“Well, let’s go celebrate!” Coach Jerry said. “Where should we go?”
“How about El Rincon Cubano?” Paul suggested. “That’s the Cuban restaurant in Silver Spring.”
Friends and family paraded out of the school and headed to the restaurant. When they reached the restaurant, the owner had to open up the area reserved for parties in order to seat them all together. Luisito was all smiles. Thank you, God! he thought so strongly that he was sure the others could hear him.
28 VEINTIOCHO
It was raining and Abuela held a trash bag over her head as she walked to Mass early in the morning. She opened the large wooden doors of La Iglesia de la Merced, the Church of Mercy. Although it needed repairs, the church and especially the altar were still breathtaking. Abuela walked toward the confessional and waited in line with two other older ladies. When it was her turn she knelt down and closed the confessional door. Finally, Padre Pepito opened the small grated window that separated them.
“Padre, forgive me, for I have sinned,” Abuela said.
“How long since your last confession?” Padre Pepito asked.
“It has been a month,” Abuela said. At the end of her confession, she added the phrase that would identify her, “I am sorry for my lack of trust in God but I know I can count on his mercy.”
“Oh, yes,” Padre Pepito said, recognizing her. “You can count on his mercy. As penance, pray a rosary and meditate on the life of Christ. If I may suggest, you should do this in the rose garden by the statue of Mary.”
“Si, Padre,” Abuela said as the priest absolved and blessed her.
Abuela left the confessional and looked for the door that led to the rose garden. She prayed the rosary by the statue of Mary as she waited for the priest. She really didn’t need to go to confession today, but she did need to speak to Padre Pepito. They had to go through this ritual in case someone overheard them in the confessional. There were rumors that some confessionals were bugged by the government. Once Padre Pepito finished hearing confessions, he walked into the sacristy to put his stole away and then quietly slipped through the door to the rose garden. He walked slowly toward Abuela and gently tapped her on the shoulders.
“Hola, Padre,” Abuela said quickly. “Listen to this! The exodus will begin soon.”
“Is it confirmed?” Padre Pepito asked.
“Yes,” Abuela said. “We just don’t know exactly when. What do you know about our Lady?”
“She is on her way,” the priest said with a smile.
“Will you ever join your family in Miami, Father?” she asked.
“I can’t, Maria Elena,” Padre Pepito responded. “If there is anyone whom the government would immediately allow to leave Cuba, it is the priests. But if I leave, who would tend the flock?”
“God bless you, Padre. We certainly need you here,” Abuela said, giving the priest a hug.
Abuela left the rose garden feeling assured that things were taken care of.
On her way home, she stopped in the side chapel of La Iglesia de la Merced to kneel before the image of our Lady of Lourdes. Abuela had gotten married in this church. It was filled with so many happy memories. How she wished she were with her family again! Abuela prayed hard for her family and for her country.
She walked home slowly, occasionally looking back to see if she was being followed. She noticed a strange car parked outside the church. It was the same car that had been parked across the street from her house for two days now with someone inside listening to the radio. She hadn’t known if they were watching her or someone else, but now she was certain they were watching her. She decided to avoid the man in the car by going into the bodeguita. Besides, the line was long. They must have meat there today, she thought. Then she remembered that her friend Miriam lived in the nearby apartments. She hurried across the street and went into Miriam’s building. When she saw a door at the end of the complex that led to an alley, she decided to go through the hall and out the back of the building. Cars couldn’t make it through the narrow road behind the building. She walked down the alley to the next block, turned, and followed her usual way back home, looking cautiously behind her. Nobody was following. She reached her apartment a bit out of breath. It was too much excitement for an old lady. She only wanted to live in peace.
Her hands were still shaking as she opened the door to her apartment. She closed and locked her door. She heard footsteps, but they stopped, and she heard a door slam. It was just a neighbor. Before she even put down her purse, she looked in her cupboard for a few twigs of tilo, linden leaves. She was in luck—she had electricity today. She boiled the soothing herbal tea to calm her nerves and whispered a quick prayer to her guardian angel. Things will be fine, she assured herself.
29 VEINTINUEVE
Sitting on his bed, Luisito emptied out his book bag. He would start with math homework, which came the easiest to him. Tommy was downstairs raiding the kitchen for snacks. Sonia knocked on his door.
“Meeting in my room in five minutes,” she said, gesturing toward it with her glass of chocolate milk.
“Here, do you want a doughnut?” Tommy said, offering a plate to Luisito as he walked into Sonia’s room.
“Okay, what’s new?” Luisito asked, taking a bite of his doughnut.
“Well, you tell us,” Sonia said.
“I spoke to your mom and she said she would find a way,” Luisito said.
“Okay, but did she say when?” Sonia asked.
“I haven’t had a chance to speak to her again,” Luisito said.
He glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of a man with blond hair in a car across the street. He got up to take a closer look. The car drove off suddenly.
“What are you looking at?” Tommy asked.
“I thought I saw that man who seems to be following us,” Luisito said.
“Do you think he has anything to do with the secret?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t know,” Luisito said.
“La cena está servida,” Miguel called upstairs.
“Let’s go, you heard Dad. Dinner is served,” Sonia said. “When I’m nervous I get very hungry.”
Everyone took his or her seat at the table and they said a prayer. Then they began passing around the fluffy white rice, juicy pork, and steaming black beans. There were also sweet golden plantains.
“You know, Tía Rosie,” Luisito said as they ate, “I just saw that car that passes by often.”
“And we keep seeing people following us,” Tommy added.
“Have you written down the license plate number of the car?” José asked.
“I got half the number of one car,” Luisito said, “but they are quick and it’s not just one car. We see different people in different places. Always men.”
“You know,” Miguel said, “I thought I saw someone looking at me the other day when I was leaving work.”
“I will call a friend of mine from the police department and ask him what he thinks,” José said.
“He is going to think we are crazy,” Sonia said. “Really, Dad?”
“Well, let’s not worry too much,” Rosie said, looking at Elena with concern. “With so many of us in and out of this house I don’t think they can rob us. But maybe you should talk to your friend anyway, José.”
“Yes, I will do that,” José said.
“Now, I was thinking we could go to Miami for Christmas. What do you all think?” Rosie said, changing the subject quickly. She panned her eyes around the table.
“I don’t think I can ask for time off from work,” Miguel said.
“José, can you try asking Raulito?” Rosie asked, referring to José’s friend who was now Miguel’s boss. “Maybe you can tell him it’s a family vacation and you need a break.”
“If Miguel can come, I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Elena said.
“We need to tell Abuela Maricusa. Christmas is in a few weeks,” Sonia said, breaking a piece of soft Cuban bread.
Luisito ate
quietly, not knowing whether to be relieved or nervous that his plan to go to Miami was working out. More than anything, he wanted to fulfill his promise to Abuela, but he was getting the feeling that it was no ordinary message he was about to deliver. He caught his aunt’s eye and realized she was thinking the same thing.
30 TREINTA
Abuela went to the bodeguita to get her ration of food for the month. The line wasn’t that long today. She stood there chatting with the neighbors about the weather and the latest gossip about who was getting married and who was divorcing whom. There wasn’t much else that was safe to talk about in Cuba.
When it was Abuela’s turn she presented her ration book and was given her small bag of rice and beans and twenty slices of bread. This meant that there were some days she wouldn’t eat bread or she would have to cut the slices in half to make it last longer.
She took a back way home to her apartment building. She looked back a few times, but she wasn’t being followed. She guessed that the government had given up on her. They finally realize my life is too boring, Abuela mused. The thought made her laugh.
Abuela took a siesta on the bed that used to be Elena’s and Miguel’s. She awoke to the laughter and singing of people walking in the streets. She missed her family. She decided to go to church and pray her rosary in the chapel. Maybe she would even see the priest and have a chance to chat.
She walked out of the building and down the road. A lovely November breeze swept her face. It gave her a chill. She put on the thin black sweater she was carrying.
La Iglesia de la Merced was around the corner. This place was her oasis, her haven. She walked in, made the sign of the cross, and scanned the church. There was only one other elderly woman praying the rosary. The elderly who didn’t work were the only ones who were somewhat free to go to church, because they couldn’t be fired from work or ridiculed at school.
Abuela sat in one of the pews in front of the statue of our Lady of Lourdes, and she started to pray the rosary. After a while she saw the other lady leave. When she was praying the third joyful mystery she suddenly noticed a shadow in front of her. Then from behind her pew a hand reached over and grabbed onto her shoulder. She looked down at it before she turned around. It was heavy and big—definitely a man’s hand. Probably a beggar, she thought.
“Maria Elena,” said a hoarse voice.
She turned around and stared directly into the face of the man who had been following her.
“Please take your hand off me,” she said sternly. The man promptly removed his hand. She could see his face clearly, and she was certain it was the man who had been watching her apartment.
“Do you know these people?” he said, taking out pictures of Luisito playing basketball in front of Rosie’s house.
“Oh, Luisito!” Abuela said, taking the pictures.
“I just want you to know that we are keeping an eye on your family. You know us and what we are capable of doing. We are everywhere,” the man said, stressing the last few words.
Abuela was not one who was easily intimidated, and although she wanted to cry, she swallowed hard and faked a smile.
“Do you have more?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him for months.”
The man stared hard at her for a moment and then threw the pictures on her lap and left.
Abuela took a deep breath. She sat in the pew fingering the pictures and finishing her rosary. She didn’t have the strength to get up. Her legs were trembling. She always tried to remain strong in front of the communists, those intolerant dictators. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. She went from feeling scared to angry to courageous.
She stared at the pictures of Luisito happily playing basketball with friends. He was dressed so well and looked so healthy. He even had brand-new American sneakers just like the ones he had always dreamed of. Abuela walked home slowly. No one was following her. When she got home she went straight to her bedroom, closed the door, and started to weep, shaken by the experience. She prayed that they wouldn’t hurt her family. She might be old, but she knew that she wasn’t someone they wanted to reckon with.
31 TREINTA Y UNO
The days seemed so long for FBI Agent John Stewart. He trailed Jorge and Antonio all day and sometimes long into the night until his replacement took over. These men had been seen with some others who were suspected of having ties with the Cuban government. After a few calls and some background checks, Agent Stewart discovered that the men did not have fulltime jobs. Yet they often visited nightclubs and expensive restaurants, and occasionally went on shopping sprees. Who—or what—was financing their lavish lifestyle? Was it drugs, counterfeit money, or burglary?
Or could they be Cuban spies? Agent Stewart was part of the Foreign Counterintelligence Squad of the FBI, better known as the FCI. He had often followed Cubans as they spied on prominent Cuban exiles. He had an advantage in his Anglo looks—blond hair, fair complexion, slight freckles, and blue eyes—that belied his fluency in Spanish. He had been raised in the Spanish-speaking neighborhood of New Jersey’s Union City and understood the language perfectly. Even in crowded elevators or on buses people spoke freely in Spanish in front of him, never suspecting that someone who looked like him would understand anything they were saying.
Sometimes spies infiltrated Cuban exile organizations in Florida pretending they were just regular citizens. Agent Stewart and his men watched them closely until they had hard facts that warranted an arrest. Other times these spies would participate in demonstrations and act disorderly just to give the exile community a bad name. But if these men were spies, why were they stalking this ordinary family in the suburbs of Maryland?
The information Agent Stewart had on the Galleti family raised no red flags. José Galleti was a Cuban architect who owned his own firm. His wife, Rosie, worked with him as office manager. They had two children, Sonia and Thomas, who attended Big Spring High School. They weren’t involved in anything political and had no active records or police files. Rosie had family who had just arrived from Cuba, Miguel and Elena Ramirez and their son, Luis. They had also been regular citizens in Cuba. They had not even been active members of the Communist party. Day after day, Agent Stewart observed how the men drove by the Galleti home, Miguel’s workplace, and the high school. They were definitely after this particular family. The question was, why? There was really no logical reason—yet.
This case had to be handled very carefully. He could not arrest anyone just for driving by someone’s house or for bumping into someone more than once in a public place. He and his men were following their trail everywhere now. Recently he had even pretended he was a reporter at Luisito’s basketball games just to keep an eye on the spies and on the family.
Today was the perfect morning to check out the spies’ rented apartment in Baltimore. What criminal activity were these men up to? He parked his car a block away. With a warrant in his pocket, he walked into the lobby, dressed casually to blend in with the other resisdents. The complex had several apartments, and because the renters changed often, the residents didn’t know one another very well. So no one questioned him as he walked right to the apartment as if it were his own. He knocked several times on the door of apartment 212 but no one was home. He took out a master key and tried it. Click. The door opened. The apartment smelled of tobacco combined with some kind of perfumed incense.
He went toward the kitchen. There were dirty dishes stacked in the sink. In the living room, he placed a bugging device inside one of the chrome legs of the coffee table.
He looked around the bedroom. In one corner he saw a small transistor radio, the kind that could be used to communicate with Cuba. On the other side of the room two large duffle bags were piled one on top of the other. From the amount of luggage they had, it seemed the men would not be in the country for very long. They probably packed light so that they could move quickly. A makeshift clothesline in the walk-in closet held several black and white photos as they dried. Some were of Luis and his friends at sc
hool, others were of Rosie and Elena at stores, of Miguel leaving his workplace, and of the front of the Galleti’s house. The only other room in the apartment had a sign: No entre—Do not enter. That must be where they developed their rolls of film. Agent Stewart did not enter the room. He didn’t want to alert them by possibly exposing any film.
He saw little paperwork around, so he couldn’t get any information that way. Then he saw a photo of the image of Our Lady of Charity in a Cuban church. He knew this was his first clue. These men wouldn’t have this picture with them for prayer. There was something important about this image, and he needed to find out what.
32 TREINTA Y DOS
The night before they left, Luisito’s family loaded the car with all their suitcases. They were ready to leave for Miami. Miguel’s boss had given him some time off. Luisito and Rosie had their plan all worked out. Once they arrived, Rosie would find an excuse to take Luisito to La Ermita de la Caridad in Miami. There he would quickly deliver his message. It’s a good thing he had decided to tell Rosie—this was turning out to be easier than he’d expected.
Early the next morning, the whole family crammed into the car. José, Rosie, and Sonia took the spacious vinyl front seat. Miguel, Elena, Luisito, and Tommy sat in the back.
“I brought coffee and my favorite crackers!” Rosie said.
“Well, then we are all set,” José laughed.
Luisito rested his head back and slept as his parents and the Galletis spoke softly.
After several hours, they stopped at a rest area.
“Finally, we get to stretch our legs,” Tommy said.
“No importa,” Luisito said. “Try a raft for about four days.”
“Well, now that you put it that way …” Tommy said, smiling.
They bought a quick breakfast and brought it back to the car to eat. Between the food and the moving vehicle, Luisito slowly drifted in and out of sleep. He would soon be in Miami. But instead of a sense of accomplishment, he felt uneasy about the whole thing.
Mission Libertad Page 10