Leaving Glorytown (20 page)

“Look, I'm sorry, but neither of you makes any sense at all,” I said. I
wiped my cheeks on my arm and sniffled. “My girl just dumped me because I'm not a Communist! And one of my teachers says horrible things about me every day in front of all the other kids! Papa was taken away from us and now he has to shovel crap in the streets! We don't have enough to eat! Tell me how killing Fidel wouldn't help! Explain it in a way that makes sense!”

“You're thirteen, and soon you will be a man,” Abuelo said. “So it's important for us to have this talk now, while your mind is still fresh. Let my words sink in, niño. Even if you don't agree with them, carry them inside you. You will have to make a choice someday, boy. It's up to you.”

“If it were up to me, I'd truss Castro like a pig and roast him over hot coals!” I shouted.

Then I ran out of the house and climbed the avocado tree up to the roof so I could sob my heartbreak among the birds.

Time passed, and my wounded heart healed little by little. But I became consumed by thoughts of getting Olga back. I had to bide my time. If only she could see me do some of the things I was good at—play baseball, or something! I would have to be on the lookout for a chance to show her what she'd given up.

Meanwhile, my grades plummeted. Señora Santana delighted in pointing this out in her class whenever I failed an exam. Somehow, in her mind, stupidity and dissent were the same thing.

“What an idiot you are!” she crowed one day in March. “You'll never amount to anything, Calcines.”

But later, on the playground, I checked my exam against one of my classmates'. Although our answers were nearly the same, my score was forty points lower than his.

“I can't believe this!” I told the boys on the way home. “She's not even being fair!”

“She really has it in for you,” said Luis. “Lucky for you we're being sent out to the country for a while.”

I stopped in my tracks. “We're what?”

“It's the Schools-to-Countryside program,” Tito said. “Didn't you hear the announcement?”

“He's too busy daydreaming about how to get Olga back,” said Luis.

“Shut up,” I said. “What's going on?”

“We're all going out to an onion farm for a month to help with the harvest,” said Tito. “It's gonna be fun!”

“Fun, yeah,” I said. A pang of fear shot through me. I'd never been away from home for that long. “How do we know they're not just going to keep us there forever?”

“They wouldn't do that to kids,” said Luis.

“Oh, yes, they would,” I said. “I don't trust them at all.”

“It's an adventure,” said Tito. “I'm looking forward to it.”

Suddenly, a sunbeam burst through the clouds. “Are the girls going, too?” I asked hopefully.

“Ha! Listen to him!” Luis laughed.

“Yes, Olga will be there, too,” said Tito.

“Perfect!” I said. “This will be my big chance to win her back. She'll see me working like a champion, and she'll fall all over me.”

“Yeah, because every girl wants an onion farmer for a boyfriend!” Luis howled.

Our school had been ordered—or “selected,” as the Communists preferred to phrase it—to pick onions in the mountains around the city of Trinidad, about a hundred miles from Cienfuegos. Mama and Papa packed me a suitcase full of nearly everything I owned. I could see that they were worried and trying not to show it. It was becoming all too familiar for the Calcines family—an enforced separation from loved ones to provide the government with free labor.

“It's going to be cold in the mountains,” Mama said. “So dress warm.”

“Don't forget to brush your teeth,” Papa said. “And do as you're told. Don't make trouble.”

“It's only a month,” I said, hiding the urge to throw my arms around them. “At least we know I can come home when it's over.”

“That's right. And you'll be another inch taller the next time we see you,” Mama said.

The bus stopped and I got on. I waved out the window until we turned the corner. Then I pushed all thoughts of home from my mind. It wouldn't be so bad in the coming month. I'd have Tito and Luis to hang out with, and maybe another shot at impressing Olga. I began to get excited. Work? I could handle a little work. I was more interested in what kind of fun we were going to have.

It started that very night, after we'd all arrived at the farm and been sent to our bunks. The boys and girls had separate barracks, and Tito, Luis, and I managed to get beds next to one another. This was a recipe
for disaster. Also, the temperature was around forty degrees Fahrenheit, which was the coldest weather I'd ever experienced. With only onion sacks for blankets, there was no chance of falling asleep. We laughed and talked until midnight, when some other kids started throwing things at us to make us shut up. This turned into a massive brawl, with the air full of flying articles of clothing and toiletries. The man in charge came stomping in, wearing his pajamas.

“All right!” he shouted. “You want to play games, let's play games! Everyone strip down to your underwear and fall in! Everyone! All of you! Let's go!”

We did as we were told, wondering what strange punishment he was about to inflict on us.

“Now! Out the door—march!”

Out into the frigid night the fifty of us went. Luis was in front of me, Tito behind. We cursed as our bare feet encountered soggy, cold mud.

“No slowing down! This will teach you! Double-time! Let's go! We'll see how much screwing around you do then!”

We marched for what seemed like all night. I knew before twenty minutes had passed that Luis wasn't going to make it. He'd begun to wheeze and cough so badly that I was scared for him. By the time we got back to the barracks, thoroughly chilled and covered in mud, he was in the middle of a full-blown asthma attack, and the doctor had to be summoned.

The rest of us collapsed in our bunks and fell asleep. In the morning, Luis's things were gone.

“He's going home,” Tito informed me. “And I wish I were going with him. Some adventure this turned out to be.”

“I wish I were, too,” I said.

The front door banged open, and there stood our tormentor.

“Everybody up! Let's go! Fall in for breakfast, and then let's get to work!”

Breakfast was a steaming pot of white beans. We could see the worms in it. I remembered Papa's stories of the conditions at the work camp. This place was no better. I wondered how on earth he'd survived living like this.

We worked all morning, picking onions out of the mud. At lunch, we got another bowl of wormy beans. In the afternoon, after we'd knocked off for the day, we were herded into a large horse pen and hosed down until most of the mud had dripped from our bodies. Dinner—another bowl of beans. Then bedtime. I'd caught a single glimpse of Olga as she worked with the girls, but I was so exhausted I couldn't even bother looking a second time. My interest in her had dissipated. All I could think about was my empty stomach and my aching back.

“We have to escape,” I said to Tito that night. He sat cross-legged on his bunk, eating a raw onion.

“How?” he said. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“They'd catch us before we got a mile.”

“So? What are they going to do, execute us?”

“Maybe not, but how impressed will Olga be if she hears you ran away?”

I didn't even bother replying to this.

“You're going to be sick,” I said. “Eating raw onions is a surefire way to get diarrhea.”

“No, it isn't.”

“Just you wait.”

“That lucky bastard Luis,” said Tito. “I wish I had asthma.” Suddenly, with a panicked look, he shot to his feet and headed for the outdoor latrine.

“I told you!” I yelled after him. But I was too tired to laugh. I lay on my bunk and stared up at the rafters. About an hour later, Tito reappeared, looking white and shaken.

“Oh, my rear end,” he moaned.

“Stick an onion in it,” I advised him. “That will keep everything inside.”

“Calcines, I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you won't tell anyone? I'm really worried.”

“Promise.”

“When I was sitting in there, I looked down at my—my you-know-what.”

“How did you see it without a magnifying glass?”

“Quit screwing around. I'm seriously worried here. I saw something . . .
growing
down there.”

I became alarmed. “What are you talking about?”

“Uh . . . well . . . I'm getting hair.”

“Oh, that,” I said. “That's normal.”

“You're getting it, too?”

“Sure,” I lied. “I've had it for months.”

“Wow. Thanks! I was afraid there was something wrong with me.”

“There is,” I said, “but not that.”

I would have flung a few more barbs his way, but I was so tired that I fell asleep before I could say another word.

The following Sunday, after we'd been there a week, we were given some time off. Tito and I walked toward a nearby river, on a dirt road that led away from the onion farm. We kicked stones and told each other stories.

“You know, I used to have a lot of big dreams,” he said. “I wanted to be a sports hero or a millionaire. But you know what I want more than anything now?”

“What?”

“I just want a job and a wife. A couple of kids, maybe. Nothing special. That's all. That's not too much to ask for, is it?”

Under Castro, it might be more than you'll ever get,
I almost said. But the look on his face was so hopeful that I couldn't tear him down.

“Sure, you can do that if you want,” I said. “You can do anything, Tito. Castro can't stop you.”

“That's right!” he said, his eyes bright with excitement.

Why not let him dream? He knew he had to stay. I wanted nothing but happiness for Tito. But this desire was made all the more poignant by the fact that in a country where getting ahead was illegal, he would have a very hard time achieving even these simple goals.

I
t was a hot, humid day in late June 1969. The boys and I lounged in front of the Jagua Movie House. The heat shimmered madly above San Carlos Street, as if the very asphalt were on fire. Moving our limbs was a major effort. As usual at this time of the month, the last of our rations had run out. Mama now had a hard time coming up with one meal a day, so all of us were on sugar water and hard bread until the first of July, when we would have the privilege of standing in line for three or four hours to collect our canned horse meat. I no longer dreaded the taste of the stuff. I actually looked forward to it. At least it was protein.

“Look at Benao,” said Luis. “How come he always has so much energy?”

We all turned and looked at the mailman as he came marching down the street, chipper and spry in his freshly pressed uniform.

“That's why they call him ‘Deer,' ” said Rolando. “I bet he gets extra rations.”

“Man, I'd hate that job,” I said. “How would you like to walk around town in all this heat?”

“You'd like it if you were getting extra food!” Rolando said.

“That would depend on what I got.”

“How about a nice big slice of roasted pork with congris?”

“I want a cheeseburger, like they eat in America!”

“Oh, shut up!” Luis groaned, holding his stomach. “Why do you guys always talk about food? It drives me crazy!”

“Hey, Calcines!” said Tito. “I think Benao is going to your house!”

We all sat up and looked. The mailman was crossing my yard, a letter in his hand.

Suddenly, I had plenty of energy. “I'll be right back!” I said. But the boys all got up and ran across the street with me. We rushed to the front door just as Mama and Esther appeared.