Flight to Freedom
Page 1
FIRST PERSON FICTION
Flight to
Freedom
Ana Veciana-Suarez
For my children, Renee, Leonardo,
Christopher, Benjamin, and Nicholas,
so they will always remember
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Havana, Cuba 1967
Sunday, 2nd of April
Tuesday, 4th of April
Thursday, 6th of April
Saturday, 8th of April
Monday, 10th of April
Friday, 14th of April
Saturday, 15th of April
Monday, 17th of April
Thursday, 20th of April
Monday, 24th of April
Wednesday, 26th of April
Friday, 28th of April
Sunday, 30th of April
Wednesday, 3rd of May
Friday, 5th of May
Saturday, 6th of May
Tuesday, 9th of May
Sunday, 14th of May
Tuesday, 16th of May
Friday, 19th of May
Saturday, 20th of May
Sunday, 21st of May
Tuesday, 23rd of May
Sunday, 28th of May
Wednesday, 31st of May
Later
Monday, 19th of June
Tuesday, 20th of June
Saturday, 1st of July
Friday, 7th of July
Saturday, 8th of July
Thursday, 13th of July
Wednesday, 26th of July
Tuesday, 8th of August
Saturday, 12th of August
Tuesday, 15th of August
Friday, 18th of August
Miami, Florida
Sunday, 20th of August
Monday, 21st of August
Wednesday, 23rd of August
Thursday, 24th of August
Friday, 25th of August
Sunday, 27th of August
Tuesday, 29th of August
Wednesday, 30th of August
Friday, 1st of September
Tuesday, 5th of September
Later
Wednesday, 6th of September
Thursday, 7th of September
Saturday, 9th of September
Monday, 11th of September
Friday, 15th of September
Later
Sunday, 17th of September
Monday, 18th of September
Tuesday, 19th of September
Tuesday, 26th of September
Wednesday, 27th of September
Friday, 29th of September
Sunday, 1st of October
Wednesday, 4th of October
Friday, 6th of October
Tuesday, 10th of October
Thursday, 12th of October
Friday, 13th of October
Sunday, 15th of October
Friday, 20th of October
Saturday, 21st of October
Tuesday, 24th of October
Thursday, 26th of October
Friday, 27th of October
Tuesday, 31st of October
Friday, 3rd of November
Tuesday, 7th of November
Friday, 10th of November
Wednesday, 15th of November
Thursday, 16th of November
Friday, 17th of November
Saturday, 18th of November
Sunday, 19th of November
Monday, 20th of November
Wednesday, 22nd of November
Thursday, 23rd of November
Saturday, 25th of November
Tuesday, 28th of November
Sunday, 3rd of December
Monday, 4th of December
Thursday, 7th of December
Friday, 8th of December
Saturday, 9th of December
Sunday, 10th of December
Tuesday, 12th of December
Thursday, 14th of December
Saturday, 16th of December
Monday, 18th of December
Wednesday, 20th of December
Friday, 22nd of December
Sunday, 24th of December
Later
Wednesday, 27th of December
Sunday, 31st of December
1968
Thursday, 4th of January
Saturday, 6th of January
Monday, 8th of January
Friday, 12th of January
Saturday, 13th of January
Tuesday, 16th of January
Thursday, 18th of January
Saturday, 20th of January
Later
Sunday, 21st of January
Monday, 22nd of January
Tuesday, 23rd of January
Thursday, 25th of January
Friday, 26th of January
Monday, 29th of January
Tuesday, 30th of January
Thursday, 1st of February
Saturday, 3rd of February
Sunday, 4th of February
Monday, 5th of February
Tuesday, 6th of February
Wednesday, 7th of February
Thursday, 8th of February
Saturday, 10th of February
Monday, 12th of February
Monday, 19th of February
Tuesday, 20th of February
Wednesday, 21st of February
Friday, 23rd of February
Saturday, 24th of February
Tuesday, 27th of February
Wednesday, 28th of February
Thursday, 29th of February
Friday, 1st of March
Saturday, 2nd of March
Sunday, 3rd of March
Monday, 4th of March
Wednesday, 6th of March
Thursday, 7th of March
Saturday, 9th of March
Tuesday, 12th of March
Wednesday, 13th of March
Friday, 15th of March
Saturday, 16th of March
Later
Before bed
Sunday, 17th of March
Monday, 18th of March
Tuesday, 19th of March
Friday, 22nd of March
Thursday, 28th of March
Sunday, 31st of March
Monday, 1st of April
Wednesday, 3rd of April
Sunday, 7th of April
Tuesday, the 9th of April
Wednesday, 10th of April
Sunday, 14th of April
Wednesday, 17th of April
Friday, 19th of April
Sunday, 21st of April
Wednesday, 24th of April
Friday, 26th of April
Saturday, 27th of April
Monday, 29th of April
Tuesday, 30th of April
Wednesday, 1st of May
Thursday, 2nd of May
Later
In the middle of the night
Friday, 3rd of May
Sunday, 5th of May
Tuesday, 7th of May
Wednesday, 8th of May
Saturday, 11th of May
Sunday, 12th of May
Thursday, 16th of May
Saturday, 18th of May
Sunday, 19th of May
Monday, 20th of May
Wednesday, 22nd of May
Thursday, 23rd of May
Saturday, 25th of May
Monday, 27th of May
Wednesday, 29th of May
Friday, 31st of May
Saturday, 1st of June
Monday, 3rd of June
Thursday, 6th of June
Friday, 7th of June
Saturday, 8th of June
Sunday, 9th of June
Tuesday, 11th o
f June
Thursday, 13th of June
Friday, 14th of June
Sunday, 16th of June
Later
Monday, 17th of June
Tuesday, 18th of June
Friday 21st of June
Saturday, 22nd of June
Wednesday, 26th of June
Sunday, 30th of June
Thursday, 4th of July
My Personal Exodus
Acknowledgments
Discussion Points
From The Stone Goddess
Other First Person Fiction titles
Copyright
Havana, Cuba
1967
Sunday, 2nd of April
Here we are, you and I, alone together. Forever. Or until these pages are filled with my handwriting. You are my first diary. Papi gave you to me this morning, before he left for the countryside. “For my studious daughter,” he said. (That’s me.) He had tears in his eyes when he said this, and his square chin quivered.
He gave Ileana, who, at sixteen, is three years older than I, a beautiful tortoiseshell compact with face powder, and for our younger sister, Ana María, a small rag doll with embroidered eyes and yarn for hair. I do not know if he got anything for Pepito because my brother was drafted into the army last fall. Our gifts are treasures in these rationed times, so I thanked him with many hugs and kisses. I did not want to cry in front of him because that would make him feel worse, so I tried to concentrate on his thick, black mustache.
Papi must work in the fields, harvesting coffee, so we can leave Cuba. The government assigns all the heads of households to la agricultura before a family can emigrate. Working the fields can be backbreaking toil under terrible conditions, especially for men like my father who are city folk and know nothing about farming. But what else can he do? Like everyone who requests permission to leave the country, he was fired from his job. We have had to depend on our savings and the generosity of family. Some do not even have that to fall back on. “All in all,” Mami keeps reminding us, “we have been lucky.”
We do not know exactly when we will be allowed to travel, but Papi has already been told that our exit permits and U.S. visas are being processed. When the paperwork is complete, we will board an airplane for Miami, to join my father’s brother and his family. My paternal grandparents, Abuelo Tony and Abuela María, are there, too. We will be gone only a short time, Papi said, until the political situation improves here on the island. To prove she believes this, Mami had her long brown hair, which she liked to wear in a chignon, cut short like a boy’s. She will grow it back only after we return. She has offered this as a sacrifice to Our Lady of Charity in hopes that our stay in the United States will not be long.
Tuesday, 4th of April
Ana Mari came home crying because other pupils in her school are calling her gusana. Everyone calls the Cuban exiles in Miami “worms,” and since we will soon be going there, they insult us in that way, too. Those who know we have applied to leave the country think we are turncoats because we are abandoning the revolution and fleeing to the imperialist yanquis in the north. Papi says we must leave because the government has made indoctrination more important than the study of mathematics and grammar. Two years ago, when Ana Mari was entering kindergarten, the teacher asked her class if they believed God existed. Ana Mari and a few other students said yes, and were told to close their eyes and ask God for a piece of candy. When they opened their eyes, their hands were empty. Then the teacher asked them to close their eyes again and ask Fidel Castro, leader of the revolution, for candy. When they did, the teacher placed a piece of candy in each of the outstretched hands.
“There is no God,” the teacher told the class. “There is only Fidel.”
Oh, Papi was angry when he heard that! He got so red in the face. I think that is when he decided we could not continue living here.
April is the anniversary of the Bay of Pigs battle, when a group of exiles, with the help of the United States, tried to attack Cuba but failed. In Ana Mari’s first grade book, there is a poem titled “Girón” that talks about the invasion. “One time, in April,” it says, “the Yankees attacked us. They sent a lot of bad people. They wanted to destroy the free Cuba. The people defeated them. Fidel led the fight.”
We hear stories like this all the time in school, and my parents worry that the government is trying to poison our minds. Mami and Papi tell us not to believe everything we hear in the classroom because it is Communist propaganda. The only way to get away from this is to leave our home, yet I am scared. I am scared of a strange place, a strange language, a strange people. I am scared of leaving my friends behind, and my maternal grandparents, and my brother. When will we see them again?
Thursday, 6th of April
Tío Camilo came into town from his farm in Matanzas and brought us all kinds of fresh fruit, a big ham, and a pork leg. Mami immediately hid whatever she could in the freezer and kissed and hugged her older brother as if he were one of the Three Kings bearing gifts on the Epiphany. In a way, I guess he is. It is impossible to find the food he brought us in any of the stores of the city. He also risked being thrown in jail for transporting these goods without government approval. But Tío Camilo doesn’t seem to mind the danger. When Mami warned him to be careful, he told her, “Sister, under this government we must get approval to breathe. What am I to do? Suffocate?”
He complained that Fidel Castro had sworn to the people that his revolution was as Cuban as the palm trees. “Ha! Ha!” he laughed. “With all those Russians crawling around, no? This revolution is more like a guava fruit—green on the outside and red on the inside.”
Saturday, 8th of April
You would not believe what happened when I was waiting in line with Mami for our soap ration. She had heard from a neighbor, who heard it from her cousin’s mother-in-law, that a shipment had arrived, so off we went at dawn. By the time we got there, there was already a long line, but we waited anyway. And waited. And waited. The day was hot and people were acting nasty. A fight broke out between two men ahead of us, but nobody tried to stop it because no one wanted to lose their place in line. Some people were cheering the tall skinny man, but I thought the fat, bald one was getting in more punches. As the men began to circle around each other, an old lady behind us screamed. It was a scream to make your hair stand on end.
Mami and I turned around and saw an old man in a yellow guayabera shirt lying on the street in a crumpled heap. The fat man and the skinny one stopped fighting, and people began to call out for a doctor. Finally a young woman broke through the ranks and identified herself as a medical worker in a lab. She bent over the man and pressed her fingers to his wrist. She said he was dead. We all sighed, but nobody moved. My mother’s hands were shaking and her face was white. She ordered me to face the front and stop staring, but when she wasn’t watching, I sneaked some peeks at the dead man. As the line moved, the people behind us simply stepped over him. Eventually two men in blue uniforms came with a stretcher and carried him away.
By the time it was our turn, the government store had already run out of soap. We wasted all that time, and now I cannot get the image of the dead man out of my mind. How horrible to die that way, without family or friends around you, waiting in line for some stupid rationed soap.
Monday, 10th of April
While waiting for the bus, Ileana spotted her best friend Carmen across the street. (Actually, I should write former best friend. They haven’t talked in two or three years.) Ileana called to her and Carmen turned to look at us, but then continued on her way as if we didn’t exist. Maybe she did not recognize who we were. But Ileana says she ignored us on purpose. Ileana and Carmen used to do everything together, so much so that Mami named them The Twins. But Carmen’s father became a bigwig in the Communist Party, and he even has a car and a driver and is allowed to travel outside the island. So now Carmen refuses to speak to Ileana. She does not return her phone calls and ignores my sister as if she were a dead cockroach. I
leana does not blame Carmen. She is sure Carmen’s parents prohibit her from socializing with our family because we are counterrevolutionary.
A lot of friends, neighbors, and even relatives do not get along anymore because the grown-ups argue about who is making the country’s rules. After the husband of Mami’s cousin Cynthia was executed by the paredón firing squad for trying to overthrow the government, Cynthia moved back to her parents’ farm in Camaguey. Before she left, members of her neighborhood’s Committee for the Defense of the Revolution threw tomatoes at her house, and she was fired from her secretarial job. I will never forget the pain and anger I saw in Cynthia’s eyes on the day she left, the same look our old dog Mancha had when we found her after she was hit by an automobile.
Friday, 14th of April
I have already packed for La Escuela al Campo program in Pinar del Rio. My small suitcase bears my name: Yara García. We will be gone for forty-five days in this school-to-country program, but we are not allowed to take much—a few changes of clothes, a bucket for our baths, the standard wooden flip-flops, and a hat. In school we are told that the purpose of this special school is to educate students in agriculture and farmwork because they are important parts of the island’s economy, but no one believes that line. Papi says it is just an excuse to obtain free farm labor.
Though I am finishing the seventh grade, this will be my first time at the country school. Last summer my parents were able to get a medical waiver because I had mononucleosis. Poor Ileana has never been excused. She has left home every year since she was twelve to help harvest the tobacco crop. She does not like to talk much about her experiences, except to say that it is hard work. We are supposed to attend school in the afternoon during this program, but Ileana says that rarely happens because there is too much to do in the fields and you work from dawn to nightfall, six days a week.
Mami worries about the bad influences I will encounter. I have no idea what she means and, quite honestly, I am a little excited about being away from home for the first time.
Saturday, 15th of April
My best friend Ofelia will be going to a different Escuela al Campo. She was heartbroken that we would not be together, but her parents have arranged for her to join the Communist Youth Union, and I think that may be why she will attend another program. We are all members of the Pioneers in school, and we are instructed to perform neighborhood watches to keep an eye on neighbors who might not be completely committed to the revolution. Most of my friends do not take this role very seriously because none of us cares too much about politics. We would rather play among ourselves or get together to listen to the radio. But when you are part of the Communist Youth Union, as Ofelia is, this is serious business. She will have to take part in conferences, marches, rallies, and undergo military training. I cannot imagine Ofelia doing this. She would prefer to dance or drink a tropical fruit juice with that Luis boy she likes so much, but I guess she has to do what her parents tell her to. Like the rest of us.