Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (17 page)

“Well, we paid for it, we might as well enjoy it.”

Frank took Magda in his arms, more excited than he’d ever been in his life. He had recently turned twenty. Magda was almost eighteen, smart and beautiful. It didn’t get better than this. They tumbled into bed together, and Frank kissed her passionately, removing her clothes as he went. He couldn’t believe he was actually touching her, holding her, kissing her in places he had only dreamed about. They couldn’t get enough of each other.

At one point, Magda pulled away from Frank and laughed. “What about the bubble bath?”

“The hell with the bubble bath,” said Frank. “We’ll use it in the morning.”

They made love over and over, gently, passionately, until Magda finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted. Frank couldn’t imagine life could be this good. He turned on his back and smiled. His bride was everything he had hoped for and more. She boosted his confidence. She gave him hope. She made him laugh. She was his partner, his lover, someone with whom he could navigate this strange new world. He thanked God for the gift of her.

The events of the past year flashed before his eyes. He was proud of himself. He had achieved his goal to get to America and to marry Magda. He had struggled against the devil and won—at least for now.

His thoughts turned to his family and how much they would have enjoyed seeing him get married. Their wedding would have been much different in Cuba, attended by scores of people—siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, and friends. His mother would have worn a lace dress and a hat decorated with feathers. Abuelo and his father would have roasted a pig—if they could get one on the black market. Music would have brightened the air, and dancing would have greeted the dawn. But they would not have been free.

Suddenly, Frank heard a noise outside and froze, listening. His adrenaline spiked. He recognized the hoot of an owl and the rustle of what was probably a raccoon. Moonlight spilled through the curtains and a breeze warmed the room. Still, a chill enveloped his body.

He shook his head, thinking that once you’ve been a fugitive, fear stalks you like a lion. Long after your escape, long after your acquaintance with freedom, it appears out of nowhere. For Frank, it manifested itself in startled responses to quick gestures, to sudden noises, to unexpected events. The smallest thing could trigger fear in him.

Evil forces inhabited dark, sullen dreams, leaving his skin crawling and his sheets wet with perspiration. Terror could ambush him at the sound of a voice or in simple gestures—the nod of the head, the set of a jaw—anything that bore the slightest resemblance to his hunters.

His brain thirsted for the familiar, hungered for patterns, and sought links to what had already transpired. His response to the unknown was a survival mechanism, a shortcut to knowledge, and a recipe for torture.

He silently chided himself on how often he imagined things these days, how often he second-guessed what was happening. He reassured himself that he was in a safe place, a place of romance and love, a mountain refuge where no one could hurt him or his wife. There was no need for apprehension or alarm.

Exhaling, Frank turned on his side. Magda shifted her position and reached for him. He felt her slender arm encircle his waist and her firm breasts brush the hair on his back.

He listened as her breathing became softer, more rhythmic, grateful for her presence as she entered the world of dreams, and he remained still, his eyes open, his heart pounding, his imagination conjuring phantom shapes in the dark.

After a hearty breakfast, Frank and Magda went swimming and then tried their luck at horseback riding. Magda’s horse was old
and stubborn and spent most of the time eating grass by the side of the road. Frank tried to move him along, but the horse just neighed and shook his head, which made Magda laugh.

At lunch they met a group of four couples, friendly young people who told them things about the States they couldn’t even begin to imagine. Frank’s English was not good enough to understand most of what was said, but Magda got the gist of it. Her years of study at a private school in Cuba were paying off.

They heard stories about vacationing in the Grand Canyon, a hole so large and deep it took hours to ride to the bottom on a mule. They heard about a horseshoe-shaped waterfall in New York that dropped a hundred and fifty thousand gallons of water a second. They learned about a national park in the West with geysers, salt flats, and bubbling mud.

The men discussed investments and real estate and told them that you could get a mortgage or a car loan with a small down payment. They talked about careers in banking, insurance, and medicine. Magda’s ears perked up when she learned you could make a good living by using math.

These stories opened a whole new world to the newlyweds, and they realized there was more to America than living in Union City or working in a laminate factory in Clifton.

When Frank and Magda got home, they rented an apartment on Kennedy Boulevard, and Luis helped Frank move the legendary refrigerator into the kitchen. The couple bought a bed, a table and chairs, and a damask tablecloth for entertaining.

They painted the walls eggshell white and the woodwork Williamsburg blue. Magda hung ball-fringed curtains at the windows, which helped cozy up the place. They found some Peter Max posters at a yard sale and nailed them to the living room wall. Sophia gave them dishes, flatware, and kitchen utensils. Their oven mitts were thick and plaid.

Frank was thinking about blueberry pie.

Lazo and his fellow ATGM operator, Manny, had helped Frank in many ways during his efforts to escape. They had covered for him on guard duty and lied to the authorities regarding Frank’s whereabouts. They had full knowledge of their friend’s intentions and his plans to defect, which could be construed as treason.

Lazo and Manny were interrogated after Frank’s escape. They claimed no knowledge of the event and were delighted when the focus shifted to those in charge, especially to Lieutenant Pino. Frank’s escape was considered so serious that the top brass at the Santa Maria base were relieved of their duties and replaced by new officers.

Many soldiers knew that Pino’s case had gone to trial, and there was much speculation among the privates as to what happened to him thereafter. But an official account was never provided. The officers seldom mentioned his name. It was as if Pino had dropped into a black hole in space. Which was just fine with Lazo.

Every night for months, Lazo awoke in a cold sweat over what he had done. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t do it all over again. He would. Recently, Lazo’s fear had retreated to the suburbs of his mind. It had morphed from a cause of panic to a nagging concern.

A couple of days before the ceremony for the graduates of the Special Forces, Commander Lucas summoned Lazo to his office. He was sitting at his desk when Lazo entered. He stood and extended a hand for the soldier to take a seat. For some reason, the commander insisted on calling Lazo by his first name, a highly unusual practice.

The commander’s desk overflowed with binders and papers scattered at various angles. A map of Cuba and a photo of Fidel hung on the wall behind his desk, and a framed photograph of his wife graced a bookshelf. Lucas glanced at a paper and then turned his attention to Lazo.

“I have news, Lazo. The Russians have decided to relinquish the majority of the training of the new recruits to us.”

“Is that so, sir.”

Lucas opened his desk drawer and scrambled through some clutter until he found what he wanted. He withdrew a book of matches and a pack of Populares, lit a cigarette, and blew a ring of smoke upward. He rotated the cigarette in his hand, studying it as if it could provide an answer to a troubling question.

Lazo coughed to refocus Lucas’s attention. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

The commander looked up, as if shaken from a reverie. “The fact is, Lazo, I would very much like you to be part of our team.”

“Team, sir?”

“The permanent reserves.”

“Thank you, sir. But why me?”

Lucas chuckled. “I thought that would be obvious to you.” He dropped his match into the ashtray. “You are one of our best ATGM operators. But more than that, you’re a helluva good instructor. You’ve assisted in the training of new recruits for almost six months now, so you’ve got some experience under your belt.” He hesitated and smiled. “Besides, you’ve been a big help to me during this difficult transition. I’ve had my hands full taking over from Commander Martinez, and you’ve stepped up to the plate, especially with the weaponry. That’s not an area in which I’m well versed.”

“I’m glad to have been of service, sir.”

Lazo’s thoughts turned to Lieutenant Pino. If it weren’t for him, Martinez would still be in charge, and Lazo wouldn’t be afforded this opportunity.
I wonder whether Pino is dead? No, he’s probably in jail. That’s
what usually happens to those who don’t follow military procedure. In any event, things have been much more pleasant without him.

The commander interrupted Lazo’s thoughts. “As a member of the reserves, you would interview new recruits and determine who should serve as drivers and who would be more suited to be ATGM operators. You would train them on the current equipment as well as on the new Russian weapons. I don’t need to tell you, this is a very responsible position.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Once you graduate from Special Forces, you’ll have a month to decide whether you want to join the permanent reserves. Meanwhile, I will draw up plans regarding who you would report to—that sort of thing—so you could begin your work as soon as possible.”

“I will give it serious thought, sir.”

“I hope you do, Lazo. You’ve been a real asset to me, and I would welcome your continued support and advice.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve learned a lot working with you too.”

Lucas nodded his appreciation. “A word of caution: jobs are not easy to find these days. As part of the permanent reserves you would receive a guaranteed income as well as further training in military weapons, strategy, and tactics. Take that into account when making your decision.”

“It is very generous of you to make me this offer.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“May I ask about the salary, sir?”

“You would serve one week a month for a salary of ten dollars. But more importantly, you would continue to be an integral part of the Revolutionary Armed Forces and the vital work that goes on here.” Lucas paused. “Of course, you could make a career out of the military. But I get the impression you’d rather do something else. Is that true?”

“I’m keeping my options open, sir. I haven’t made my mind up. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

“You do.”

The men saluted each other.

“I look forward to learning of your decision, Lazo.”

“You will be the first to know. Thank you, sir.”

“One more thing,” said Lucas. “It has been decided that from now on, all new recruits to the Special Forces must be members of the Communist Party. As you know, the bond and loyalty between members of the Special Forces has traditionally been very strong, perhaps too strong. You protect and die for each other if necessary.

“But that bond cannot supersede loyalty to the Party and to the State. Special Forces members often confuse this issue. This cannot stand. We must bring in new recruits whose loyalty to Cuba and to the cause remains above reproach. We got burned once with Mederos and the traitors who helped him escape. And the chain of command is not going to allow that to happen again.”

Lazo inhaled and managed to utter, “I understand, sir.”

He would not sleep well that night.

Lazo had a decision to make. For three years he had served as an ATGM operator, a highly skilled position that left him unqualified for just about any job outside the military. He was ambitious, but he also knew securing even modest employment would be a challenge.

The day after finishing his three years of mandatory military service, his family and friends threw him a party. Due to the embargo, his parents served a modest buffet of rice, beans, and fresh fruit. The occasion was short on food but long on laughter and good wishes.

The weather was lovely, sunny and breezy, a good day for a walk. Once Lazo said good-bye to the last of his guests, he decided to visit Frank’s grandfather. He had always liked the man and remembered how often Frank had turned to him for advice.

Not finding him home, he went to see Frank’s parents who lived nearby. They often received telegrams and letters from Frank and had filled Lazo in on their son’s life in Union City. Lazo knew nothing about New Jersey but vowed to learn more.

He spent the next two weeks looking for work. He asked everyone about possible jobs, applying at hotels, restaurants, factories, and bodegas. He stopped at an auto-repair shop, informing the owner of his mechanical skills. But he took one look at Lazo’s clean hands and groomed nails and waved him away in bemusement.

Needing some time to think, Lazo grabbed a blanket and hat and headed to the beach. He spread his blanket on the sand as seagulls roamed the sky. The sun was beginning to drop, and the water shimmered beneath it. Lips of waves licked the shore.

Lazo was enjoying the moment. For someone who had had
precious little leisure time during the past three years, this day seemed nothing short of miraculous.

Resting his head on his knees, Lazo traced a labyrinth in the sand with his finger, drawing each maze a little different. It helped him to focus and to forget his troubles. When he looked up, he saw a familiar figure strolling toward him. The man threw one leg to the left, making a half circle as he walked. Lazo recognized the gait. He raised his hand to shield his eyes.

“Is that you, old buddy?” came a friendly voice.

“Matia! God, it’s good to see you. How are you?” said Lazo.

“Fine, just fine! I haven’t seen you forever. What’ve you been up to?”

Lazo dug his feet into the sand and curled his toes. The sand felt damp and refreshing. He wriggled his toes and stood on the balls of his feet. A little girl ran by, her kite fluttering in the breeze. Rows of pink ruffles decorated the bottom of her bathing suit.