Pilar’s running became something of an obsession for Miguel. Disappointed that there was no athletic program for young girls, he began to coach her in his spare time. Their runs in the water at the beach turned into more formal training around the track at the local high school. Slowly Miguel instilled in her his dream for his lost son: to someday win an Olympic medal for Cuba. Even though he had decided to leave Cuba, or perhaps because of this, he strained to engender pride in Pilar for Cuba, the county of her birth.
One day the phone rang at four in the morning. Maria was a heavy sleeper, but Miguel was up like a shot. Perhaps owing to his brief career as an amateur boxer, the sound of a bell always gave him an adrenaline surge. Before he could say hello, he heard his brother Jorge sobbing.
Jorge could barely deliver the news. Miguel’s 12-year-old niece Alicia, who had been like a sister to Pilar, born one week before his own daughter, had succumbed to smallpox. Alicia was dead.
The last words Miguel had said to his brother now swarmed back at him like angry hornets. He felt as if he was being enveloped by an inescapable dark cloud that took his breath away and filled him with shame.
“Pilar will have a better life in America than Alicia will have in Cuba.” He heard the sentence echoing under the subdued whimpering of his brother through the static on the telephone line. It had come true. Because she was in America, Pilar had been vaccinated as a result of a smallpox outbreak that had happened in New York in 1947. Alicia clearly had not been. If Miguel could only take the line back. His prophecy had come to ring true. If only he had not shared it with his brother.
He could tell by his brother’s slurred speech that Jorge had been drinking, something that worried him. The last time Jorge turned to alcohol during a crisis, it almost killed him. But now was not the time for lectures or judgment. He just stayed on the phone with his brother, listening to him cry, powerless to help him or hold him.
After he hung up, Miguel sat quietly for over an hour in the darkness. How was he going to tell Maria? Harder still, how was he going to tell Pilar? When it was almost six a.m, he could wait no more. Miguel went to Maria’s bed, gently shaking her.
He gave her the news. Maria, in crisis mode, immediately woke up Pilar, telling her that they were going to Mass. Since losing the baby, Maria had gone to church on an almost daily basis. Miguel and Pilar, however, only attended on Sundays, so when Maria told her to dress for church, Pilar immediately knew something was very wrong.
“Mama, did someone die?” Pilar asked.
“Yes, my angel . . . Alicia,” Maria replied, choking back tears.
Pilar was inconsolable, crying for an hour in her room, refusing to come out, delaying their departure for church. The rest of the afternoon was a blur for her. Everything she and Alicia had planned as children—moving to Havana when they were old enough, finding husbands together, having their children grow up together—was never going to happen. Though she couldn’t articulate what she was feeling at the time, Pilar had lost her soul mate. If Alicia was dead, so too was a part of Pilar.
CHAPTER FOUR
The one constant pastime Pilar had in her youth was running. Her father ran with her until her endurance surpassed his. He would stand on the sidelines and evaluate her stride, how she swung her arms, her head movement. “Just like boxing,” he would tell her, “technique is critical.”
When Pilar turned sixteen in 1956, Miguel went to the school administrators and offered to coach the track team—under one condition. His daughter, Pilar, must be allowed to join the boys team, as there was no girls team. By then Miguel was well known in Miami circles as one of Kid Gavilan’s inner circle. Gavilan had become a one-time world welterweight champion and was now a local hero. Miguel’s status as a member of the Kid’s entourage made it impossible for the school administrators to refuse his offer.
On the first day of spring practice the boys on the track team were both excited and disappointed. On the one hand, they had Kid Gavilan’s sparring partner as their coach but on the other hand, they also had a girl on the team. Almost all of them were mortified that they would be stigmatized and regarded by the other schools as the boys who were so slow that they needed a girl to run for them.
Oddly, one of the boys seemed not only open to it but was fascinated with the idea of Pilar joining the team. His name was Teddy Hernandez. On the first day of practice, Miguel told the team to pair up for stretching. While all the other boys ignored her, Teddy headed straight for Pilar and asked her to be his partner and the two made an instant connection.
Though Teddy was athletic and good-looking, he was always regarded as an outsider by his classmates, mainly because he kept to himself. He wasn’t a joiner. In fact, the only reason he was on the track team in the first place was to please his mother. She had strongly suggested that because of his just a bit above average grades, athletic accomplishment would be a good way to insure acceptance into the proper East Coast universities she now envisioned for her family.
Teddy’s family had emigrated from Havana to Miami in the 1880s and was well-established, financially and otherwise. His father, Pablo, was a prominent lawyer and his mother, Inez, claimed to come from a family that traced its roots back to Queen Isabella of Spain, as she would mention on numerous occasions. She took pride in her noble heritage and noted that it was Isabella and King Ferdinand who had, of course, financed Christopher Columbus’s 1492 voyage leading to the discovery of the New World and the establishment of Spain as a global power. When she brought this up at parties, Pablo, if he’d had enough to drink, sometimes quipped, “That’s right, but they also financed the Inquisition, didn’t they, honey?”
Teddy was born in the States, and unlike Pilar he had missed the experience of being a Cuban in Cuba. His parents, determined to not have their children stigmatized as immigrants, made it a rule to never speak Spanish at home while the kids were still young. As a result Teddy’s Spanish was OK but not great. When Pilar spoke Spanish with him in her flowing conversational style, using her strong but delicate hands to emphasize a point here and there, Teddy felt a warmth wash over him that he had longed for without even knowing it. Pilar made Teddy feel more in touch with his roots, which was just one aspect of their deep connection.
During that first track season, the two become best friends. Teddy shared everything with Pilar: his love of art, his affinity for the Marx Brothers, and his disdain for war or violence of any kind. The once quiet boy opened up. Pilar was the one person in his life who accepted him for who he was without judgment, and he badly needed somebody like her at that time in his life. He felt his father loved him unconditionally, yet still held him accountable in a way that was not untypical in Cuban households. His academic progress, while satisfactory, lacked the excellence his parents had hoped for. Pilar, who had seen his drawings, would reassure him, saying, “You’re not a person who memorizes things. You’re an artist, a person who creates things that other people remember, which is much better.”
As for Pilar, she got something special out of the relationship as well. She needed to be important to her friends, and Teddy really needed her. Maybe it was the fact that in addition to the tragic loss of her soul mate Alicia, she also was an only child. The fate that had denied her the opportunity to care for a baby brother drove her to be very protective, almost maternal, towards Teddy. She found something sweet and vulnerable about him.
She was becoming a woman, and a striking one, to boot. Pilar began attracting a lot of attention, sometimes unwanted, from the boys at school. Unlike the other boys, particularly the other athletes, Teddy was attentive in a way that didn’t make her feel defensive. When she spoke to him, he listened, not because he wanted something from her but because he was genuinely interested. Instinctively she appreciated that he cared. It wasn’t something they ever discussed, but their relationship was without the kind of pressure one would expect between a boy and a girl at that age. There was an unspoken connection that transcended the normal hormonal desires
or teenage awkwardness, and that was the point. They just knew they had an understanding, period.
Teddy’s mother, Inez, on the other hand, was more than a bit demanding. Her dream was for Teddy to gain acceptance at a top East Coast college, be admitted to a major national law school, and then add to the prestige of his father at the family law firm. But what Teddy really wanted to do was paint like his father’s youngest brother, Uncle Ernesto, a free-spirited artist whom Inez barely tolerated. Ernesto, only several years older than Teddy, lived and worked out of a studio in Fort Lauderdale.
Regardless of what Teddy wanted, his dreams took a backseat to those of his mother, for now. He threw himself into track and field and tried to stick with the program she had mapped out for him.
While she resented Teddy’s mother for the pressure and judgment she laid on him, Pilar was supportive, glowing with pride at the string of recruiting letters Teddy received from coaches at Yale, Stanford, and Vanderbilt. Perhaps selfishly, she hoped Teddy would satisfy his mother’s new secret dream by becoming an All-American athlete at the University of Miami so they could stay physically close to one another.
Inez was unimpressed with Miguel’s association with Kid Gavilan and did not approve of the relationship between her son and the daughter of a poor farmer from “the sticks,” as she referred to Oriente Province. She had high hopes for Teddy marrying a girl from the right kind of family, and in her book, this was definitely not Pilar.
Pilar knew this. It hurt, but she worked hard at not letting Inez’s frosty attitude bother her.
In the summer of 1957, after Teddy had a particularly nasty disagreement with Inez over what colleges he should apply to, Teddy decided to run away. He stormed out the door. After a night of sleepless worrying Inez arrived at Pilar’s home, convinced that she would find her son taking refuge with the Ruiz family.
Inez was on the front porch peeking through the window. She had yet to knock when Maria opened the front door. “Inez, hello.”
Startled, Inez quickly regained her composure and straightened her dress before addressing Maria and offering a perfunctory handshake. “Is he here? Is my Teddy in this house?”
The two women had what could be described as a cordial relationship, but just beneath the surface, Teddy’s mother distrusted Maria.
Pilar appeared behind her mother as Maria responded. “Teddy? No, I haven’t seen him. Is everything all right? Would you like to come in for coffee?”
Inez accepted the invitation, if only to get a look inside the house as Maria put the percolator on the stove. The suspicious woman fixed her fierce gaze on Pilar. “How about you? Do you know where my son is?”
Pilar answered, “I haven’t seen him, I swear,” which was technically true. However, both Maria and Pilar knew that she had received a telephone call that morning from Teddy.
The tension grew thick as Inez poked around inside the house, stating repeatedly that she didn’t suspect Maria of hiding her boy, but alluding to the possibility that Pilar might be providing him with sanctuary without her knowledge.
“You know how those two are, thick as thieves,” Inez said, making eye contact with Pilar in an accusatory manner.
Maria handed Inez a coffee. “I believe my daughter,” Maria said.
It was clear that Maria’s patience had run out as she folded her arms, waiting for Inez to drink her coffee and leave her home.
Inez, still not satisfied, left in a huff, admonishing Pilar to get in touch with her immediately if she heard from Teddy. “Tell him I’m not happy.” She held Pilar’s gaze before driving off, certain the girl knew something but wasn’t talking.
Maria confronted Pilar as soon as Inez’s new Cadillac had turned the corner. “You know something, don’t you? You’re protecting your friend, aren’t you?”
Pilar never lied to her mother and she saw no reason to do so now. “What are friends for, Mama?”
Maria understood. “Tell Teddy to go home . . . when he’s ready.”
Pilar had indeed spoken to Teddy that morning and she knew exactly where he was, as she had visited his current hiding place once before. After lunch she took a bus to Fort Lauderdale where Teddy was laying low at his uncle Ernesto’s studio.
She walked about a half mile from the bus stop through the neighborhood of modest single-story homes on a palm-lined road, arriving at the house that was mostly hidden from the street by thick foliage. She knocked on the door and was greeted with a warm hug by a half-asleep man in his early-twenties wearing a bathrobe.
The man was Teddy’s uncle Ernesto. “Hi Pilar, Teddy’s out back in the studio,” he said.
The studio, which was in a converted boathouse next to a canal known as the Middle River, was a mess, with canvases scattered about everywhere and the smell of oil paint permeating the air. When Pilar entered the studio, Teddy was nearly unrecognizable. He wore a painter’s smock and was taking a long pull from an icecold beer as he channeled his creativity onto a canvas. Teddy felt unencumbered by any restrictions whatsoever. He was happier than she had ever seen him—finally in his element.
Very matter-of-factly, she said, “Teddy, your mother’s looking for you. Oh, and she said to tell you she’s not happy.”
Teddy deadpanned, “She’s always looking for me and she’s never happy.”
The two of them cracked up at the obvious statement.
Without asking her about the drama that was certainly taking place back home, he inquired as to her opinion of his work, “Does this seem derivative to you?” The canvas was covered in several layers of different colored paint and depicted what appeared to be an impressionistic image of a manatee wearing Groucho glasses and smoking a cigar. Despite the silliness, it was clear that Teddy’s talent was flourishing in this bohemian environment.
Pilar tilted her head, taking it all in. “Ridiculous, yes. Derivative, no.”
She watched him paint for hours, in awe of the personal transformation he was obviously experiencing. It gave her such pleasure to be sharing in Teddy’s unmistakable joy that she fantasized about running away herself to stay in this blissful state with him forever.
Suddenly Ernesto came bursting into the studio. He had a panicked look in his eyes. “Teddy, your mother is on the front lawn peeking in the windows and she looks pissed off!” he said with urgency. “You two better get the hell out of here while I stall her. Take the boat.”
Teddy grabbed Pilar by the hand and bolted out the door toward the canal where a skiff with a six-horsepower Evinrude motor was tied up. The duo clambered onboard, and Teddy worked feverishly to get it started, pulling the cord several times, priming the carburetor, and then pulling some more until, finally, it caught, belching bluish smoke while Teddy adjusted the idle.
“Pilar, untie us!” She jumped out of the boat to release the knot just as Inez came into their view through the window in the front house. She was inside and looking out the window.
Pilar froze, hoping that she hadn’t seen them yet. Ernesto appeared to be doing his best to distract her, directing her attention to some paintings on the wall, away from the window.
“Let’s go, Pilar. Get in the boat!” he yelled.
And with that, she smiled and waved a dainty bye-bye to Ernesto (who acknowledged her gesture with a tight smile) as she stepped gingerly into the already moving boat.
They were about a hundred feet away when Pilar, in the bow of the boat and looking back, saw Teddy’s mother arrive at the studio door with Ernesto. She was apparently demanding entry. Ernesto gladly ushered her inside, giving Pilar a thumbs-up before disappearing inside with his suspicious sister-in-law.
The two teenagers, like Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher, traveled down the lazy canal, past ramshackle shacks and grand mansions, under railroad tracks, water mains, and busy highways. The river eventually flowed into the Intracoastal Waterway, a straight shot down to Miami. As the sun beat down on their faces, Pilar watched Teddy’s face as reality began to once again set in. As his anxiety moun
ted with every mile closer to home, Pilar tried to keep things light, distracting him by pointing out an iguana sunning on a bridge footing or a jumping fish possibly escaping a hungry alligator.
When it became apparent from Teddy’s anxious expression that her efforts were not working, she brought up the concern that was clearly tormenting him: the punishment that certainly awaited him at home, the cost of his brief period of freedom.
“Don’t worry about it, Teddy. What’s she gonna do, kill you?”
“Much worse,” he said. “Was she rude to your mother when she came to your house?”
“My mom knows how to deal with her. It’s fine.”
Her main concern, as always, was for Teddy’s emotional wellbeing, and she made sure that he always understood that she knew his mother didn’t speak for him.
“I know your mother doesn’t like me, Teddy. And I don’t care. Somos sólidos. We’re solid, OK?”
Teddy turned his face toward his best friend, shielding his eyes from the sun. She always knew exactly the right thing to say and how to say it.
He smiled, “Yeah. Somos sólidos. We’re solid.”
The “26th of July Movement” Takes Shape
THE CUBAN REVOLUTION may be considered to have begun in earnest in 1953, and by 1958 it had reached a place that no one in the Cuban or US government had initially thought possible.
In 1952 Fulgencio Batista, who had served as Cuba’s elected president from 1940–1944, seized the presidency in a military coup. He returned to Cuba after living in the US for eight years to challenge the sitting president Carlos Prío Socorrás in the 1952 election. However, when it became apparent that Batista might lose the election, with backing and urging by the military he ordered his forces to overthrow the government, sending Prío into exile.
The Girl from Guantanamo Page 5