Flight to Freedom Read online

  FIRST PERSON FICTION

  Flight to

  Freedom

  Ana Veciana-Suarez

  For my children, Renee, Leonardo,

  Christopher, Benjamin, and Nicholas,

  so they will always remember

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Havana, Cuba 1967

  Sunday, 2nd of April

  Tuesday, 4th of April

  Thursday, 6th of April

  Saturday, 8th of April

  Monday, 10th of April

  Friday, 14th of April

  Saturday, 15th of April

  Monday, 17th of April

  Thursday, 20th of April

  Monday, 24th of April

  Wednesday, 26th of April

  Friday, 28th of April

  Sunday, 30th of April

  Wednesday, 3rd of May

  Friday, 5th of May

  Saturday, 6th of May

  Tuesday, 9th of May

  Sunday, 14th of May

  Tuesday, 16th of May

  Friday, 19th of May

  Saturday, 20th of May

  Sunday, 21st of May

  Tuesday, 23rd of May

  Sunday, 28th of May

  Wednesday, 31st of May

  Later

  Monday, 19th of June

  Tuesday, 20th of June

  Saturday, 1st of July

  Friday, 7th of July

  Saturday, 8th of July

  Thursday, 13th of July

  Wednesday, 26th of July

  Tuesday, 8th of August

  Saturday, 12th of August

  Tuesday, 15th of August

  Friday, 18th of August

  Miami, Florida

  Sunday, 20th of August

  Monday, 21st of August

  Wednesday, 23rd of August

  Thursday, 24th of August

  Friday, 25th of August

  Sunday, 27th of August

  Tuesday, 29th of August

  Wednesday, 30th of August

  Friday, 1st of September

  Tuesday, 5th of September

  Later

  Wednesday, 6th of September

  Thursday, 7th of September

  Saturday, 9th of September

  Monday, 11th of September

  Friday, 15th of September

  Later

  Sunday, 17th of September

  Monday, 18th of September

  Tuesday, 19th of September

  Tuesday, 26th of September

  Wednesday, 27th of September

  Friday, 29th of September

  Sunday, 1st of October

  Wednesday, 4th of October

  Friday, 6th of October

  Tuesday, 10th of October

  Thursday, 12th of October

  Friday, 13th of October

  Sunday, 15th of October

  Friday, 20th of October

  Saturday, 21st of October

  Tuesday, 24th of October

  Thursday, 26th of October

  Friday, 27th of October

  Tuesday, 31st of October

  Friday, 3rd of November

  Tuesday, 7th of November

  Friday, 10th of November

  Wednesday, 15th of November

  Thursday, 16th of November

  Friday, 17th of November

  Saturday, 18th of November

  Sunday, 19th of November

  Monday, 20th of November

  Wednesday, 22nd of November

  Thursday, 23rd of November

  Saturday, 25th of November

  Tuesday, 28th of November

  Sunday, 3rd of December

  Monday, 4th of December

  Thursday, 7th of December

  Friday, 8th of December

  Saturday, 9th of December

  Sunday, 10th of December

  Tuesday, 12th of December

  Thursday, 14th of December

  Saturday, 16th of December

  Monday, 18th of December

  Wednesday, 20th of December

  Friday, 22nd of December

  Sunday, 24th of December

  Later

  Wednesday, 27th of December

  Sunday, 31st of December

  1968

  Thursday, 4th of January

  Saturday, 6th of January

  Monday, 8th of January

  Friday, 12th of January

  Saturday, 13th of January

  Tuesday, 16th of January

  Thursday, 18th of January

  Saturday, 20th of January

  Later

  Sunday, 21st of January

  Monday, 22nd of January

  Tuesday, 23rd of January

  Thursday, 25th of January

  Friday, 26th of January

  Monday, 29th of January

  Tuesday, 30th of January

  Thursday, 1st of February

  Saturday, 3rd of February

  Sunday, 4th of February

  Monday, 5th of February

  Tuesday, 6th of February

  Wednesday, 7th of February

  Thursday, 8th of February

  Saturday, 10th of February

  Monday, 12th of February

  Monday, 19th of February

  Tuesday, 20th of February

  Wednesday, 21st of February

  Friday, 23rd of February

  Saturday, 24th of February

  Tuesday, 27th of February

  Wednesday, 28th of February

  Thursday, 29th of February

  Friday, 1st of March

  Saturday, 2nd of March

  Sunday, 3rd of March

  Monday, 4th of March

  Wednesday, 6th of March

  Thursday, 7th of March

  Saturday, 9th of March

  Tuesday, 12th of March

  Wednesday, 13th of March

  Friday, 15th of March

  Saturday, 16th of March

  Later

  Before bed

  Sunday, 17th of March

  Monday, 18th of March

  Tuesday, 19th of March

  Friday, 22nd of March

  Thursday, 28th of March

  Sunday, 31st of March

  Monday, 1st of April

  Wednesday, 3rd of April

  Sunday, 7th of April

  Tuesday, the 9th of April

  Wednesday, 10th of April

  Sunday, 14th of April

  Wednesday, 17th of April

  Friday, 19th of April

  Sunday, 21st of April

  Wednesday, 24th of April

  Friday, 26th of April

  Saturday, 27th of April

  Monday, 29th of April

  Tuesday, 30th of April

  Wednesday, 1st of May

  Thursday, 2nd of May

  Later

  In the middle of the night

  Friday, 3rd of May

  Sunday, 5th of May

  Tuesday, 7th of May

  Wednesday, 8th of May

  Saturday, 11th of May

  Sunday, 12th of May

  Thursday, 16th of May

  Saturday, 18th of May

  Sunday, 19th of May

  Monday, 20th of May

  Wednesday, 22nd of May

  Thursday, 23rd of May

  Saturday, 25th of May

  Monday, 27th of May

  Wednesday, 29th of May

  Friday, 31st of May

  Saturday, 1st of June

  Monday, 3rd of June

  Thursday, 6th of June

  Friday, 7th of June

  Saturday, 8th of June

  Sunday, 9th of June

  Tuesday, 11th o
f June

  Thursday, 13th of June

  Friday, 14th of June

  Sunday, 16th of June

  Later

  Monday, 17th of June

  Tuesday, 18th of June

  Friday 21st of June

  Saturday, 22nd of June

  Wednesday, 26th of June

  Sunday, 30th of June

  Thursday, 4th of July

  My Personal Exodus

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Points

  From The Stone Goddess

  Other First Person Fiction titles

  Copyright

  Havana, Cuba

  1967

  Sunday, 2nd of April

  Here we are, you and I, alone together. Forever. Or until these pages are filled with my handwriting. You are my first diary. Papi gave you to me this morning, before he left for the countryside. “For my studious daughter,” he said. (That’s me.) He had tears in his eyes when he said this, and his square chin quivered.

  He gave Ileana, who, at sixteen, is three years older than I, a beautiful tortoiseshell compact with face powder, and for our younger sister, Ana María, a small rag doll with embroidered eyes and yarn for hair. I do not know if he got anything for Pepito because my brother was drafted into the army last fall. Our gifts are treasures in these rationed times, so I thanked him with many hugs and kisses. I did not want to cry in front of him because that would make him feel worse, so I tried to concentrate on his thick, black mustache.

  Papi must work in the fields, harvesting coffee, so we can leave Cuba. The government assigns all the heads of households to la agricultura before a family can emigrate. Working the fields can be backbreaking toil under terrible conditions, especially for men like my father who are city folk and know nothing about farming. But what else can he do? Like everyone who requests permission to leave the country, he was fired from his job. We have had to depend on our savings and the generosity of family. Some do not even have that to fall back on. “All in all,” Mami keeps reminding us, “we have been lucky.”

  We do not know exactly when we will be allowed to travel, but Papi has already been told that our exit permits and U.S. visas are being processed. When the paperwork is complete, we will board an airplane for Miami, to join my father’s brother and his family. My paternal grandparents, Abuelo Tony and Abuela María, are there, too. We will be gone only a short time, Papi said, until the political situation improves here on the island. To prove she believes this, Mami had her long brown hair, which she liked to wear in a chignon, cut short like a boy’s. She will grow it back only after we return. She has offered this as a sacrifice to Our Lady of Charity in hopes that our stay in the United States will not be long.

  Tuesday, 4th of April

  Ana Mari came home crying because other pupils in her school are calling her gusana. Everyone calls the Cuban exiles in Miami “worms,” and since we will soon be going there, they insult us in that way, too. Those who know we have applied to leave the country think we are turncoats because we are abandoning the revolution and fleeing to the imperialist yanquis in the north. Papi says we must leave because the government has made indoctrination more important than the study of mathematics and grammar. Two years ago, when Ana Mari was entering kindergarten, the teacher asked her class if they believed God existed. Ana Mari and a few other students said yes, and were told to close their eyes and ask God for a piece of candy. When they opened their eyes, their hands were empty. Then the teacher asked them to close their eyes again and ask Fidel Castro, leader of the revolution, for candy. When they did, the teacher placed a piece of candy in each of the outstretched hands.

  “There is no God,” the teacher told the class. “There is only Fidel.”

  Oh, Papi was angry when he heard that! He got so red in the face. I think that is when he decided we could not continue living here.

  April is the anniversary of the Bay of Pigs battle, when a group of exiles, with the help of the United States, tried to attack Cuba but failed. In Ana Mari’s first grade book, there is a poem titled “Girón” that talks about the invasion. “One time, in April,” it says, “the Yankees attacked us. They sent a lot of bad people. They wanted to destroy the free Cuba. The people defeated them. Fidel led the fight.”

  We hear stories like this all the time in school, and my parents worry that the government is trying to poison our minds. Mami and Papi tell us not to believe everything we hear in the classroom because it is Communist propaganda. The only way to get away from this is to leave our home, yet I am scared. I am scared of a strange place, a strange language, a strange people. I am scared of leaving my friends behind, and my maternal grandparents, and my brother. When will we see them again?

  Thursday, 6th of April

  Tío Camilo came into town from his farm in Matanzas and brought us all kinds of fresh fruit, a big ham, and a pork leg. Mami immediately hid whatever she could in the freezer and kissed and hugged her older brother as if he were one of the Three Kings bearing gifts on the Epiphany. In a way, I guess he is. It is impossible to find the food he brought us in any of the stores of the city. He also risked being thrown in jail for transporting these goods without government approval. But Tío Camilo doesn’t seem to mind the danger. When Mami warned him to be careful, he told her, “Sister, under this government we must get approval to breathe. What am I to do? Suffocate?”

  He complained that Fidel Castro had sworn to the people that his revolution was as Cuban as the palm trees. “Ha! Ha!” he laughed. “With all those Russians crawling around, no? This revolution is more like a guava fruit—green on the outside and red on the inside.”

  Saturday, 8th of April

  You would not believe what happened when I was waiting in line with Mami for our soap ration. She had heard from a neighbor, who heard it from her cousin’s mother-in-law, that a shipment had arrived, so off we went at dawn. By the time we got there, there was already a long line, but we waited anyway. And waited. And waited. The day was hot and people were acting nasty. A fight broke out between two men ahead of us, but nobody tried to stop it because no one wanted to lose their place in line. Some people were cheering the tall skinny man, but I thought the fat, bald one was getting in more punches. As the men began to circle around each other, an old lady behind us screamed. It was a scream to make your hair stand on end.

  Mami and I turned around and saw an old man in a yellow guayabera shirt lying on the street in a crumpled heap. The fat man and the skinny one stopped fighting, and people began to call out for a doctor. Finally a young woman broke through the ranks and identified herself as a medical worker in a lab. She bent over the man and pressed her fingers to his wrist. She said he was dead. We all sighed, but nobody moved. My mother’s hands were shaking and her face was white. She ordered me to face the front and stop staring, but when she wasn’t watching, I sneaked some peeks at the dead man. As the line moved, the people behind us simply stepped over him. Eventually two men in blue uniforms came with a stretcher and carried him away.

  By the time it was our turn, the government store had already run out of soap. We wasted all that time, and now I cannot get the image of the dead man out of my mind. How horrible to die that way, without family or friends around you, waiting in line for some stupid rationed soap.

  Monday, 10th of April

  While waiting for the bus, Ileana spotted her best friend Carmen across the street. (Actually, I should write former best friend. They haven’t talked in two or three years.) Ileana called to her and Carmen turned to look at us, but then continued on her way as if we didn’t exist. Maybe she did not recognize who we were. But Ileana says she ignored us on purpose. Ileana and Carmen used to do everything together, so much so that Mami named them The Twins. But Carmen’s father became a bigwig in the Communist Party, and he even has a car and a driver and is allowed to travel outside the island. So now Carmen refuses to speak to Ileana. She does not return her phone calls and ignores my sister as if she were a dead cockroach. I
leana does not blame Carmen. She is sure Carmen’s parents prohibit her from socializing with our family because we are counterrevolutionary.

  A lot of friends, neighbors, and even relatives do not get along anymore because the grown-ups argue about who is making the country’s rules. After the husband of Mami’s cousin Cynthia was executed by the paredón firing squad for trying to overthrow the government, Cynthia moved back to her parents’ farm in Camaguey. Before she left, members of her neighborhood’s Committee for the Defense of the Revolution threw tomatoes at her house, and she was fired from her secretarial job. I will never forget the pain and anger I saw in Cynthia’s eyes on the day she left, the same look our old dog Mancha had when we found her after she was hit by an automobile.

  Friday, 14th of April

  I have already packed for La Escuela al Campo program in Pinar del Rio. My small suitcase bears my name: Yara García. We will be gone for forty-five days in this school-to-country program, but we are not allowed to take much—a few changes of clothes, a bucket for our baths, the standard wooden flip-flops, and a hat. In school we are told that the purpose of this special school is to educate students in agriculture and farmwork because they are important parts of the island’s economy, but no one believes that line. Papi says it is just an excuse to obtain free farm labor.

  Though I am finishing the seventh grade, this will be my first time at the country school. Last summer my parents were able to get a medical waiver because I had mononucleosis. Poor Ileana has never been excused. She has left home every year since she was twelve to help harvest the tobacco crop. She does not like to talk much about her experiences, except to say that it is hard work. We are supposed to attend school in the afternoon during this program, but Ileana says that rarely happens because there is too much to do in the fields and you work from dawn to nightfall, six days a week.

  Mami worries about the bad influences I will encounter. I have no idea what she means and, quite honestly, I am a little excited about being away from home for the first time.

  Saturday, 15th of April

  My best friend Ofelia will be going to a different Escuela al Campo. She was heartbroken that we would not be together, but her parents have arranged for her to join the Communist Youth Union, and I think that may be why she will attend another program. We are all members of the Pioneers in school, and we are instructed to perform neighborhood watches to keep an eye on neighbors who might not be completely committed to the revolution. Most of my friends do not take this role very seriously because none of us cares too much about politics. We would rather play among ourselves or get together to listen to the radio. But when you are part of the Communist Youth Union, as Ofelia is, this is serious business. She will have to take part in conferences, marches, rallies, and undergo military training. I cannot imagine Ofelia doing this. She would prefer to dance or drink a tropical fruit juice with that Luis boy she likes so much, but I guess she has to do what her parents tell her to. Like the rest of us.