We’d been on the water for well over an hour and the ship was close enough so I could make out the small portholes just above the painted red line. Perhaps one of those portholes would be our quarters for the trip to Jamaica. We’d be stashed in there with a load of bananas or raw sugar. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t know whether or not José was escaping as well. Last night I figured he was taking a cut of the money in exchange for getting us to the ship, but he seemed to be interested in more than money. He was like a man possessed.
“Are you coming with us?” I asked during the brief instant he rested his arms.
“Of course,” he replied. “No matter what happens I’m getting out.”
I didn’t bother to ask what he meant because he was pumping his arms and legs with amazing concentration, and we were making significant progress again. I was glad to know he’d be joining us. We could continue to present as husband and wife and that would keep inappropriate attention from the crew at bay. I’d mention this to José before we boarded the ship. The waves had calmed down and he was rowing with greater ease, but I couldn’t bother him with questions now even though one loomed large and heavy in my mind. How were we going to board the ship?
As we approached, its enormity was more apparent than ever and our little boat was barely visible next to it. There was certainly no door or hatch so far below through which we might enter. And the portholes were several stories above the water level. The only way was to pull us up by some sort of rope. I shivered at the thought of it, not for me, but for Lucinda who was already shaken enough.
“There should be someone watching out for us on this side,” José said looking up at the giant towering above us.
“Do you think they can see us?” I asked.
My question was answered when a thin rope was flung over the side of the ship. Far too thin, it seemed, to support the weight of a small dog. But when it got closer to us we saw that the rope was actually quite sturdy. The problem was how to grab hold of it without hitting the side of the ship. The waves, although calmer, still had the strength to slam us against it if we weren’t careful, and it was obvious our weathered dinghy couldn’t take much abuse. If the waters had been calmer it would’ve been an easy matter to swim out for the rope and bring it to the dinghy, but I’d never swum in such water and I didn’t want José to leave us alone on the dinghy.
Although we hadn’t spoken since the appearance of the rope, I was sure José’s hesitation stemmed from the same concern. He held the oar static and dripping over the water as we bobbed and rolled closer and then further from the ship with every passing wave.
“I can hear waves hitting the metal ship, Tía. It is very close.”
“It’s right next to us, sweetheart. They’ll pull us up as soon as they can.”
José rowed us in closer still. We were only a yard or so from reaching the rope and every time the waves threatened to push us in too far, José held the oar out to keep us at a comfortable, if not stable, distance. He motioned for me to take hold of the rope, while he held out the oar. Lucinda would be first. I tied the rope securely around her waist and instructed her to hold on to it as tight as she could. She nodded and blinked the water spraying up from the waves out of her eyes.
“They’ll pull you up a very long way, but I’ll be right below you.”
Lucinda took hold of the rope with both hands and waited. José pulled hard on the rope two times, and it started to pull up slowly at first until Lucinda’s feet were dangling off the ground. Her plastic shoes fell off, one falling into the boat and the other into the ocean, floating off on the waves before I had a chance to make a grab for it. I was afraid this might disorient Lucinda and that she’d fidget and the rope would loosen, but she didn’t move. Her hands gripped the rope and her little face pressed against it. She swayed to and fro over our heads as she inched higher and higher still, three stories up, almost to the portholes. We were craning our heads as she went, but José was vigilant with the oar, although from time to time I thought he might get thrown off the dinghy because of the force he had to withstand against the ship.
Lucinda was up to the portholes now, too far away to hear my voice. I could only imagine the fear she felt, and I began to shiver and pray.
“They’ve stopped,” José said.
I looked up. Lucinda was still dangling, but not moving up or down. Then she started to move slowly down, and then up again, before she jerked to a stop. The rope shifted up her waist so that it was hidden by the life jacket. Suddenly she started to move down very rapidly. The rope was like a wild, vibrating snake, and I realized she was free falling. Paralyzed, I watched her feet swinging wildly as she screamed, then disappeared into the waves about fifty yards from the boat.
I dove into the water and began to swim toward where I’d seen Lucinda fall. The waves rolled over me and I was barely able to gasp for air, such was the force of the water pushing me down and then up again. I caught sight of Lucinda’s head bobbing beyond the crest of the next wave, eyes closed and chin resting on her life jacket, but I was unable to find the rhythm that would propel me to her. That familiar heaviness that I knew was brought on by my own fear was creeping into my limbs and making it almost impossible for me to stay above water, let alone swim. “Fear doesn’t float,” Abuelo always said during our lessons. “It sinks straight to be the bottom every time. But courage,” He said, his eyes shinning. “It not only floats, it flies.”
Suddenly, Abuelo was swimming alongside me and urging me on. “I’m proud of you, Norita,” he said. “You jumped in without thinking about it, and now you will know what I have always known.” I felt his strength surging through my muscles, and I became as sleek as a dolphin, my legs pumping like pistons and my lungs filled with pure oxygen. I swam for my Lucinda more surely than I had ever done anything in my life, and when I reached her I pulled her toward me by the strap of her jacket. She was breathing, thank God she was breathing, and I held her to me while José brought the boat close enough for us to get in. He pulled Lucinda in first, and then I followed collapsing in heap onto the floor of the boat.
Exhaustion took hold of me and everything became dark and silent as a dreamless sleep, but not before I heard Abuelo whispering, “You are an excellent swimmer, Norita.”
35
JOSÉ WAS FISHING AGAINST THE BACKDROP OF A PERFECT BLUE sky. A pair of small bare feet were just below where he sat and the toes wiggled like little crabs peeking out of their shells. I turned with a start and my head exploded with pain. I settled back on my elbow and turned more slowly.
Lucinda lay next to me, and she was breathing. I saw her little chest rise and fall, and it wasn’t the movement of the boat because the boat was hardly moving. It was very still. We were both completely dry, and Lucinda’s corkscrew curls shot out from her lovely face like fire works.
I placed my hand lightly on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered and rolled as if in a dream and then she smiled. “I can see the light, Tía Nora, and it’s so beautiful.”
José heard us talking and turned only half way around to look at us, but said nothing. He caught two fish one right after the other and threw them onto the small deck between us. They flapped for a short while as their lives quickly evaporated in the hot sun. Apparently convinced that he wouldn’t catch anymore, he gutted and skinned the fish and promptly handed us each roughly cut strips of raw fish flesh. The other fish he cut into even thinner strips and laid out on the narrow wooden seat to dry. He did this all without speaking or looking at us.
I encouraged Lucinda to take the warm white flesh into her mouth and chew it quickly before swallowing. It was a tasteless mass of hard jelly going down my throat, and I realized then how thirsty I was and that my shoulders ached when I sat up higher on my elbows to see over the side of the dinghy. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting to find. Perhaps the Havana skyline sitting up on the Caribbean like a rusty crown, a few other fishing boats, Beba waiting for us on the pier with her hands on her hips
because she had other business to get to and had been waiting long enough. It was a shock to see the vast blue ocean spreading out in all directions. I turned to where I thought Cuba should be, ignoring the ripping pain that shot through my shoulders, but there was nothing but the thin line of the horizon, unwavering and distant, circling us like an enormous ghostly ring.
“Where are we?” The air was so humid and thick that it was almost possible to drink from it.
José was chewing on fish as he carefully rewound the fishing line. “On our way to freedom…María.” He smiled revealing small even teeth, teeth that had been well cared for. “My mother’s name was María. Whose wasn’t?” He chuckled.
“Freedom,” Lucinda murmured as she chewed obediently and swallowed her fish.
José informed us that, although he couldn’t be certain, there must have been government agents aboard the ship. After Lucinda was dropped into the water, the rope had been quickly cut. He was keeping an eye on the two of us in the water while watching out for another rope, but it never came.
“If I hadn’t been so tired from rowing earlier, I would’ve gotten to you sooner,” he said before stuffing his mouth with more raw fish. “You were both so tired, I just let you sleep.”
“Why didn’t you row to shore?” I asked.
“I told you I was getting out no matter what. Today was my last day on that island.”
“What about water and provisions?”
“I brought water and citrus fruits. With what you brought I figure we have two or three days if we’re careful.”
I felt a terrible jolt of fear as I remembered hearing about Cubans who’d spent many more days in the channel because of shifting currents and storms. Many had drowned or died of dehydration before reaching freedom. I said this to José, who cast a wary eye toward Lucinda. “That won’t happen to us. I haven’t come this far to lose it all now.”
José passed me a Styrofoam cup filled one third with water. This was to be mine and Lucinda’s ration of water for the morning. We’d have another at midday and another in the evening. I noticed that José poured his ration out exactly as he had ours.
“Stay under the shade,” he instructed and I became aware of the makeshift tarp made out of an old blanket strung over half of the boat and held up like a V with the oars.
“Don’t we need those for steering or something?”
“The current will take us where we need to go. Now get some rest.”
“How about you?”
He leaned back on the seat and stretched out his legs between Lucinda and me. He pushed his wide brimmed straw hat over his face and crossed his arms in front of him. He muttered something under his hat and fell asleep.
“I won,” Alicia says. There’s a contest to see who can find the most perfect shell. Abuelo always makes up games like these when he wants to take a nap or relax and not deal with our continual demands that he play with as in the water. Alicia holds up her palm-sized prize that swirls with delicate pinks and yellows from base to tip. It is indeed perfect.
I consider my own growing pile of shells. There were some interesting ones. Even a blue oyster shell that I never saw before, but it’s chipped in several places. It’ll be hard to find one that compares to Alicia’s. She’s standing over me and I see her pink toes wriggling in the sand, digging in against the gentle current that scoots her along the edge. She holds the shell down closer to my face so I can get a closer look. It is truly spectacular. What looks like yellow from a distance is really fine threads of gold and the surface is polished and smooth like china cups for show in Mami’s dining room. This is no mere shell, but a work of art.
“I want you to have it,” she says and drops it down to the sand before I have a chance to break its fall. I hold my breath and pick it up. Thankfully, it hasn’t been damaged.
“This is the most beautiful shell in the world. You should keep it for yourself.”
“I want you to have it, Nora. I want you to sleep with it under your pillow every night and think of me.”
“It’ll break if I do that.”
“It won’t break, silly.” She snatches it out of my hand and dances along the shore tossing it in the air and turning and catching it at once. I chase after her, and try to catch the shell while it’s still in the air, but it eludes me. Alicia is much quicker, and she’s able to jump much higher and every time she catches the shell she laughs like a wind chime. Sometimes she catches it with just one finger and this delights her even more. Skipping in the water, she tosses it higher every time, so high that it pricks the sun with it’s swirling tip and returns to earth glowing even more than before.
I’m very upset now. She’s jumped and played with my shell long enough, and I know that it’s only a matter of time before she breaks it. I try my hardest, and jump with all my might, catching the shell in mid air with both hands. I hold it to my heart, but when I’m back on the sand, I realize that I’ve crushed it. I watch the pieces, tiny bits of gold and rose colored loveliness, float out to sea. I look up to apologize to my cousin, but she is gone and not even her footprints remain on the sand.
I awoke this time to an amazing panorama of stars, a dome of blinking lights against a midnight blue sky and a familiar sound against the stillness of the night. José was rowing differently this time, easing into each stroke with the gentle eloquence of a dancer. His refined features caught the fragile light of the stars making him appear as though he were outlined by a fine dusting of iridescent powder. Lucinda was already awake and sitting up next to me. Her hand was on my arm and probably had been for hours because I didn’t feel it until I sat up myself and felt the cold emptiness where it had been. She reached for me and I quickly took her hand into my own.
Without a word, she passed me an orange and I saw the broken pieces of orange skin in a neat pile next to her. I was thirsty and hungry, and the warm, sweet juice exploded in my mouth like little pricks of acid pain. I watched José as I ate. He appeared relaxed and quite satisfied with the progress we were making.
“We couldn’t ask for better weather,” he confirmed. “And it’s better to row at night. I don’t perspire as much. Anyway, I only need to row until we get back in the current that takes us toward the straits. Many cargo ships pass that way and one is bound to find us.”
José explained that he’d been studying the tides for months just in case he needed to leave the island on his own. If we stayed with the proper current, we’d keep on track toward freedom with very little difficulty. If we strayed too far, we could drift indefinitely and not be found for weeks if ever. What was left of us, anyway. Of course, this didn’t bother José at all. He spoke of the possibility of perishing without so much as a blink or a shrug. It was a possibility he considered with the same cold analysis he’d applied to his study of the tides.
He pulled the oars into the boat, and I felt the pull of the tide moving us along like an invisible hand beneath the sea. The water was slick as glass and even reflected the stars making it appear that our little boat was afloat in a vast universe of stars above and below us.
“Tía Nora?”
“Yes, Lucinda.”
“Mr. Gómez knew my Papi in jail.”
José nodded as he pulled the oars into the boat. “She looked familiar to me the moment I saw her on the pier. Her eyes are just like her father’s. But I didn’t put it together until she mentioned her mother’s name. For almost three years all Tony ever talked about was Alicia. I asked myself if any woman could be so many things…so beautiful and clever and strong. I think I fell in love with her myself.”
“She was all those things,” I said, sitting up in amazement at the coincidence. “And you’re in good company. We all loved her.”
I was eager to hear his story and, as he rowed, José told me what he’d begun to tell Lucinda. He was trained as a journalist, had traveled extensively to Europe and South America, and had been a loyal revolutionary, writing fervent articles supporting Castro’s position as a socialist i
n the world. These articles had propelled him into positions of greater intimacy within the upper echelons of the government. His final and most prestigious assignment was as a television reporter who had the honor of regularly interviewing Castro on television. He knew what questions to ask so his leader appeared well informed and balanced and yet he asked them with the pointed indifference of a ruthless reporter in search of the truth.
“As close as I was to the inner circle, I became increasingly aware of the glaring disparities between their way of life and that of ordinary citizens. After a tiring day of endless speeches about the need to sacrifice for one’s country and the honor of an empty belly, the powerful elite would retire to a life of royalty. Their homes are sumptuous and they dine on imported foods and wines of every kind. They laze over long elaborate meals as they discuss domestic and international concerns as their mistresses serve them.”
“Of course, I ate these beautiful meals myself and laughed along and offered my sage and objective opinion when I could. For a while I fooled even myself into thinking I was beyond the desperation that motivates men and women to sell their bodies on our streets. It’s the same for everyone. Some people sell their bodies and others sell their souls.”
“Soon I came to see that my place in the inner circle was no different than it was for every Cuban who sits down to a meager bowl of rice and beans with a bit of meat if they’re lucky. The promise of a sandwich is enough to entice them to wave flags as if their lives depended on it. My mother attends Communist rallies whenever she can, not because she believes the government is doing right or wrong anymore, but because she’s tired of rice and beans and wouldn’t mind tasting a little meat and fresh bread for a change. It wasn’t a sandwich I was selling my mind and spirit for, but a seven-course meal complete with cigars at the end.”
Broken Paradise Page 30