The Troubles of Johnny Cannon

by Isaiah Campbell

  We went back out to the hallway and worked on getting out of them snowsuits. None of us didn’t say nothing while we did that, I reckon they felt like I needed my space. They was right.

  I was getting my foot out of the left leg of the snowsuit and realized just how hungry I was. I started to ask if we could get some food, but I stopped myself. I remembered where I was. In the middle of a Commie country, at gunpoint, with a man who tricked my pa and had tried to take away my ma. Heck, he was the reason she was dead.

  I kept quiet. I could eat when I was free again.

  After we got all ready to go, we left the building and got back into the yellow car.

  “So, now do you trust me?” the Captain said.

  Not one bit.

  “I reckon them last words he told me was his last words ever,” I said. “ ‘Take care of Pa.’ How am I going to do that if I’m here?”

  He didn’t like that question too much.

  “Pete Cannon,” he said through clenched teeth, “will be fine. He’ll be in a federal prison where they’ll take care of him. Two hots and a cot.”

  “What if they kill him?”

  “Kennedy won’t kill anybody.”

  I clenched my fists.

  “I can’t believe you’d do a rat-fink thing like that to my pa. He ain’t never done nothing to you except loved the same woman you loved.”

  “I can’t believe you want to protect him so much,” he said, and he was halfway to yelling. “He’s never taken care of you. Never done what a father ought to do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” If that fella didn’t have a gun to my head, I’d have socked the Captain in the jaw.

  “He didn’t bother giving you the life you deserved. Never taught you how to be a man. Plus the bills, the money problems, everything he let fall on your plate.” He looked about fit to be tied. “Why, he never even explained the birds and the bees to you.”

  “Birds fly and bees make honey. I don’t need him to tell me that.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “How are babies made, Johnny?”

  He stumped me with that.

  “I don’t know. I ain’t never really cared.”

  “A man and a woman make the baby, and she’s pregnant with that baby for nine months. When is your birthday?”

  I knew that one. “July 6, 1948.”

  “When did Pete Cannon get let out of the hospital in New Orleans?”

  “It was a Christmas present. December 25, 1947.”

  “How many months are in between?”

  I had to do some counting, and I didn’t like the number.

  “Only six and a half. But, if it takes nine months from the time a baby’s made till a baby’s born, and Pa wasn’t out of the hospital but six months before I was born, then that means—”

  The Captain reached over and grabbed my hand real eager. It was like he’d been waiting for that moment for a while.

  “Son. I wanted to tell you.”

  Yeah, that was the straw that did it. I yanked my hand out of his and balled it up and I socked him right in the eye. The fella with the gun yelled at me and put the barrel right up to my forehead.

  The Captain waved him off. He was rubbing his eye something fierce.

  “Fine. Fidel was right, you aren’t ready. Maybe after you’ve sat in a cell for a while, then you’ll realize that this isn’t a bad turn of events for you.”

  We didn’t talk no more while we drove back to the fortress. They dragged me out of the car and threw me back into the cell with Carlos. And the whole time, I was trying to not think of what I knew was the truth.

  Pa wasn’t my pa. The Captain was.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  REMEMBER THE MAINE

  Welcome back, Johnny,” Carlos said to me. “Did you enjoy your big adventure?”

  I sat down in the dirt and really started feeling how bad things was. I couldn’t answer him or nothing, I just started blubbering.

  Dadgummit, I’d gone almost seven years without doing no crying, and now I’d done it twice in one day. Maybe it didn’t count as much since it was in Havana.

  It was funny, just a few days before, I would have paid money for Captain Morris to be my real father. But now, knowing that polecat’s blood was running through my veins, I felt like I needed an IV of Palmolive dish soap.

  Nobody tells you what to do when you find out you ain’t blood related to your own flesh and blood. But they do tell you what to do when you find out you’ve been duped. At least, they do in Alabama.

  We call it an Alabama Beat-Down, and Captain Morris was due about five of them. I just had to stop the waterworks first.

  I buried my face in the dirt so Carlos wouldn’t see me and I let my tears come out until they was all gone. I barely noticed that he’d come over and was patting me on the back.

  “Oh, chico, it’s going to be all right.”

  After my eyes was all dried up and I’d made a mudpie with tears, I rolled over and looked at him.

  “I’m sorry for making a mess of myself in front of you,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” he said, and he looked real sincere. “Around here, crying is necessary for survival.”

  “Well, that ain’t what I usually do.” I had to change the subject. We was getting too touchy-feely for my taste. I looked at his banged-up hands again. “What do you do? Or, what did you do? In the invasion, I mean.”

  He leaned back.

  “When we were in Nicaragua, I was the radio operator. I sent information about our training and preparations to a man who Raúl told me was sending it to Washington.” He sighed. “Only later did I learn he was actually sending it to Che Guevara.”

  “I think you was talking to my pa. WX5RJ?”

  He looked real shocked.

  “He didn’t know he was doing nothing wrong,” I said. “I swear. He got tricked same as you. And he’s in a heap of trouble now, same as you.”

  He processed that for a bit, then nodded.

  “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” he said. “During the invasion, I was a gunner for an American pilot. The only one to fly for us.”

  “My brother, Tommy.”

  Now he didn’t look shocked no more. He looked excited.

  “You are Corporal Cannon’s brother? And WX5RJ’s son?”

  I looked out at the Captain.

  “Yeah, I’m Pete Cannon’s son, so to speak.”

  “And you know Mr. Thomassen?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Then,” he said, and sat back, his whole face changing, “the universe has given us hope.”

  I looked at Castro, Che, Dr. Vega, and the Captain all standing together next to a pillar in the middle of the clearing.

  “What do you reckon they’re talking about?” I said.

  He came and looked at them with me.

  “What to do with you, I would imagine.”

  I tried to hear them talking, but it didn’t do no use. Even with that Superman in my pocket, I didn’t have no superpowers.

  “I thought they was going to keep me in this cell,” I said.

  “That is not a permanent solution,” he said. “I overheard them discussing it while you were sleeping. Castro is not willing to hold an American boy captive. He is trying to maintain the image of Cuba’s innocence, and keeping you prisoner will tarnish that image to the world. That’s why he wanted you to pledge allegiance to Cuba. Then you would simply be a defector.”

  “But I ain’t going to do that.”

  “So he needs to decide what to do with you. And those three men have three very different ideas.”

  I watched them more closer. They was all arguing pretty passionately with each other, and Castro was listening real intently.

  “Let me guess, Captain Morris wants to
take care of me himself.” I figured that ’cause he was pointing at me and then at his own chest.

  “Yes. Exiled into his custody,” Carlos said. “Raúl, on the other hand, wants to reprogram you. He says he’s studied brainwashing techniques and wants to use you as his test subject.”

  Dr. Vega was drawing circles on his own head and making like there was wires coming off. I really didn’t want to know the details of his plan.

  “What about Che?” I said. Then I noticed that he was acting like he was shooting a rifle at something. “Never mind, I think I can guess.”

  He squeezed my shoulder. “No worries. We will find a way. Somehow.”

  My nose was running and I wiped it on my hand. I left a streak of mud on my wrist. That’s when I realized my face had to be as dirty as a riverbank. I felt in my pockets for a hanky or something to wipe my face with. I didn’t have nothing but some wadded up notebook paper. I pulled it out and started wiping.

  “What’s that?” Carlos said.

  I looked at the paper more closer.

  “It’s a paper from my survival guide.”

  “Your what?”

  “I’ve collected all kinds of lessons from history. Figured it’d keep me out of trouble.” I started to wad the paper up. “Reckon I was wrong.”

  He stopped me before I tossed it.

  “What does it say?”

  The paper was from February 15.

  February 15, 1898—USS Maine Sunk in Havana Harbor.

  I remembered that story pretty good. The Cubans was trying to get free from Spain, kind of like how we Americans had tried to get free from England. And folks thought we ought to help the Cubans out. But we was staying out of the fight. Then somebody sunk our ship that we had parked in Havana Harbor, the USS Maine, and folks blamed the Spanish. So everybody got to yelling, “Remember the Maine,” and eventually we got in there and helped the Cubans find their freedom.

  And the lesson I wrote was real good too.

  The closer you stand to a fight, the more likely you are to get punched.

  But the other lesson, the one that I wrote down ’cause Eddie’d put a firecracker in my lunchbox, seemed more appropriate.

  If you’re going to blow something up, you’re going to have to run like hell.

  I showed it to Carlos. He started grinning.

  “That is my kind of plan. We just need to blow something up.” He started looking around.

  “That don’t seem like much of a plan at all,” I said.

  He looked shocked.

  “I thought you said you were Corporal Cannon’s brother? He told me you were brave and wild. Not timid like a mouse.”

  That got my gumption up a bit.

  “Yeah, well maybe that was before I saw him dead on the ice. That’s when I realized that the bad guys win a lot more than you think.”

  “They haven’t won yet,” Carlos said. “That’s why he is frozen.”

  “Captain Morris said he’s frozen so his family can bury him.”

  “That’s what they want you to think, chico. But really, he is frozen because Castro fears he may still lose.”

  “How? The Commies won. It’s all over.”

  “He fears America may successfully convince the world that the US was not involved in the invasion. Cuba’s victory will seem much smaller if they only defeated the exiles. If they defeated America as well, then they are on track to becoming a world power. Freezing your brother’s body means preserving evidence, in his mind, that the US was involved.”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble,” I said.

  “It’s priority number one to Castro that the world believe Cuba was innocent in the invasion and that America attacked them without reason.”

  That got my wheels to spinning, and I thought about them Rosenbergs.

  “So, if it got out that they was stealing information beforehand by tricking an American into betraying his own country?”

  He nodded. “That would be a nightmare for Castro.”

  That was the spark I needed for an idea.

  “Hey!” I screamed out at the soldiers. “I hope y’all enjoy looking innocent while you can. ’Cause I got a buddy with a tape recording that proves y’all was as crooked as anybody else. And I reckon he’s going to sell it to your favorite paper, the New York Times.”

  Captain Morris came over.

  “What tape recording?”

  “That phone call between you and my pa.” I made real sure to emphasize that last word, and the Captain looked like it stung him good. “Willie recorded it and it shows everything y’all done to trick him. And how Castro cheated his win. You’re all a bunch of dadgum liars and cheats. And wait until they hear about how y’all are keeping Tommy on ice. You know that’s what movies is made of.”

  Castro heard everything I said, probably on account that I was screaming it at the top of my lungs. He poked Dr. Vega and motioned him toward me. Vega came to my cell. He glared at Carlos.

  “Siempre estás hablando,” he said. “¿Por qué no cuando son interrogados?”

  “Besa mi culo, primo,” Carlos said. That must have been real bad, ’cause Vega slammed his fist into our door and called a soldier over. They opened the door and the soldiers grabbed Carlos and dragged him out.

  Right when he was going out the door, though, he started throwing a fit. He grabbed it and wouldn’t let go. They started beating on him, kicking him and everything. He didn’t let go. One of the fellas slammed Carlos’s hand with the butt of his gun. Except Carlos moved his hand just in time and the rifle slammed on the cell door, right where Carlos’s hand had been.

  Right on the lock.

  Carlos was as docile as a lamb after that, but them soldiers was super concerned about the cell door. They was fiddling with it and couldn’t get it to shut good.

  “Está roto,” one of them hollered to Che Guevara. Che pointed at him and told him to stand in front of the door.

  Meanwhile, the Captain had gone back over and was getting chewed out by Castro. He was going on and on, in both Spanish and English, and I could tell that he wasn’t happy at all that there was loose ends back in Cullman. Finally, Captain Morris had enough.

  “Fine,” he said, and threw his hands in the air. “You want it finished, I’ll go finish it. Just get me on a plane back to the States and I’ll get that tape recording.” He looked over at me and I reckon he wanted to sting me like I’d stung him. “I might even shoot that idiot from Cullman, too.”

  Him, Castro, and Che all left together. I knew the Captain was trying to scare me straight, but he hadn’t scared me none. I was done with that. You can only mess around for so long with somebody from Alabama.

  Now I was pissed.

  I would have run out that busted cell door right then, but the dadgum guard was watching me like a hawk. Plus, I wasn’t faster than no speeding bullets or nothing. Still didn’t have no superpowers from that Superman.

  I looked over at the other side of the courtyard, where Carlos was getting the tar beat out of him. I reckoned busting the lock was part of his plan, but I didn’t know what part him getting whipped was.

  Then I saw him grab something off one of the guard’s belts and throw it.

  A truck that was parked all the way over on the other side of the fort we was in exploded into a ball of flames.

  And just like that, I figured out his plan.

  Remember the Maine.

  Everybody went running to put out the fire, or get burned up by it, I didn’t much care. Including the guard that was watching me. Now, I had to move fast. I whispered to Superman that, if he could loan me just a little bit of his powers, I’d be much obliged.

  I opened the door and ran off to the arch we’d gone out of before. All the guards was so busy trying to put out the fire, they didn’t even notice me.

  I go
t out of that arch and took off down the hill, following the road as best as I could until I started imagining them soldiers coming after me. Then I took to ducking through the trees and bushes.

  I figured I should run to Havana Harbor, which was the easiest thing to do, ’cause it was right there in front of me. I figured I could hop on a boat or something and get headed to Florida.

  It wasn’t my best plan, but it was a start. Of course, I didn’t have no idea where there might be some boats with refugees heading to America, or even where you might find folks like that.

  I reckoned I needed to ask a local for directions.

  I ran around, trying to find someplace where I could ask for directions without getting hollered at or shown off to the soldiers. Considering I was one of the only white fellas around, I knew that would be hard to do. But I finally found a place where there was a whole mess of people just standing around, and I decided to try there.

  It was a building with a sign on it that said LA PANADERIA. I remembered that word from Tommy’s schoolbooks, ’cause it was one of the only ones I’d taken interest in. It meant “The Bakery.” There was a line of people stretched out from it, all waiting to get up to the door where they was handing out bags of bread or something. At first I was amazed at how patient they was all waiting, then I realized from their faces that they wasn’t being patient, they just knew hurrying wasn’t an option.

  I ran up to one of them fellas, a plump one with a mustache, and tried to remember anything that Tommy used to say when he was practicing his phrases in his room. Of course, he took a year of French and also of German along with Spanish, so I couldn’t be sure which language I was speaking exactly. But I figured I could get my message across.

  “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur. Yo no hablo kein Deutsch. Wo ist die baño? Merci.”

  He blinked at me like I was crazy. Maybe he didn’t speak no Spanish, either. I tried using what had worked with Carlos.

  “I am looking-o for the place-o where el folks trying to escape-o might get on el boat. Can you-o show me-o?” That was the best I could do.