Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815)

by Sheehy, Patti

  “And what happened to Joey and Pedro brings everything closer to home. I keep seeing the body of that poor dead boy in my mind.”

  I shivered. “I can’t talk about it right now. I can’t get my head around what happened—the loss is too fresh.”

  “Those poor kids.” Luis shook his head despondently. His cigarette ash had grown long and curly, and he tapped it off with his forefinger. It was spent and loamy. I watched it float aimlessly to the ground.

  I nodded my agreement, and we sat for a moment in silence. “What has you most concerned?”

  “Rosa and the girls, of course. I worry about what will happen to them if I die.”

  My uncle echoed my thoughts exactly. I patted Luis on the back. “Of course, it’s only natural,” was all I could manage to say.

  • • •

  That night I had a dream about Lieutenant Pino. He was as tall as a sycamore tree with arms that branched for miles. I was hiding in a dark box that was floating in water. His arms were drifting toward the box, getting closer by the minute.

  Suddenly, they reached the box and broke it open. Icy water began rushing over me. I could hardly breathe. I felt cold, sad, and out of control. When the water reached my shoulders, I woke with a start. I lay in my bed staring up at shadows that dappled the ceiling.

  The future that had always seemed so certain to me suddenly loomed as muddy and fragmented as this dance of light. A new species of fear invaded my soul, one far more powerful than I had ever felt. If I didn’t succeed in my escape, my loved ones would pay a very high price. I stood and rolled my head in a circle, hoping to relieve my anxiety.

  Rosa kept an altar in her living room that displayed statues of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the Virgin of the Seas. White votive candles were nestled in front of the altar, and a small pillow invited you to kneel. I approached the altar, lit several candles, and dropped to my knees.

  This was the first time I had seriously considered the possibility of being caught—or shot—while trying to escape. Up to this point, I had felt somehow invincible—a conceit of youth. But with the death of Joey and the arrests of Pedro and Señor Lopez, reality had set in. My cloak of denial had been rudely ripped away.

  Tears flooded my eyes and streamed down my face like raindrops on a windowpane. I let them flow freely. I longed for Magda, her laugh, her warmth, her smile. I wanted to touch her and hold her in my arms, but more than that, I just wanted to talk to her, to smell her skin, to hear her voice.

  I tried to focus on what it would be like to be married to her. I imagined coming home to her after a long day’s work, eating dinner with her at the kitchen table, and making love to her into the wee hours of the morning. If only I could get to her. But, with all that had happened, I felt like my chances of escape were becoming more of a pipe dream than a possibility.

  I tried to imagine Magda’s life in America, but I was having a difficult time picturing it. My uncle had learned that she lived in Union City, New Jersey, but I knew nothing about that place. I envisioned her sitting in her pink bathing suit, laughing and sipping lemonade by the side of a pool, flowers blooming and royal palms swaying in the breeze. Did they even have palm trees in New Jersey? Who knew?

  With the financial and other pressures facing new immigrants, I figured this was a highly unlikely and romantic scenario—but it was a comforting thought. For a brief moment the idea of Magda dating American boys flashed through my mind. I knew they would find her attractive and would be eager to date her. But remembering the promise I had made to never doubt her love, I banished the thought. Besides, the idea that she was seeing someone else would have driven me crazy.

  Still, I had the terrible feeling that Magda was impossibly far away and I feared I would not be strong enough—or smart enough—to elude my captors and find her. The worst part was that she’d never know how hard I tried to get to her or whatever became of me. My mother once told me that not knowing what happened to someone you love is the greatest anguish anyone can experience. More than anything, I wanted to spare Magda that pain.

  I rested my head on the altar and began to nod off to sleep. As I did, an image of a gas stove rose in my mind. Its burners were lit and red-and-blue flames leapt into the air. My hands gripped the metal grates surrounding the burners. I was playing them as if they were a musical instrument. Although discordant notes issued forth, I was desperate to finish my piece. I opened my eyes and focused on the image. What did it mean?

  I thought for a moment and then it came to me. I was playing with fire. The question was how long could I do so before getting burned? It was beginning to feel too much to handle.

  Something moved me to make an offering to the Virgin Mary. I cast my eyes about the room for an item to place before her, but I had no flowers, no trinkets, nothing of any value. I went to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. I opened the cabinet door, removed a tall glass, and filled it to the brim with water. I brought it back to the living room, careful not to spill any on the floor. I placed the water before the statue, hoping Mary might appreciate this simple gesture.

  I bent my chin to my chest, covered my face with my hands, and prayed. “Dear Mary, give me your help and guidance in this endeavor. Grant me the wisdom and strength to do what must be done to keep people safe.” I pulled out my handkerchief and blew my nose softly so as not to wake the family.

  “Help me make the right decisions for myself and others. Please let Luis bring his family to freedom. And please look after us and bless us on this long and dangerous journey.”

  I lifted the rosary that was sitting on the altar. I fingered the crystal beads in my hands, kissed the crucifix, and made a sign of the cross. I said the Apostles’ Creed, an Our Father, and three Hail Marys. I offered up another Our Father and started to recite the five Sorrowful Mysteries of the rosary.

  The beads slipped through my fingers as melted wax pooled around the wicks of the candles. One after another, they crackled briefly and then flickered out, leaving an igneous spark and a brief trail of smoke.

  I no longer knew whether I was capable of doing what was required to get to Magda. I no longer knew whether I had the strength to go on. I was beginning to doubt my abilities. I was thinking I had been delusional in believing I could outsmart the force and escape to freedom. It had been a very long fight, and I was very tired. I wiped the tears from my eyes with my knuckles.

  I remained on my knees for almost two hours, feeling more alone and depressed than I had ever felt in my life.

  CHAPTER 36

  While hiding under the bed the next day, I developed a terrible cramp in my leg. I needed to stand and put some pressure on it to relieve the pain, so I came out from under the bed without my usual signal from Rosa. It was just getting dark and no one was home. I figured it would be safe for me to go outside to exercise.

  When I opened the back door, I found a young boy standing right in front of me. I was so startled, I almost knocked him over. He was about nine years old with piercing blue eyes and fine blond hair. He was barefoot and was wearing bib overalls, clothes not usually worn by boys in Cuba.

  The boy seemed as unsettled to see me as I was to see him. Not knowing who he was or who might be with him, I quickly closed the door, went back inside, and hid under the bed. Then I laughed at myself for hiding from such a young boy. After all I’d been through, it seemed very foolish. But it alerted me to just how keyed up and attuned to danger I was. And it did make me wonder—about myself and about the boy.

  I described the boy to Luis, but he said he didn’t know anyone who fit that description.

  The next night when I went out to exercise, I saw the same kid in the cornfield about a hundred yards from the back of the house. His body was backlit by an outside light from the neighbor’s farm. He looked at me and waved. I didn’t wave back. I just continued to do my exercises.

  Meanwhile, Luis had talked to the neighbors about the boy, but no one knew who he was. That in itself was very strange, since eve
ryone knew everyone else in the neighborhood. The next night I saw the boy walking near the back of my uncle’s property. He waved at me and I chased him, but he jumped over the wall and got away.

  The boy appeared every night thereafter, sometimes walking, sometimes sitting on an overturned aluminum pail. Whenever I told Luis to look for him, the boy mysteriously disappeared—like he had melted into thin air. Yet he continued to wave to me whenever I saw him. The whole thing was beginning to unnerve me.

  Luis began to think the boy was a figment of my imagination. He told me he feared the stress of hiding for so long was beginning to affect my mind. Luis discussed the matter with Cuni. The next time he visited, he asked me about it.

  “Luis tells me you often see a boy in the backyard,” he said.

  “I do.”

  “Does he talk to you?”

  “No, he never says anything, but he always waves.”

  “Has he threatened you in any way?”

  “Actually, he seems quite friendly.”

  “Who do you think he is?”

  “I have no idea. At first I thought he must be a neighbor’s child, but Luis has asked around, and no one seems to know him.”

  Cuni thought for a moment. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  I laughed. “No. This kid is as real as you are. He’s not a ghost.”

  “I’m a little worried about you, Frankie. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m feeling fine.”

  “Are you sleeping well?”

  “As well as I can under the circumstances.”

  “Luis says he’s never seen this boy, even though he’s looked for him many times. He’s worried that you might need some medication or something.”

  “I’m fine. The kid is very elusive. But I’m not losing my mind, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” said Cuni. “Just let me know if I can do anything for you.”

  I was annoyed at Cuni’s implication, but I knew he had good reason to be concerned. Due to the nature of what he did, he had to be very cautious about safety. The last thing he needed was for me to have a nervous breakdown.

  “I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Late the next night I saw the blue-eyed boy again. He waved at me from the cornfield, and for the first time I waved back. I didn’t know what to make of the situation, and I was beginning not to care.

  The following day Cuni came to see me again, obviously concerned about my mental health.

  “Have you seen that boy?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Yes, last night. I know you think he’s an apparition or something, but I’m telling you he’s real.”

  “All right, Frankie. I’m just worried you’re going to crack on me.”

  I laughed. “It’s been nerve-racking, but I’m not going to crack. At least not over a nine-year-old boy.”

  Cuni studied me for a minute while I looked out the window. It was dark outside. “I’ve been thinking—” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “The lights in Havana go out every night for forty-five minutes between eight and nine.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It would give me an opportunity to bring someone to see you with less risk than usual.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I was wondering if you’d like me to bring your parents to see you before you leave. Maybe even your brother George.”

  I was flabbergasted. This was an unnecessary risk and completely out of character for Cuni. “Why would you do that? Do you think it will help me from going mad?”

  Cuni laughed, but I knew that’s what he was thinking. “Of course, I’d love to see them.” I said. “But what about the risk? They might be followed. I don’t want to take any chances with my family.”

  “There are ways to do it,” Cuni reassured me. He patted me on the back. “Don’t worry. Just give me some time to arrange it.”

  The more I thought about it, the more excited I became about seeing my family. I knew Cuni had two motives for arranging our meeting. He didn’t want me to go crazy, and he knew it might be the last time I’d ever see my family—whether I made it out safely or not. With the future so uncertain, the only thing any of us really had was now.

  A couple of days later, around eight thirty p.m., Cuni walked in the door with my father. Without saying a word, my father reached for me. We stood hugging each other for a long time.

  Finally, he pulled away and held me at arm’s length. “It’s so good to see you again.” His face was cut with lines of fatigue and worry.

  “It’s good to see you, too.”

  My father gave me a long, careful look. “I’m so proud of you, Frankie,” he said in a voice choked with emotion. “You are following your dream.”

  “I’m doing what must be done.”

  “You are doing more than that. You’re the first one to go. You’ll be the first Mederos to make it to freedom.”

  “I hope so,” I said. My father nodded as if my escape were a fait accompli. We walked to the sofa and sat down while Cuni walked toward the door, saying he’d be back in half an hour.

  “After you make it, your brothers will follow,” said my father. His voice cracked slightly. “My one wish in life is that the whole family gets to America.”

  I reached for my father’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’m going to make it.”

  “I think you will, Frankie. I have great faith in you. But if for any reason you don’t, eventually your brother, George, will try. And if he doesn’t make it, Raúl and Carlos will try. I know if one of you makes it, we will all be free some day.”

  “Freedom.” I rolled the word around in my mouth feeling profound apprehension about what it would take to achieve it. For a brief moment my vision grayed out.

  My father shook his head. “I don’t want my children to grow up in this country. It’s too hard—it’s no way to live.”

  “And I don’t want my children to grow up here either,” I said. We sat quietly for a moment, considering how different life would be in America.

  “What’s going on at home?”

  “It’s been tough,” my father said wearily. “Your mother is worried sick about you. Soldiers with machine guns roam the streets day and night looking for you. They’ve been to the house three times.”

  “Have they said anything? Given you any clue as to what they might do?”

  “They’re too cagey for that.” My father thought for a moment. “The first time a couple of officers came by and questioned your mother and me about your whereabouts. That was a while ago now.”

  “That would be Lieutenants Pino and Brown.” My father nodded.

  “The second time a bunch of soldiers ransacked the house, looking everywhere for you. They were very rough, hollering and breaking up the furniture. They even threatened your mother.”

  “I’m so sorry.” My father waved my comment away as if it didn’t matter.

  “The last time one of the soldiers told me you shouldn’t bother to turn yourself in because if you did, they wouldn’t hold a trial. They’d just shoot you on sight.”

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not about to turn myself in. It’s all or nothing now. There’s no going back.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you do. I was just telling you what they said.”

  “I understand.”

  Suddenly, I thought of Jabao. I don’t know why, nothing had prompted it. Like many of my boyhood friends, Jabao had never gone beyond fifth grade. I wondered how he was making a living. I was just about to ask my father about him when he interrupted my thoughts.

  “Your brother George would like to come to see you. Would that be okay?”

  “Of course. As long as I’m still here and Cuni can arrange it, I’d love to see him.”

  My father rubbed his forehead. “I’ve talked to George about leaving the country. And I’m sure he’d like your advice.”

  “I’ll do anything to help.”


  “Have you thought about what you’ll do when you get to the States?”

  I smiled slightly. “Whoa! One problem at a time. Right now I have my hands full just trying to stay a step ahead of the authorities. I’ll figure out what to do when I get to America.”

  When Cuni came back, my father stood and embraced me. He held me tightly and his eyes grew red with tears. He closed them for a moment while he wiped away the moisture. With a hitch in his voice he said, “Good luck, my son. Be careful! And be brave!”

  “I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

  My father took a couple of steps toward the door and then turned around. He walked back, slipped some folded bills into my hand, and hugged me once more.

  “I love you,” he said. His voice was dry, almost a whisper. He pushed my hair back from my face with a trembling hand. He looked at me with insufferable sorrow and hope in his eyes.

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  My father cleared his throat, patted me on the back, and walked out the door without looking back. Our visit was far too short.

  I never saw my father again.

  CHAPTER 37

  My interaction with the blue-eyed boy was turning into a kind of dance, with him advancing and me retreating. I had seen him every night for a couple of weeks and every time he saw me he waved. He became a shadow figure, mimicking me when I did my exercises, doing push-ups and jumping jacks in sync with me. But he always kept his distance. My uncle never laid eyes on him, despite several more attempts to do so.

  On February 28—my mother’s birthday—Cuni brought her to see me. When I looked at her, my heart almost broke. How much she had missed me was written in the wrinkles etching her face. Her eyes were puffy and gray threaded her hair. I could hardly imagine what she was going through. Now I had this precious slice of time to be with her, and I wanted to make the most of it.

  My eyes searched her face. I wanted to imprint her features in my memory so I would never forget them. In the future, I would need to be able to picture her eyes, her hands, her hair. I remembered her reading stories to me as a child. Suddenly my ears were hungry for the sweetness, the cadence, the rhythm of her voice.