Then I looked in the direction of America and thought about Magda and the life that stretched before us. I thought about our unborn children, should we be fortunate enough to have them. But the best thing was that I knew in my heart that somewhere in America Magda was waiting for me. I had someone to go to. I had never doubted her love.
I looked up at the officer. He nodded to me, smiled warmly, and said as if his words were uttered for me and for me alone, “And in the name of the American people, I welcome you to freedom.”
The men whose boat we had commandeered stared at the spectacle before them. The captain smiled in satisfaction. The passengers cheered and hugged one another, exultant, jubilant. Children looked at their parents and clapped their hands gleefully. The pregnant women beamed and patted their bellies. Miguel nodded and waved to the crowd, amazed that he had become a hero at his advanced age.
And I sat down on a chair, covered my face with my hands, and wept.
EPILOGUE
I had spent more than a year listening to Frank’s story over glasses of wine and endless bags of corn chips and salsa in my home in Haddon Heights, New Jersey. During that time, Frank and I forged a strong friendship. By the time we finished, he said I knew his story better than anyone else in the world.
Frank was amazing. His patience in answering my numerous questions was remarkable and his recall of events that occurred decades ago was incredible. He even acted out scenes such as the time he escaped through the sisal by doing a somersault on my living room floor. His military background shows. He is still in great physical shape.
Frank had an uncanny knack of remembering exactly what was said in this story, and I often could not write fast enough to capture his dialogue. But he never jumped ahead of himself. He told me the story sequentially. This was often frustrating because time constraints would sometimes dictate that he leave me in the middle of an exciting scene.
For instance, I knew he was hiding in the outhouse and the soldiers were approaching, but Frank had to leave before telling me the outcome. I, dear reader, was just as eager to find out what happened as you.
When the coast guard picked Frank up at sea, my instincts told me that this was the perfect ending to his tale. Yet questions remained. I looked at Frank and asked, “What happened to Magda? What happened to your family?”
Silence.
“And what became of Manny, Lazo, and Lieutenant Pino?”
More silence.
Frank thought for a moment and then sighed. “It would take a whole other book to tell you.”
I leaned back against the sofa and thought I need to know what happened. I would be taking another chance in writing a story without knowing its shape and ending. But Frank had established a track record with me, and I was willing to trust his instincts.
“Do you think your story is worthy of another book?”
Frank’s eyes twinkled for a moment. “It’s a very good story,” he said. He is a master of understatement.
“Can you give me a hint of the plot?”
Frank laughed. “You know me,” he said. “I need to tell it to over time, just the way it happened.”
“Not even a small clue?”
Frank considered for a moment. “Let me just say that I think a good title would be Stalked.”
I sipped a little wine as a smile formed on my lips. I knew I was in for another adventure.
“Same time, same place? Next week?” I asked.
Frank nodded. “See you on Tuesday.” He opened the door, looked back at me, and said, “You will not be disappointed.”
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