Mission Libertad (15 page)

“Will do,” Loynaz said. “Keep your eyes open.”

“I will, thanks,” he said, signing off.

This is the part of his job he enjoyed the most. It could be boring for days, but then one clue and—bingo!—
the information started to pour in. He was glad he had such a good team working for him. He hoped this hunch panned out because he had a feeling this was no routine assignment.

Antonio and Jorge had seen the Galleti and Ramirez families loading suitcases into their car the night before they left for Miami. Early the next morning, the spies were waiting on a side street, ready to follow them. Now they sped down the highway after them, keeping a safe distance so as not to arouse suspicion. It was a good thing they had borrowed someone else's car.

“You know, Jorge, that old woman, Maria Elena Jemot, is a sneaky old lady,” said Antonio, laughing. “You've got to hand it to her.”

“She is slick, all right,” Jorge said cynically. “I don't know how she does it. Maybe it's all that praying she does. She has some superior being protecting her.”

“What do you think she asked her relatives to do?” Antonio said.

“I don't know, but I have a feeling that we'll find our answers in Miami,” Jorge said. “Look, they're stopping in this rest area.”

Antonio swerved into the side lane to go into the rest stop.

“Let's get more coffee,” Antonio said. “I am beat.”

“I should be sleeping while you drive so we can switch later,” Jorge said.

“Okay, stay in the car. I will get coffee for myself,” he said, putting on his sunglasses and pulling the hood of his jacket over his head so no one would recognize him.

Only ten miles away Agent Stewart was talking again with Agent Loynaz.

“We found a lead to some interesting information,” Agent Loynaz said. “The grandmother, Maria Elena Jemot, was in favor of the revolution right at the beginning, like many others. But as soon as the government declared themselves socialist she started peacefully working underground with the Catholic Church.”

“Interesting,” Stewart said. “I knew there was something more to this lady.”

“She helped seminarians and people trying to get off the island, and was instrumental in the Pedro Pan movement,” she said.

“Hmm, Operation Pedro Pan,” Stewart said, “when 14,000 Cuban children were smuggled out of Cuba to
escape communism and were taken care of in this country by the Catholic Church . . .”

“I will keep researching and let you know of any new developments,” Loynaz said.

“All right, thanks,” Stewart said and continued driving.

After another stop, Sonia took the wheel until evening. Then Rosie continued driving until they arrived in Miami.

“We are not far,” Tommy said to Luisito.

“How long?” Luisito said.

“I don't know, but we are close. When I see palm trees I know we are getting close to my Abuela Maricusa,” Tommy said.

“I hope she is waiting for us with hot chocolate and
churros
,” Sonia said.

“What are
churros
? A typical Miami food?” Luisito asked.

“No, they're a pastry eaten in Cuba with hot chocolate or
café con leche
. It's really from Spain, but many countries claim it because it is so good!” Rosie said.

“I remember eating
churros
as a child,” Elena said. “In fact, I had forgotten all about them until now.”

“You are going to love them,” Tommy told Luisito who by now was quite hungry just thinking about it.

It was already dark when they drove through the streets of Miami. They saw mostly one-story ranch homes with aluminum fencing.

“Look, Abuela and Abuelo are waiting for us on the porch!” Tommy exclaimed.

As expected, hugs and kisses and hot chocolate awaited them.
My cousins were right
, Luisito thought. The hot thick chocolate was delicious, especially when he dipped the
churro
into it. Maricusa had guest rooms prepared for the parents and the sunroom ready with cots and sleeping bags for the kids. Luisito, exhausted from the excitement and the long day, fell asleep in seconds.

The next morning Luisito woke to the strong aroma of Cuban coffee and cheerful noises coming from the kitchen: the percolating of the coffeemaker, the sizzling of
huevo
fritos
(fried eggs), the popping of the toaster, and the constant opening and closing of the refrigerator. It was breakfast time, all right!

“After lunch let's go to the grocery store to get some things,” Maricusa said to Rosie.

“No, Mami,” Rosie said, sensing her chance. “Make me a list and I will go with the kids. You can stay here and continue cooking.”

“Do you remember where the grocery store is?” Manuel, Tommy's grandfather, asked her.

“Of course I remember,” Rosie said.

Meanwhile, the family ate breakfast and chatted about Christmas, about the process of obtaining Abuela's immigration papers, and, of course, what to do when Cuba was free again.

“I'll go back to live in my house in
el
barrio
of Milagros in Havana,” Maricusa sighed.

“Ah! It's probably a
cuarteria
, a squatter home, all in disrepair thanks to the revolution!” José said.

“You are absolutely right, I've passed by it,” Elena said.

“I will buy a vacation beach home in Varadero. I will renovate it and spend my summers there, but I'm not going back there to live,” Rosie said. “The United States is my home now.”

“Hey, stop dreaming for a minute and come outside to look at the
gallinas
, the hens,” Manuel said to Rosie. “This is where I got the eggs you just had for breakfast.”

“Only in Miami can you have chickens as pets in your backyard,” José said, laughing.

Rosie followed her father out the door to see the hens. But she missed the last step and fell to the ground. Her flip-flops flew into the air. She cried out in pain.

“¡La niña se cayó!”
Manuel shouted.

“Who fell?” Tommy said.

“Your mother! Quick, get some ice!” Manuel said.

“Honey, are you okay?” José asked.

“I think I sprained my ankle,” Rosie said.

José helped her to the sofa and put her feet up.

“Bring the ice,” Maricusa said. “She will be fine.”

“Now, don't do anything. Just rest,” Miguel said.

The family gathered around her, staring in concern at her foot with a bag of ice on it.

“Well, Sonita,” Maricusa said, “you will have to go to the supermarket and pick up the food I need.”

“No, I'll go,” Rosie said, trying to get up. This was the perfect chance to take Luisito to the shrine of Our Lady of Charity and speak to the priest in charge.

“No way, honey,” José said. “You can't go like that. I will go to the grocery store.”

Luisito realized this was their only opportunity to go to see the priest.

“I will go with Sonia,” he blurted out.

“Let's go!” Sonia said quickly.

“Wait,” Rosie said, trying to think quickly. “Give me a piece of paper so I can write down the driving directions for her.”

“There's no need. I will just tell her,” Maricusa said. “It's really easy. You take this road down to ninety-eighth street. Then you take. . . .”

“Mami, let me write it for her,” Rosie said.

Sonia gave her mother a piece of paper. Rosie wrote on it while the family all discussed the easiest way to get to the grocery store.

“Come here,” Rosie said. “Let me give you a kiss.”

“They're only going to the grocery store,” laughed José. “You'd think they were embarking on a dangerous journey.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Rosie said, forcing a smile.
Ay, Dios mio, what am I doing?
she thought.

Sonia, Tommy, and Luisito rushed to the car before anyone could have a change of mind.

“Why do you all have to go?” José asked. “Tommy, you stay, and let's help Abuelo with the lawn.”

“I want to go with them,” Tommy said. “I'll help when I come back.”

“Yeah, right,” José said. “Those kids will probably end up at the mall. They won't be back right away.”

“Oh, let them have fun!” Maricusa said. “They'll only be young once.”

Sonia backed the car out and drove two blocks to the nearest stop sign. She pulled over and opened the paper her mother had given them. The paper was folded like a
greeting card. It had directions to the grocery store on the front, and on the inside it had instructions on how to get to the shrine.

“This is easy,” Sonia said. “I've never driven to the shrine, but I've come every time we visit. It's right by Mercy Hospital. There are signs pointing to the hospital all over the main road. Super easy!”

“Okay, well, let's get it done,” Tommy said.

Luisito couldn't feel completely calm until he had delivered his message. He hoped it would benefit Abuela or Cuba somehow.

Following the directions on the paper, they arrived at the shrine with only one or two wrong turns. The pathway to the shrine was lined with royal palm trees. Luisito stopped in awe as he gazed at the architecturally unique church with the ocean as a backdrop. They walked up several steps toward the light blue cone-shaped building that resembled the silhouette of the statue of Our Lady of Charity with her triangular dress. Upon entering, Luisito immediately noticed the large painted mural behind the altar. It was an illustration of the history of Cuba with portraits of patriots, founding fathers, and saints. In the center, the Blessed Mother held the child Jesus. The priest's chair was made of Cuban palm trees. Under the altar, in the foundation of the building, sand from each of the six Cuban provinces was buried.

He saw several groups of people kneeling and looking at the tabernacle while their lips moved silently, as if they were holding a private conversation with God or the Blessed Mother. Many clutched rosaries, as he had often seen Abuela do back in Cuba.

A short nun in a gray habit saw them watching the people and approached them.

“Many people find hope here,” she said. “They pray to be reunited with their families. They pray for a free Cuba.”

Luisito nodded, still watching the people. He knew exactly how they felt.

“Can I help you?” the nun proceeded to ask.

Luisito focused on what he had come to do. He asked the nun if they could see the Cuban priest.

“I believe he is resting,” the nun said. “Father René de Jesús is not as young as he used to be, and it is a very busy time of year.”

But Luisito couldn't take no for an answer.

“He is expecting me,” he said, bluffing. Maybe he wasn't lying, he thought. The priest could very well be expecting him for all he knew. “I bring him an important message from Cuba,” he added.

“Well . . . come with me then. I'll see if he's in,” the nun said, eyeing him doubtfully.

They went to an office in the entrance to the shrine, where she made a phone call. She mumbled something to the person on the other end of the phone, then looking at Luisito she asked, “What's your name?”

“My name is Luis Ramirez Jemot. I am Maria Elena Jemot's grandson. I recently arrived from Cuba by raft.”

The nun's features softened as she realized he was a Cuban rafter. She whispered into the phone again. Then she hung up the receiver and motioned for them to follow her. They went outside and downstairs to some offices beneath the chapel. They walked down a hall and
into a small office with a desk, a phone, two chairs, and many pictures hanging along the wall. A colorfully painted wooden plaque of Our Lady of Charity stood out.

“Please wait here for Father René de Jesús. He will be right with you,” she said, pointing to the chairs.

“Is that Father René de Jesús?” Luisito pointed to a picture on the wall.

“Yes, that was taken on the day he was ordained. The woman in the picture is his mother. She passed away a few years ago. A very nice and holy woman.”

The nun walked away, closing the door behind her. Her words echoed in Luisito's mind. The priest's mother had passed away. Then who was the mother who was waiting for him in Italy?

At that moment a gray-haired man dressed in black came through the door. A gold cross hung around his neck. With a kind smile he asked, “Who is Maria Elena's grandson?”

“I am,” Luisito said, “and these are my cousins. I arrived recently by raft from Cuba. I live in Maryland now, but my abuela told me to deliver an important message to you.”

Luisito was so anxious to fulfill his promise that he didn't even give the priest a chance to sit down.

The priest interrupted Luisito by stretching out his hand and shaking Luisito's.