Leaving Glorytown

by Eduardo F. Calcines

  “Well, if not chicken soup then let’s make ant bread!” Abuela suggested.

  Esther and I stared at her.

  “Ant bread?” I repeated.

  “Sure! You can make bread out of anything,” Abuela said. “Even ants. Isn’t that right, Julian?”

  “Absolutely,” said Abuelo. “I often had ant bread when I was growing up. As a matter of fact, I like nothing better.”

  Abuela took us into the kitchen and opened a drawer.

  “Look inside,” she said. “What do you see?”

  We looked.

  “Ants,” we said.

  “Precisely. Now, I am going to take these ants and grind them up.”

  “Disgusting!” Esther said.

  “No, watch, you’ll see. First, though, I need a little flour. Lucky thing I bought some yesterday from the lady who supplies your mama. Esther, get me the flour, please. Eduar, go fetch the molasses. I have a little I’ve been saving.”

  We did as we were told. We watched, spellbound, as Abuela mixed everything together, but we didn’t see any ants going in. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Abuela, you’ve got all the ingredients together, and there still aren’t any ants in it!” I said.

  “Well, what do you know?” Abuela said. “Whenever I’m short on ingredients, I use ants to fill in, but it looks like I didn’t need to add them this time. Well, maybe next time.”

  I was old enough to know that I’d been had. But Esther hadn’t quite figured it out yet. When the pumpernickel bread was ready, she stared at it for a long time, then wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like ant bread,” she said, and no amount of cajoling from either Abuela or Abuelo could get her to eat it.

  “I guess that’s like me and chicken soup,” I said to Abuela.

  Papa’s Homecoming

  Even though I was, as Abuelo had said, practically a man now, I spent many of the following days waiting for Papa in my childhood sanctuary, whistling to the birds and daydreaming about the future. Would I move to America and become a baseball player, as Abuelo had assured me? Would I perhaps meet and marry a Hollywood movie starlet, possibly even becoming a famous actor myself? Or would I grow up to bring peace and prosperity back to Cuba?

  The time passed even more slowly because I knew Papa was truly at the mercy of the Communists now. I imagined him surrounded by evil doctors with big, bushy beards, their white gowns stained with the blood of other innocent Cuban fathers. I cried myself to sleep at night, hoping no one would hear me and tell Papa that I was nothing but a wimp, after all.

  And then, three days later, they came back. Esther saw them first.

  “They’re home!” she cried, watching from Abuelo and Abuela’s front window. I raced to her side and looked out. Mama disembarked and held her hand out for Papa, who started going up our steps slowly, still weak, but already looking more like himself. Remembering Mama’s instructions that we were not to jump on him, we ran across the street toward him, yelling, “Papa’s home! Papa’s home! Papa’s home!”

  He greeted us with gentle hugs.

  “My beautiful kids,” he said. “How glad I am to see you again!”

  “We’re glad to see you, too,” I told him.

  “We had ants for lunch!” Esther said.

  “Let me guess. Ant bread.” Papa smiled.

  When I saw that smile, I knew everything was going to be okay. For a little while, at least, I had my papa back.

  Later that day, I sat in his bedroom, looking at his scar.

  “So,” Papa said casually, “have you got a girlfriend yet?”

  I felt the roots of my hair burning. “No!” I said.

  “You sure? You’re blushing.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “You’ll be starting eighth grade soon, so I guess I’d better ask you this. Do you know about the birds and the bees?”

  “The who and the what?”

  “How babies are made, I mean.”

  “Oh, man,” I groaned. “Papa, you’re embarrassing me!”

  Papa grinned. “All this time I’ve been away, all I could think about was how many things I wished I had time to tell my son. Now that I’m home, you’re too embarrassed to hear it?”

  “Papa, I already know, okay? The man and the woman get naked and lie in bed together, and then—”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, you know!”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “But you and Mama made me and Esther!”

  “Yeah, but I think I forgot how it goes,” Papa said. “Remind me.”

  “Papa, please!”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Eduar. It’s perfectly natural. It’s how all children are made. The man—”

  “La la la la la!” I yelled, putting my fingers in my ears.

  “—and then—”

  “La la laaaaaaa!” I screamed.

  “And then the man’s seed fertilizes the woman’s egg, and nine months later, a baby comes out.”

  “Are you done?” I asked, removing my fingers.

  “Yes, I’m done.”

  “Thank God,” I said, hopping off my chair. “I’m going to go outside for a while, Papa, and when I come back, I hope these thoughts are out of your head, because it’s not healthy for a man to lie around all day thinking such things.”

  “Eduar, my niño,” said Papa, obviously trying not to laugh, “soon enough you will find out that a man thinks of almost nothing else!”

  Up to that time, it was true, girls had not been much on my mind. But Papa’s little speech must have set something in motion, because suddenly I could think of nothing except girls, girls, girls. Specifically, one girl. Her name was Deborah.

  All the boys at Nguyen Van Troy Middle School were crazy about Deborah. She had a certain something that distracted us and made our breathing grow shallow. At least, that was the effect she had on me. Her jet-black hair, her soft, dark eyes, and her wonderful girly smell—hard to explain, but utterly captivating, falling somewhere between flowers and fresh bread—made me a blithering idiot whenever she was around. I’d been feeling this way for some time, but I hadn’t understood that it had anything to do with birds and bees. I just figured something was wrong with me. Now, I realized that maybe this was the same feeling that had come over Papa when he sang “Dos Gardenias” to Mama. Maybe Deborah was going to be my Conchita.

  “I’m going to ask Deborah on a date,” I told the boys one day as we lay like a bunch of alley cats in the sun in front of the movie house.

  “For real?” Tito asked. “Just like that?”

  “Where will you take her?” Luis asked.

  “Here,” I said. “To a movie.”

  “Take her to a romance!” Rolando suggested. “That will put her in the mood.”

  “The mood for what?” Luis asked.

  “For the birds and the bees!” said Tito, laughing.

  “Don’t talk about my woman like that,” I told him. “Speak with respect.”

  “Hey, relax, Calcines! She’s not your woman yet! You haven’t even gotten up the nerve to ask her!”

  “Well, I’m going to.”

  “When?”

  I hadn’t actually made concrete plans yet, but now that I’d opened my mouth, I could see I was going to have to back up my words with action.

  “Today,” I said.

  “This we’ve got to see!” the three of them said in unison.

  Deborah lived in a housing complex about a mile from San Carlos Street. That afternoon, the four of us ventured there together, waiting around in front of the building until she appeared, carrying a basketful of rice from the bodega. I was very happy to notice that Deborah smiled when she saw me. I was less happy to realize that my knees had suddenly become watery.

  “You clowns stay here while I go talk to her,” I told the boys.

  Traveling the twenty feet or so to Deborah was the longest walk of my life. Afterward, I couldn’t even remember what I said. I was so nervous that I bl
ocked the whole incident from my memory. All I knew was that somehow Deborah agreed to meet me at the Jagua Movie House that weekend for a matinee showing. I went back to the boys in triumph, my feet scarcely touching the ground.

  “You really did it,” Tito said, awed.

  “Calcines has a date!” howled Luis.

  “Congratulations, man,” said Rolando, slapping me on the back. “I didn’t think you had the nerve! Now you’re going to be the first one of us to take a girl out!”

  “Are you going to kiss her?” demanded Luis.

  “Of course I’m going to kiss her,” I said. “You guys can come along and learn from the master, if you want. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  I didn’t dare say a word about my date to anyone in my family, because Mama and Esther would have just embarrassed me—How cute! Eduar has a date! Smoochie smoochie! Even Papa would have teased me about it, and I didn’t want anything to ruin the way I was feeling. At the appointed hour, with my hair slicked back and my face scented with aftershave—even though a razor had yet to touch it—I waited outside the Jagua Movie House for Deborah. I had already bought our tickets with money I had begged from Tío William, who thought I was going to the movies with Luis. Deborah showed up right on time. She looked so beautiful in her white dress, clearly cleaned and pressed for the occasion, and with a flower behind her ear, that I felt my face get hot.

  “Hi,” I said. “You look great.”

  “So do you,” said Deborah.

  She stood there smiling at me, while I wondered if maybe now was the time to kiss her. But that would be moving too fast. Instead, I presented her with her ticket, and we went inside and found our seats just as the show began.

  Since the early days of the Revolution, only Communist-approved movies were allowed in Cuba. Most of these were terrible Soviet productions, featuring unbelievable cheeseball plots. But I didn’t care. I’d chosen a romance, as the boys had suggested, because I fully intended to kiss Deborah—and not just on the cheek, either. It was going to be on the lips, just like in the movies.

  Meanwhile, my three buddies were seated five rows behind us. I’d already warned them that if they made a peep or embarrassed me in any way, I would rearrange their facial features. They were impressed enough by my having a date with an actual girl that they agreed to stay cool.

  Now it was time. Somehow, I had to get Deborah to let me kiss her. During the first few minutes of the movie, I put my arm around her—not her actual body, mind you, just the back of her chair. The tips of my fingers brushed the ends of a few strands of hair. That was great progress—real, physical contact. I hoped the boys were taking notes.

  But for the next two hours, I tried again and again to summon the courage to lift my arm up around her shoulders, only to lose heart every time. I could practically hear the seats creaking as the boys leaned forward to see if I’d made my move yet. Finally, with the film almost over, and the big, climactic on-screen kiss just seconds away, I realized that it was now or never.

  My arm had fallen asleep long ago. I couldn’t even feel it. I picked it up somehow, draped it over her shoulder—at least, I think I did; it was so numb I could hardly tell—and, just as the Russian hero on the screen leaned in to kiss the starlet, I puckered up, Deborah turned to face me, and—

  “Niño!” came a shrill voice.

  I groaned. It was like a bad dream.

  “Eduardo Francisco Calcines! Where are you?”

  Ripples of laughter passed through the audience. I could hear the usher pleading with someone.

  “Ma’am! Ma’am, you can’t just barge in here like this! Ma’am, can I please have my flashlight back?”

  “Just a moment, young man,” snapped the voice, which could only belong to one person. “I’m here for my grandson, and when I find him, I’m going to take him out of here and burn his butt. You’ll get your precious flashlight back, don’t you worry. Do you really think an old lady like me is going to steal it? Niño! Where are you?”

  I could hear the stifled snorts of the boys. I made myself as small as possible. Abuela went from row to row, shining her flashlight in the face of each and every moviegoer, calling my name. Everyone found this very amusing.

  “Niño!” total strangers yelled, imitating Abuela’s voice. “Eduar! Get home right this minute!”

  “I think your grandmother is looking for you,” said Deborah.

  “I want to die,” I muttered.

  Finally, the beam of light found me. A clawlike set of fingers latched onto my earlobe and pulled me out of my seat.

  “How dare you go to a movie without letting your parents or me know!” Abuela said, loud enough to be heard in Havana. “You tell your little girlfriend that if she wants to see you anymore, it will have to be in the backyard, because you are grounded, Eduardo! Now, let’s go!”

  Abuela marched me down the aisle, chiding me and yanking on my earlobe all the while, and pulled me out into the blinding sunlight of the real world. My protests fell on deaf ears. She towed me down the street to my house, where she delivered a full report to my parents. Mama was upset, so Papa didn’t dare say anything. But I caught him winking at me, and when no one was looking, he silently mouthed the words Good job!

  The next day, my wings were clipped. I was told I could stay at home or go to Abuela’s house, but nowhere else. Sitting up on my rooftop sanctuary, I was whistling out my pain to the birds when I heard Abuela’s voice.

  “Well, young lady, what a nice surprise! Eduardo is in the back. You can go out this way.”

  I could hardly believe it. I scrambled down the avocado tree in time to see Deborah come out the back door. So she didn’t think I was a loser, after all! If only the boys were here to see this moment!

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hi, there,” she said. “You’re really good at those bird calls.”

  “Sorry about yesterday,” I said.

  “That’s all right,” she told me. “It wasn’t your fault. I had a nice time.”

  “I was afraid you didn’t.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, and then, without warning, she leaned forward and fulfilled the dream that had been thwarted by my grandmother. Her lips tasted like heaven. When she finally pulled back, I thought I was going to faint.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Glad you liked it,” she said. “I’ve never kissed a boy before.”

  “Me, neither,” I said. “I mean—what I meant was—I’ve never kissed a girl before, either.”

  “I knew what you meant, silly,” said Deborah. “I have to go now. My mama thinks I’m at my uncle’s house.”

  “Can I come see you when I’m not grounded anymore?”

  “Sure,” said Deborah, smiling.

  Things were going so well, I decided then and there to take the plunge. “Do you, uh—wanna be my girlfriend?”

  She smiled even more broadly. “Yes!” she said.

  “Well . . . great!” I said. I didn’t know what to do next, so I held out my hand and we shook, as if concluding a business arrangement. Then, laughing, we kissed again.

  “See you soon, Eduardo,” said Deborah.

  Then she went back into the house, politely saying goodbye to my grandmother and grandfather as she left.

  “Well,” said Papa when I told him all about it, “it seems we had our little talk just in time. So you have a girlfriend now!”

  “I guess so.” I tried to keep my chest from exploding.

  Papa smiled—barely. He’d been home for three weeks, and he was fully recovered from his surgery. I’d gotten used to having him around all the time again, and Esther and Mama and I had been pushing the inevitable out of our minds. But I could tell from the expression on his face that he had something bad to tell me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I have to go back,” Papa said quietly.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.” He showed me the piece of paper that had been delivered earlier that day, o
rdering him to report back to the work camp or face time in prison.

  I nodded. I really wanted to cry, but that would have felt stupid after the events of the last couple of days. I was no longer a small boy. I wanted Papa to know he could depend on me to keep things together while he was gone.

  “Maybe they won’t work you so hard now,” I suggested.

  “They might not,” said Papa. “Then again, they might.” He shrugged. “One way or the other, niño, we’re a day closer to getting that telegram. Don’t forget that. Promise?”

  “I promise, Papa.”

  The next day, the three of us waited with him at the bus stop until that belching, overloaded piece of junk finally pulled up. We hugged Papa goodbye, then watched as the bus went down the street and turned the corner. Then, without another word, we went back inside the house.

  Señora Santana

  Which one of you is the worm known as Eduardo Calcines!” screamed the short, plump woman at the head of the room. “Stand up now!”

  As dead silence settled over my math class, I stood next to my desk. The eyes of my classmates were on me like laser beams. But they were nothing compared to the steely gaze of Senora Santana. It was my first class of the day, and I’d been an eighth grader for all of ten minutes, but already she’d made it her mission to humiliate and frighten me.

  “You are Calcines?”

  “Yes, senora.”

  “Well, then, you are a worm.”

  I said nothing.

  “Your parents are worms, too! I hear your father is being taught by our leaders how to be a useful member of society, instead of a worthless, leeching parasite. If you’re in such a hurry to leave Cuba, why don’t you go jump in the water right now! Go on, swim to your beloved America, you Yankee-loving worm!”