by Judd Vowell
He had predicted my idea, having Jessica fire on the men as they chased me into the woods. And he had predicted the hunters’ response, to turn and run from the gunfire. But he also had to time and place his bombs perfectly for them to register their full effect.
He had army-crawled his way through the tall wheat-like grass, just behind the hunters’ rushing onslaught. He had spaced out four of the explosives in a diamond pattern, right in the path that the assaulting men had just taken. He had then made the rest of his way to the cover of the trees and waited. His bombs had electronic timers taken from digital clocks he had collected. Calculating the time it would take for me to draw the hunters in, for Jessica to shoot at them, and for them to react and retreat, Henry had set the timers for 1 minute and 15 seconds each.
As the hunters came bolting from the woods, Henry knew his time calculations had been perfect. The savages reached the explosives just as they detonated, with fire and shrapnel coming at them from all directions. Two died instantly. The other two were mortally wounded.
Thank God for Henry’s bombs.
24.
A NTI-Authority – Leader of the New Unknown (continued)
Part Three: Growing Up
On New Year’s Day, 1959, Fidel Castro’s six-year revolution was realized as rebels took the cities of Santa Clara and then Havana. The newly established Communist party transformed Cuba from vibrant to banal with a wave of government regulations and sanctions. Under the National Institute of Agrarian Reform, traditional family-operated tobacco farms were confiscated and re-distributed into collectives of common farmers. The Sebastian and Cole Cigar Company suffered dramatically.
Alejandro flew home from Tampa three days after the birth of his son Salvador. He was misguidedly confident that he could maintain his company, his tradition, and his family. It took months for the drastic government changes to take hold, but Alejandro could see the writing on the wall early. He shored up his assets. He pulled money from his accounts. He assured his employees that the company was stable. But his friends in the government were gone, ousted by the new regime. And his partners in America were worried. The day Alejandro received notice of the annexation of the Sebastian farm, he went to his patio and wept. The work of four proud generations was no longer his. He cursed the land, and he chose to challenge his new country.
Before he sat to write his wife and infant son, Alejandro lit a cigar from his great-grandfather’s humidor, which was consistently stocked with the freshest product from the family farm. He poured himself a rum and inhaled the tobacco that had created an empire. Once he had loosened his thoughts enough to put truth onto paper, he described the desperation he now felt for himself and the hatred he felt for his Cuba. He told of his love for Lola, but even more for his baby Salvador. The son he may never know, but who he would always hold in his heart. He wrote of his plans, to flee to the Escambray Mountains, where he had heard rumor of a counterrevolution taking shape. He had decided that his only remaining path in life was to fight for what his country once was.
Alejandro then packaged his letter with the money he had collected from his bank accounts before the new government was able to seize it. Along with his savings in the United States, it would be enough to take care of Lola and Salvador for many years. He entrusted the package with one of his most loyal office workers, a man who planned to escape to Florida by boat in a few days. Alejandro then walked the long drive leading from the Sebastian farm for the last time. He turned at the end of it and blew a kiss to his family’s former lifeblood. Then he went to join the ranks of the resistance.
◊◊◊
Alejandro’s courier arrived at Lola’s door three weeks later. He delivered the letter, but there was no money. Between boat captains and border agents, Alejandro’s Cuban nest-egg had been spent. Lola was a mess, left husbandless in a place where she had never wanted to be. Her only solace was her new baby Salvador.
1960s Tampa became a desolate place for its Cuban population. As the cigar manufacturing of the city vanished with the decreasing tobacco exports out of the home country, so did the biggest source of income for its immigrants. It wasn’t long until Lola’s American savings account was depleted. She was forced to take work where she could find it. First as a hotel maid, then as a waitress. Salvador spent his days in a makeshift daycare, run by an older Cuban immigrant woman they called Miss Maria who had lived in Tampa for most of her life. By all accounts, he was a quiet and happy baby, unaffected by his difficult surroundings. In the beginning, Lola lived only for him.
Lola tried for a couple of years. At least that’s what Salvador told himself later in life. But it was too much desperation and despair for her. She dropped him off at Miss Maria’s on a humid August morning and never came back.
◊◊◊
Maria de la Coba took care of Salvador as if he was her own child. Her heart was soft for children, even though she had none of her own. She had come to Tampa just before America’s Great Depression, when the cigar business was booming. She had seen one giant stroke of hardship consume her community before, and she had seen that community recover. She never understood Lola’s choice, but she never questioned her role in Lola’s absence. Salvador was fortunate to have her in his life, and this he never forgot.
Miss Maria taught young Salvador how to read and write, both Spanish and English. He was bright, and showed a great hunger for knowledge early. She enrolled him in school. She helped him with homework. He excelled, and his teachers fostered his advance. As he neared high school age, his guidance counselor began discussions with him about private school. The school had a scholarship program for under-privileged, over-achieving students from local minority groups. Salvador’s counselor was confident that he would qualify. The school was miles across town, but the scholarship included boarding for students with transportation challenges. With Miss Maria’s blessing, Salvador applied and was promptly accepted.
He thrived in his new environment, surrounded by higher-class teenagers. Salvador had always exuded a natural charm that made him popular in any group. He fit in with the rich kids just fine. And he was his teachers’ favorite, with a sharp mind and a clever sense of humor. By his junior year, he was considered a shoe-in at any college he may want to attend. Life for Salvador was about to take him further than he could imagine, when news of Miss Maria’s death shook him to his core.
25.
W e were visiting Meg’s father at the farm when her back pain returned. The same pain she had felt in the early stages of her conquered cancer. Dr. Raj had forewarned us that the chance of a recurrence was possible. He had said it with that gentle, healing voice – “Not probable…” *wink* “But possible.” I could tell by the look on Meg’s face when she told me that she was scared.
Things had been getting strange that winter. More protests and sit-ins. Organized attacks on police precincts in the larger cities. Weekly marches on state capitols. It felt dangerous. So we decided to take a couple of weeks off and drive the kids over to Meg’s farm to see their granddad. Business had gotten slow anyway. And we didn’t know when we’d get another chance to visit. Meg’s father was still traveling overseas for business, even more than before her mother died.
The impromptu vacation had been idyllic for the first ten days. The farm was expansive, but not wild. We could let the kids spend the days on their own, exploring and adventuring, without worry. And Meg’s father let me be, for the most part. He had always been distant. I had always liked that. I got to relax and forget about work for a few days, and Meg got to rejuvenate her body and mind. She needed that every now and again since her cancer battle. The spiritual side of Dr. Raj’s treatment had never left her.
But there was no rejuvenation and revitalization for Meg on that trip. I had sensed the distraction before she brought it up that Wednesday morning.
“Sit down, Gordon,” she said. Shit. Being asked to sit down was like someone telling you about a sucker punch before they sucker-punched you. I braced mysel
f. “It’s back.”
So matter-of-fact. Her competitive nature always came out when we discussed the serious stuff. What’s-the-problem-and-how-do-we-solve-it attitude. I knew what she was talking about, what was “back.” But I played the inevitable conversation game that Meg hated so much. “What are you talking about?”
“The tumor, Gordon. I can feel it, grabbing my spine with its tentacles again. There’s no other feeling like it in the world.”
“How long?” I asked desperately.
“There was some pain a few weeks ago that never went away. But now I can feel...it.”
We sat silently for a long period of time. Maybe ten minutes, maybe twenty. We had already been through so much pain and heartache and struggle. It started to seem like it may never end. Finally, I summoned the strength to get up and go to her.
“I know, Meggy. Here we go again,” I comforted. “But listen. We go home, we go see Dr. Raj, and we win. Just like before. It’s the only way. Right?”
“I suppose,” she answered resignedly. “I’m just ready for our life to be calm and peaceful. For us to be happy and healthy. Everyone else is. Why not us?”
I wished I could answer. I wanted to answer. But I didn’t have it in me. I couldn’t find it. I had searched for it many sleepless nights, wondering why we were suffering when so many others weren’t. But we didn’t know true suffering. If we were being honest with ourselves, we still had it so much better than so many in the world. But that was all about to change.
26.
T he two remaining hunters who had survived Henry’s surprise bombing were silent within minutes. The massive bleeding from their multiple wounds didn’t take long. Unconscious and soon to be dead, we put them out of our minds and made for the edge of the woods.
I was mildly concerned for the safety of the women down the road. They posed no threat, as they were most likely heavily sedated with homegrown drugs. Women on those types of expeditions were used for nightly entertainment, and the drugs ensured their vulnerability. Rural farms were known to grow various opiate hybrids just for this purpose. The expeditions could last days or weeks. Even if they understood where they were once they awoke from their narcotic haze, they wouldn’t survive the new wilderness. I couldn’t think about that then. Compassion had become a thing of the past, even for us nice guys.
I thought it was best to travel the rest of the day just inside the trees alongside the highway. After all, Henry’s bombs could have been heard by anyone walking the road close by. The hiking would be tougher, but we needed to stay out of sight for a few miles.
We didn’t speak much the rest of that day. I had no idea what to say, but I knew I had to say something. Being a parent had changed me. For the better, I hoped. I never cared for confrontation or hard discussions. But you can’t avoid them as a parent. Unless you want to seriously screw up your kids. So I used the rest of the day’s journey to think of what I’d say that night. I didn’t think there was any right or wrong way to say it, but we had to talk.
We veered deeper into the woods before sunset to make camp, just as we did every night. Henry and I set up the tent while Jessica scoured the area for firewood. I had told her not too much that evening. I didn’t want to attract any extra attention considering that afternoon’s incident, so we would keep the fire small. We prepared our dinner from the few canned goods we were carrying, and we sat around the fire to eat. Dinnertime had always been the time for quiet, for family conversation. It seemed like a good enough time to broach the subject.
“We had quite a day, guys,” I began. “I want to talk about it.”
They didn’t look up from their meals. Still teenagers in so many ways.
“Ok, listen, I know you guys are going through some crazy emotions right now. I guess I just want to make sure you know you can talk about them. To me, to each other. But I don’t think it’s best to not talk about it at all.”
More silence.
“Well, here goes,” I tried. “I’m going to tell you how I feel about everything, and you guys can just listen.” There was no way in hell I was going to let them off without discussing what had happened. It was one thing to kill an animal, but these kids, my kids, had taken the lives of men. I had to know that they were going to be ok. “I think what the both of you did today was incredibly brave. It may feel like it wasn’t right now, like you’ve done the lowest thing a human being can do. But what you did took courage.” I thought. “I’m proud of you guys. And I want to say thank you for saving my life.”
Jessica spoke first. “I feel like I should feel worse about it, but I don’t. Those men were trying to kill us.”
“That’s right, Jess,” I said. “You had no choice but to defend yourself. We had no choice. And if we’re put in that situation again, we’ll do the same thing.” Henry still didn’t have anything to say, always the introvert. I wanted to get something out of him. “Henry, I hope you know that what you did back there was amazingly clever. It was smarter than anything I could have ever thought up. Because of you, we don’t have to look over our shoulders the rest of the trip.”
“Yeah, Dad, I guess so. But I never intended to use those explosives that way. I just knew I had to do something.”
“Well, you did good, son. Very good.” I had to admit that I felt a sense of pride, even though I wasn’t so sure of what I was proud. “I realized today that each of you has very special talents that you can use to survive in this new world. Our society has become survival of the fittest in its most natural sense.” I paused, wanting to deliver this next line with emphasis. “You guys are going to be the fittest, as long as you keep your heads about you. Understand?”
They both nodded, and I could see tears in their eyes through the flickering firelight.
“Now listen,” I continued. “You’re going to have to grow up fast out here. Faster than I ever thought. But after today, I know you can do it. I know how strong you two are. Let’s stay focused on the mission.” Time to get them back on track mentally. “Let’s not forget about Mom. She’s the only reason we’re out here.”
With that, I stood and went to them. I sat in between them and put my arms around their shoulders. “Triumphs forever, guys,” I whispered as I gave them each a squeeze.
They answered the call at the same time, with the same heart. “Triumphs forever, Dad.”
27.
( Excerpt from Brave New Nothing: A Sociological Study of a Non-Social World, by Salvador Sebastian, copyright ANTI-Knowledge Publications. Recovered from corporate hacker Jacob Marsh’s last-known address, Baltimore, Maryland. The book was disseminated and analyzed once Sebastian became a household name.)
“...and with the rapid advance of technology negatively affecting our daily interactions, we have seen the human mind and society as a whole suffer. The relationships that fueled past generations’ productivity have become non-existent. The value and pride of a life’s work have disappeared. We have become completely dependent on computers, processors, and calculators. With that, we are losing the basic sets of skills that made us superior in the first place. We are, in fact, losing our humanity.”
28.
M eg called Dr. Raj’s office the first week of March. Six weeks before everything came crashing down. He scheduled an appointment for three days later. He wanted to see her right away. She was able to skip the better portion of the testing she had done two years earlier. Dr. Raj soon confirmed the recurring tumor and planned for surgery. Same gameplan as before. Remove cells, mutate them, return them to the battle. Then a regimen of high-powered medication and spiritual re-conditioning. The quicker the better.
We called a family meeting. Again. This one was tough. Life isn’t fair, kids. Best to learn it early on. Jessica and Henry would have to manage their time better this go-round. Their schoolwork was double what it used to be. And Mom would be gone for treatments every week. We were all going to have to carry a bigger load.
Surgery went well. Meg’s body had bounced back fro
m the last cancer fight to prime condition. She was running almost as much as she had in her twenties, and she had adopted a daily adherence to yoga. Physically, she was as strong as she’d ever been. My concern was her mind. Fighting for your life can take your thoughts to dark places. Doing it twice in three years would take all of our energy to keep those thoughts at bay.
As I sat with her in the recovery room, waiting for her to wake, I listened to her mumbling her way through some desperate dreamscape. Later, she described to me the vague memory of the realm of subconscious she had explored that day. She said she saw herself in a big black cast-iron bed with stark white sheets and pillows. She was blind with pain and sweat, and she called out for me. But there was no response. She knew I was gone, that I had to be gone. I had told her I would return, but she wasn’t sure in that moment of agony that I would. And if I didn’t, she would surely die. That was all she could remember.
I reassured her that I was there for her, no matter what. We brushed it off. During her first battle with cancer, Meg had become fascinated with dream meaning, a side effect of her spiritual study, I assumed. There were the typical dreams that we all experience every now and then. Late for a college exam, free-falling through midair. They had their interpretations, easily explained. But this one confounded Meg. She kept saying that it had felt too real to be a dream. I chalked it up to the surgery, the anesthesia. I told myself that I would never leave Meg to fight her battle alone. But she had seen a glimpse of our real future in her dream that day. And it’s the unthinkable things that we never see coming.