keys in the ignition—someone might be able to use it.”

“Good thinking.” He beamed at the compliment.

I started to count the people in the other party—fourteen in all. I wondered about the size of their boat. I figured it must be big.

It was a little after nine p.m., and I still hadn't seen any sign of Macho's boat. I took a deep breath and looked at my uncle. He was chain smoking and making a clicking sound with his tongue that indicated he was even more nervous than I.

I sat down next to him, considering what might lie ahead. Some Cuban land crabs crawled sideways between the rocks in search of food and each other. I was thinking about how often my escape had taken the same sideways direction, and I hoped this was the night when my luck would change.

I was wondering about what role the soldiers might play in case of an emergency when I felt someone tap me hard on the shoulder. I turned around and saw Macho standing behind me, accompanied by his friend, the fisherman who was going to serve as his mate. At first my mind couldn't comprehend his presence. It took me a minute to take it in.

“Christ, Macho, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be picking us up in your boat.”

“There's no time to talk,” whispered Macho. He was red in the face and very agitated. “We've got to get out of here.”

“Whoa! Not so fast. Where's the boat?”

“I couldn't get the motor started,” he confessed. He looked scared, defeated, and eager to leave.

His buddy confirmed his story. “He gave it his best shot. He tried and tried, but the motor just wouldn't turn over.”

As we were speaking, the people around us started standing up,
grabbing their children and readying themselves for departure. I looked out to sea and saw their boat coming toward us. It was about seventy-five feet from shore, not a large boat, but it looked sturdy enough.

When the boat got nearer, people started stampeding, splashing and jumping through the water like bluefish. “Come on, we've got to get outta here,” urged Macho. “If they get caught, we could be arrested, too.”

The soldiers came toward me, looking for some kind of direction. I had to make a split-second decision. Macho was hollering for us all to leave, but I had other ideas. I held up my hand and said, “No, we aren't going back. We are
all
going to Florida tonight.”

“What? All of us?”

“Yes, all of us.”

“But—” started Macho.

“Don't give me a hard time, Macho. Just shut the hell up and get in the boat.”

I grabbed Macho's daughters—one in each arm—and headed straight for the vessel. Pandemonium broke loose with everyone scrambling to get on board. The boat was tilting back and forth. Water that had dripped off people's clothing settled in the bottom of the boat. Luis trembled, hesitated. He wasn't a good swimmer.

“C'mon,” I shouted. “This is our last chance. We've got to go
now
. We can't wait any longer.”

It was a mad rush to the boat, with people falling into the water, children wailing and scrambling to get on board. The captain of the boat was beside himself.

“What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed. “Get out of my boat.”

He started pushing people off the sides of the boat with his paddle.

“We're all going to Florida,” I hollered. “Let us in.”

“You're not part of the group. You haven't paid your passage. It's too dangerous. The boat's too small. I can't take you all.”

Ignoring his protests, I climbed aboard the boat and placed Macho's two daughters on a seat next to their mother. Ana gathered
them onto her lap and pulled their heads to her bosom. They clung to her neck, crying in terror.

The soldiers followed my lead and climbed in after me. Luis followed suit. Macho carried his little boy on board, and I immediately ordered the pregnant women and the old men to sit down. The boat was far too crowded. It was rocking dangerously from side to side.

People were pushing for a place to sit. The younger children were perched on their parents' laps, their arms clutching their necks and backs for dear life.

When the last person was finally aboard, I screamed at the captain, “Go! Now. Get this damn thing outta here.” The fisherman grumbled but did as he was told, knowing full well that between me and the other soldiers he had lost control of his boat.

The motor sputtered to a start and began to strain, working well beyond its capacity. The boat struggled to overcome the roll of the water. Unfortunately, I could see bigger, white-tipped waves in the distance.

“There are too many people. We'll all drown,” warned the fisherman. “It's too much weight for the motor.”

“Just move the boat out,” I shouted. “Once we get offshore, we'll decide what to do.”

The boat was sitting low in the water. It chugged forward, the motor whining, straining. I looked up at the stars again, a reflexive move to make sure of my bearings.

Once we got offshore a short distance, everyone calmed down a little. Emotions were generally spent and most people were either too tired or too scared to squabble. Many sat in a state of shock while others sat tight lipped, their faces and postures betraying their emotions. Although no one uttered the words aloud, there was only one thought uppermost in everyone's mind: how in God's name will we ever make it to freedom without dying?

Clouds covered the sliver of moon, and a tense, eerie silence descended over the small vessel.

With our combined weight, the boat sat so deep in the water that waves crested over its sides. We were all sopping wet and up to our ankles in water. The soldiers and I were bailing, working furiously to keep us afloat. I was thankful to have so many able-bodied men in our midst, but I was concerned about how long we could survive with the boat so overloaded.

The children were cold and terrified of being out at sea in the dark—it was even frightening and disorienting for the adults. Conditions were already deteriorating, and several people were of the opinion that we should return to Cuba. To my dismay, Macho was one of them.

“It's no use, Frankie,” he whined. “We should go back and turn ourselves in. Beg the government for mercy. If we do, we could get several years in jail, but at least we'll still be alive.”

I turned and glared at him—after all we had been through together, I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

“I won't be alive,” I snapped, knowing full well I'd be shot on sight. “And get it straight, Macho, once you leave Cuba, there
is
no mercy. We've come this far, and we're not going back. We're
all
going to Florida.”

Macho grunted, knowing what I said was true. I thought the issue was settled when my uncle interjected, “But we'll surely die out here. Drowning is such a horrible death. What will happen to Rosa and my girls?” His voice began to crack, and I was afraid he was going to become hysterical.

“I don't want to die,” he cried.

“You're not going to die.” My voice brimmed with frustration. “We've got a lot of work to do. Now shut up, damn it. Both of you.”

The others in the boat started mumbling among themselves, talking about the danger. Many of the original passengers resented our presence. One man in particular was vehement in his opinion that we had no right being in their boat in the first place. Others grumbled their accord. I knew if I let this continue, things would quickly get out of hand.

I could count on the soldiers to keep order, but there was another problem that needed to be solved. All of us could never make the ninety-mile journey in this small boat. I needed to take action—and fast.

I turned to the captain and ordered, “Shut off the motor.” The captain looked at me in disbelief.

“Have you gone stark raving mad? Why?”

“To save gas. Now do it.”

“No, I'm turning back,” he responded defiantly.

“No, you're turning off the motor,” I said in a steely voice. The captain shot me a look of contempt, and the passengers cowered in their places, fearing a fight would break out. The soldiers stared at me, willing to back up any decision I made.

“This is
my
boat,” said the captain. “And I'll do what
I
think best.”

“This is
not
your boat anymore,” I thundered. “This is
our
boat. And you can either follow orders, or you can jump overboard and swim to shore by yourself. But no one will help you, and we're
not
turning back.”

The captain sat fuming. I gave him a minute to calm down. The only sounds were the waves splashing the sides of the boat and a child's whimpering. I watched as the moon seeped between shredded clouds, casting a silver glow onto the water.

“What are you proposing we do?” he demanded.

I looked at the soldiers. “We're going to wait here until we see another boat either this size or larger. And then we're going to take it.”

At first the captain looked astonished, but then the muscles in his face relaxed slightly and his breathing became easier. He knew what I said made sense. He didn't say another word. Neither did I. Nor did anyone else.