Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (22 page)

He climbed the stairs, turned the key in the lock, and entered the living room to the apartment. Magda was watching an old movie set in Paris. Her feet rested on the coffee table. Frank looked at the image on the television screen and thought that that’s where Magda should live—in a home decorated with silk drapes and mahogany furniture as rich and dark as sable.

Had history taken a different turn she would never be in this city, in this small apartment with its stained porcelain sink, its rusted electric stove, its worn linoleum floor. Frank remembered the house she lived in with her parents in Havana, a place filled with flowers, fine china, and crystal. He wondered whether he would be able to provide his wife with life’s necessities, let alone its luxuries.

But more than that, he worried about her safety. He shuddered to think what he would do if something ever happened to Magda. She was his rock, his touchstone, and his raison d’être. He constantly reminded her to lock the doors, and she was good about it, but sometimes it slipped her mind. It was not her habit in Cuba.

Magda looked up and smiled, sweeping her glossy hair away from her face with her hand. She stood, switched off the television set, and nodded toward the bedroom.

The couple walked into the room together, arm and arm. Frank sat down on the bed, untied his shoes, and slipped them off.

He watched as Magda grabbed the bottom of her blue mohair sweater and lifted it above her head, releasing a crackle of static electricity that created small fireworks in the dark. She stood in the shadows in her white nylon slip, the lace cups covering her firm
breasts. Her waist was trim, her belly flat. She was still a little shy about revealing her body to Frank, no matter how many times he told her how beautiful she was.

Magda stripped the barrette from her hair, releasing her tresses into a jumble of curls. She kicked off her shoes and unzipped her skirt. Then she walked toward Frank and held his head to her breasts. He buried his face in them, smelling her Jean Naté cologne. He pulled her down next to him in the bed and ran his finger along the length of her nose. She giggled.

“You’re tickling me,” she said, pulling her face away from his reach.

He began tickling her for real, under her ribs, under her arms until she collapsed, exhausted from laughter. Then he laid her gently back on the pillow and looked at her.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s just that I can’t believe we’re really here—together,” he said.

“I know,” said Magda. “And we’re going to be together forever.” She smiled, convinced of her words.

Frank grew quiet for a moment. “Do you mind living here?” It was a question that had nagged him for a while.

“What do you mean? In the States?”

“No, in this apartment.”

Magda laughed. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s nothing like the house you grew up in. I just wondered if—”

Magda wrinkled her nose as if to scold Frank. “Stop,” she said. “This is our home.
Ours!
It has everything we need—a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room. My parents are nearby. We have a good landlord. It’s just fine. It doesn’t matter where we live as long as we’re together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. Besides, we won’t live here forever. We’ll make our way, get a car, buy a house. You’ve got to believe, Frank.”

“I do. But sometimes I doubt my ability to make a nice life for us.”

A look of concern crossed Magda’s eyes, as if she were searching for words of encouragement that were beyond her grasp. Then her face brightened.

“What?” Frank asked.

Magda took his hand in hers and looked him in the eyes. “Remember the refrigerator?”

Frank pictured Pedro holding up traffic and laughter bubbled up his throat.

“How could I forget?”

He thought about the dogs, the cockroaches, and Pedro giving drivers the peace sign. He thought about the look on his uncle’s face as they pushed the refrigerator up three flights of stairs. He knew Magda was thinking the same thing. They began to chuckle and then the laughter overtook them. They howled until their stomachs ached, and they had to wipe tears from their eyes. They lay back on the bed, exhausted. Magda turned and said, “You know, it’s all about the refrigerator, Frank.”

“What do you mean?”

She lifted her body on her elbow. “When you heard about the refrigerator, you grabbed the chance to get it. It didn’t matter that you had to drag it up and down ten city blocks. Sure it was difficult. So was defecting. But when you set your sights on something, you do it. You don’t give up. That’s who you are, Frank. That’s why I’m not worried about our future.”

Frank returned Magda’s gaze, amazed at how positive she was, always encouraging him. “That’s what you think?” he said, wanting her to go on talking, but not wanting to say so.

“That’s what I think. We’re going to make it, Frank. We have skills and abilities. We’re a team—a great team. We’ll figure it out. You’ll see. Besides, I’m just grateful to have you here with me and to be in America.”

“Thanks, I needed to hear that.” Frank gathered Magda in the crook of his arm and looked at the ceiling. “I’m grateful to be in
America too. It’s so good to be able to speak your mind without fear of repercussions.”

They lay in silence for a moment. Frank lowered his chin on top of Magda’s head. “Do you miss Cuba?” he asked.

Magda’s expression softened. “Yes. I miss the birds, the beach, the flowers—”

Frank nodded. “Me too, but I miss the people more.”

Magda grew more somber. “So do I, but at least I have my family here. But you left everyone behind.”

“Not everyone. I have you.”

“I know, but still—”

Frank heaved a sigh. “I do miss them terribly.”

“Who do you miss the most?” A look of concern marched across Magda’s eyes.

Frank thought for a moment. He was feeling a dull ache of vacancy, like he was lost in the woods and couldn’t find his way home. “It depends,” he said. “Sometimes it’s my mother and father. Sometimes Abuelo. To tell you the truth, I’m afraid they’ll die before I get to see them again.”

Magda nodded and lifted a hand to stroke Frank’s cheek. “And your siblings, your friends?”

“Of course, I wonder how they’re doing, how they’re faring under Fidel.” Frank hesitated a moment. “I got a letter from my mother yesterday.”

“And you didn’t show it to me?”

“I needed some time before I talked about it.”

“Why, what happened?”

“The communists tore down Abuelo’s house and sent him to an old-age home. My mother said he’s devastated.”

Magda shook her head in consternation. “Your grandfather is perfectly healthy and able to care for himself. Why would they do such a thing?”

“It may be in retaliation for my escape. That’s the kind of thing
those bastards do. I can’t be sure, but I feel terrible. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head all day.”

Magda covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s terrible. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it?”

“Of course not. You know that.”

The couple sat in silence for a while. Magda looked at Frank. “What else can’t you get out of your head?”

“I worry about Manny and Lazo. Last night I had a nightmare about something happening to them. I can’t bring it to mind, but I know it was bad. They stuck their necks out for me. I owe them, really owe them.”

“I know. You always say that.”

“Because it’s true. I wouldn’t be here without them. In fact, I wouldn’t be here without a lot of people.”

Magda brightened. “But you are here,” she said, reaching for Frank. Frank took his wife in his arms and kissed her on the lips, lightly at first and then more eagerly. His melancholy lifted, and he suddenly felt lightheaded with anticipation.

Magda opened her mouth to accept his tongue, responding with a passion that matched his own. He ran his fingers through her hair, feeling its texture, its silkiness. He laid her on her back and covered her body with his, reveling in her curves and the sweetness of her skin.

He thought about all the times he had longed just to touch Magda’s hand. She was his first love, his only love. She always seemed so beautiful, so unattainable, at least to him. He remembered walking past her parents’ house on a spring evening, hoping she would be outside on her balcony and honor him with a wave. That was before Fidel interrupted their lives. Before the army. Before his escape.

For as long as Frank could remember, he had carried Magda’s face in his mind’s eye, heard her voice in his dreams. He still couldn’t believe it when he found her in the same room with him. Her mere presence lifted his spirits. And here she was, laughing and talking with him in bed.

“Just a minute,” said Magda. She sat up briefly, worked her slip over her head, and unhooked her bra. Her breasts stood out straight from her chest, her nipples the color of wine. The sight of them made Frank drunk with desire. “If only the nuns could see me now,” she said, and laughed merrily.

Frank reached for Magda, took her in his arms, and laid her gently down on the sheets. He held her breasts in his hands and moved his mouth to her nipples as she wrapped her slim legs around him. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, and the hollow between her breasts. Heat suffused his body, and he felt himself stiffen. He made love to her gently, patiently, waiting for her to want him as much as he wanted her. Magda made a muffled cry as Frank entered her, slowly, carefully, watching her expression to make sure he wasn’t hurting her. She moved beneath him, her breathing becoming more labored. She grabbed his back, pulling him toward her, holding his buttocks, taking him deeper inside her. Finally, she shuddered and called out Frank’s name. Then they made love again. They were insatiable. It was hours before they fell off to sleep.

When the early morning sun danced on his eyelids, Frank rose on his elbows and studied Magda asleep next to him. Her hair was strewn about the pillow like cherry blossoms. He couldn’t help himself. He reached over and touched her forehead, running his forefinger along the ridge of her eyebrows, stroking her cheeks with the back of his hand.

He looked down at her hands and saw the trinket ring he had given her when they first declared their love for each other. She was fourteen at the time. He told her then that it was a token of his love, but that he would buy her a real diamond someday. He hadn’t been able to afford one yet. Someday, perhaps.

Magda murmured incoherently, sighed softly, and turned over. She pulled her knees to her chest and nestled her head deeper into the pillow. Frank pulled the sheet up to cover her back, draped his arm around her waist, and nuzzled her neck.
How could her skin be this soft, this smooth? Impossible!
He listened to the rhythm of Magda’s
breathing, and thought how lucky he was to have such a wonderful woman in his life.

Frank worried whether he’d ever speak English well enough to find a good job, to succeed. He knew the best time to learn a language is when you are a child, and he’d have to work extra hard to learn English at his age. But he was determined to do it. Between Magda and Marcos he was starting to get the hang of English vocabulary, grammar, and syntax, but he had much work to do before he was fluent.

Frank thought about his inadequacies and the skeleton of fear that had shaped his world since he arrived in America. He was always looking over his shoulder, startled at the slightest noise, afraid that someone was after him, or worse, after his beloved. His nightmares were frequent and frightening.

Magda said it would take time for his nerves to settle down after his escape, and he wanted to believe her. But the men standing outside on the street corners reminded him that tyranny takes many forms. The last thing he wanted was for Magda to be stalked by the kind of fear he had come to know.

Some women were too beautiful, too sweet, too trusting for their own good. Magda was one of them. He wanted to protect her. She had led a sheltered life, but at least she was smart. Very smart. That would help.

Frank glanced at the nightstand and saw a paper sitting near the lamp. He picked it up and squinted, adjusting his eyes so he could read the words in the dim light. It was a poem, written by Magda, scribbled in Spanish, words smudged, erased, crossed out, circled with arrows to be inserted here, there. It spoke of love, of Frank.

Suddenly, he thought of his mother, her gestures, her hands, soft and brown, as she removed a dessert from the oven, drew a needle through a button, tucked him into bed. He remembered being a child and her washing soapsuds from his hair and teaching him how to tie his shoes one loop at a time.

He tried to conjure up her face, but it was like a dream he couldn’t hold onto. But he could still hear her voice telling him to be brave, to be strong. He thought of Cuba, of the waves crashing like shattered glass along the
Malecón,
of bright butterflies riding the wind like horses galloping the plains.

Suddenly a song by Up with People ran through his head. Some- one had recently sung it at the factory.

Freedom isn’t free!

Freedom isn’t free!

You’ve gotta pay a price

You’ve gotta sacrifice

For your liberty.

He was free, and he was so grateful to be in America, in a land where he could make his way, pursue his dreams, and speak his truth without the threat of torture or death. But he had paid a price. Everything has a price.

But Frank didn’t want the price to include Magda being robbed or mugged—or worse. He comforted himself with the thought that Abuelo once said that life’s troubles seldom turn out to be the ones you worry about.

Frank wondered what life was like for Abuelo in the old-age home. Did he know people there? Had he made friends? Did he play dominoes? Frank couldn’t imagine his grandfather without his boat and his fishing pole.

Frank missed his family. And he knew they missed him. He leaned back on his pillow, looked up at the ceiling, and allowed his tears to muffle his memories.

Pino arrived in the Soviet Union, grateful to First Lieutenant Torres for the opportunity to rebuild his career. He was in Russia to pursue the equivalent of a master’s degree in one of the Motherland’s finest military academies. This was a chance of a lifetime, and Pino was determined to make the most of it. But it was not easy.