Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) Read online

  Pino then ordered the troops to search all the docks in the area and to look for me in every single fisherman’s boat—he wanted no rock left unturned. The search was conducted quickly, thoroughly, and efficiently. Brown had done a fine job training his troops in search tactics. Their performance was exemplary. Fortunately, they were looking in all the wrong places.

  When we arrived at the shoreline, there was a group of people sitting on a spit of land full of large ragged rocks tilted at various angles like crushed metal. This was the same place of our planned departure. I had envisioned us being here alone, and I found sharing this space to be unnerving. Waiting with an assemblage of strangers was the last thing I had expected. It made me hyperalert, edgy, uneasy.

  As we got closer, I recognized them as the same people who’d been waiting on the steps of the Cultural Center. I sidled up to a middle-aged man and asked him what they were doing. After hedging a bit, he told me they were waiting for a boat that would take them to the States.

  “When is it coming?” I asked.

  “It should be here within a half hour. You’re leaving, too, I presume.”

  It was obvious what we were doing, so I nodded my agreement.

  I scanned the heavens and wondered whether Magda was looking at the stars and thinking about me, too. It wouldn’t be much longer until I saw her. My mind drifted for a moment imagining our reunion, and then I quickly regained my focus. I couldn’t think about mi novia now. I had to concentrate on the task at hand.

  I inspected the horizon, hoping to see Macho’s boat coming toward us. There was no sign of it, but it was still a little early.

  I caught something out of the corner of my eye and saw nine strapping young men approaching. These were the soldiers who were to accompany us on our journey. We made our introductions. They all seemed quite friendly. I got the feeling my presence provided them with a sense of leadership and security.

  Macho’s wife and children soon arrived, and I settled them down next to me on the rocks. I thanked Ana again for taking care of me the last time I saw her. Fortunately, her little boy had lost his fear of me.

  To my left a frail old man was holding the arm of a younger man. He had a dry, rasping cough and looked like he might be fighting the flu.

  Another elderly man sat next to a woman whom I assumed was his daughter. She had the same high cheekbones and aquiline nose. He seemed very nervous, and she was trying to calm him by talking softly. His face was heavily lined and sprinkled with age spots. He was spry for his age. I judged him to be well over eighty.

  I introduced myself, and he said his name was Miguel. He seemed sweet-natured, and I took an immediate shine to him. We struck up a short conversation. He told me his wife was deceased. He had eight children and forty grandchildren. Under different circumstances he might have shown me their pictures.

  Behind us, lounging on a rock and smoking a cigarette, its incandescent tip glowing orange in the dark, was the taxi driver, the same one who had just delivered Luis and me to our destination.

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “I’ve always wanted to leave Cuba. When I saw all the people at the center, I was suspicious. When they left, I decided to follow them.”

  “So you hadn’t planned to go?” I asked, amazed. After all I had been through to try to escape, it seemed like such a quick decision. I felt a little envious.

  “No, I just figured I’d take advantage of the situation.” He uttered this as casually as if he had decided to suddenly drop in at a neighborhood bar.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “The Cadillac? I left it by the side of the road.” He said it like it was a wad of tobacco he had spit on the sidewalk.

  “Pretty nice car to abandon.”

  “Who cares about a car? Freedom is what matters.” He hesitated for a moment. “I left the keys in the ignition—someone might be able to use it.”

  “Good thinking.” He beamed at the compliment.

  I started to count the people in the other party—fourteen in all. I wondered about the size of their boat. I figured it must be big.

  It was a little after nine p.m., and I still hadn’t seen any sign of Macho’s boat. I took a deep breath and looked at my uncle. He was chain smoking and making a clicking sound with his tongue that indicated he was even more nervous than I.

  I sat down next to him, considering what might lie ahead. Some Cuban land crabs crawled sideways between the rocks in search of food and each other. I was thinking about how often my escape had taken the same sideways direction, and I hoped this was the night when my luck would change.

  I was wondering about what role the soldiers might play in case of an emergency when I felt someone tap me hard on the shoulder. I turned around and saw Macho standing behind me, accompanied by his friend, the fisherman who was going to serve as his mate. At first my mind couldn’t comprehend his presence. It took me a minute to take it in.

  “Christ, Macho, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be picking us up in your boat.”

  “There’s no time to talk,” whispered Macho. He was red in the face and very agitated. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Whoa! Not so fast. Where’s the boat?”

  “I couldn’t get the motor started,” he confessed. He looked scared, defeated, and eager to leave.

  His buddy confirmed his story. “He gave it his best shot. He tried and tried, but the motor just wouldn’t turn over.”

  As we were speaking, the people around us started standing up, grabbing their children and readying themselves for departure. I looked out to sea and saw their boat coming toward us. It was about seventy-five feet from shore, not a large boat, but it looked sturdy enough.

  When the boat got nearer, people started stampeding, splashing and jumping through the water like bluefish. “Come on, we’ve got to get outta here,” urged Macho. “If they get caught, we could be arrested, too.”

  The soldiers came toward me, looking for some kind of direction. I had to make a split-second decision. Macho was hollering for us all to leave, but I had other ideas. I held up my hand and said, “No, we aren’t going back. We are all going to Florida tonight.”

  “What? All of us?”

  “Yes, all of us.”

  “But—” started Macho.

  “Don’t give me a hard time, Macho. Just shut the hell up and get in the boat.”

  I grabbed Macho’s daughters—one in each arm—and headed straight for the vessel. Pandemonium broke loose with everyone scrambling to get on board. The boat was tilting back and forth. Water that had dripped off people’s clothing settled in the bottom of the boat. Luis trembled, hesitated. He wasn’t a good swimmer.

  “C’mon,” I shouted. “This is our last chance. We’ve got to go now. We can’t wait any longer.”

  It was a mad rush to the boat, with people falling into the water, children wailing and scrambling to get on board. The captain of the boat was beside himself.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed. “Get out of my boat.”

  He started pushing people off the sides of the boat with his paddle.

  “We’re all going to Florida,” I hollered. “Let us in.”

  “You’re not part of the group. You haven’t paid your passage. It’s too dangerous. The boat’s too small. I can’t take you all.”

  Ignoring his protests, I climbed aboard the boat and placed Macho’s two daughters on a seat next to their mother. Ana gathered them onto her lap and pulled their heads to her bosom. They clung to her neck, crying in terror.

  The soldiers followed my lead and climbed in after me. Luis followed suit. Macho carried his little boy on board, and I immediately ordered the pregnant women and the old men to sit down. The boat was far too crowded. It was rocking dangerously from side to side.

  People were pushing for a place to sit. The younger children were perched on their parents’ laps, their arms clutching their necks and backs for dear life.

&
nbsp; When the last person was finally aboard, I screamed at the captain, “Go! Now. Get this damn thing outta here.” The fisherman grumbled but did as he was told, knowing full well that between me and the other soldiers he had lost control of his boat.

  The motor sputtered to a start and began to strain, working well beyond its capacity. The boat struggled to overcome the roll of the water. Unfortunately, I could see bigger, white-tipped waves in the distance.

  “There are too many people. We’ll all drown,” warned the fisherman. “It’s too much weight for the motor.”

  “Just move the boat out,” I shouted. “Once we get offshore, we’ll decide what to do.”

  The boat was sitting low in the water. It chugged forward, the motor whining, straining. I looked up at the stars again, a reflexive move to make sure of my bearings.

  Once we got offshore a short distance, everyone calmed down a little. Emotions were generally spent and most people were either too tired or too scared to squabble. Many sat in a state of shock while others sat tight lipped, their faces and postures betraying their emotions. Although no one uttered the words aloud, there was only one thought uppermost in everyone’s mind: how in God’s name will we ever make it to freedom without dying?

  Clouds covered the sliver of moon, and a tense, eerie silence descended over the small vessel.

  CHAPTER 41

  With our combined weight, the boat sat so deep in the water that waves crested over its sides. We were all sopping wet and up to our ankles in water. The soldiers and I were bailing, working furiously to keep us afloat. I was thankful to have so many able-bodied men in our midst, but I was concerned about how long we could survive with the boat so overloaded.

  The children were cold and terrified of being out at sea in the dark—it was even frightening and disorienting for the adults. Conditions were already deteriorating, and several people were of the opinion that we should return to Cuba. To my dismay, Macho was one of them.

  “It’s no use, Frankie,” he whined. “We should go back and turn ourselves in. Beg the government for mercy. If we do, we could get several years in jail, but at least we’ll still be alive.”

  I turned and glared at him—after all we had been through together, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “I won’t be alive,” I snapped, knowing full well I’d be shot on sight. “And get it straight, Macho, once you leave Cuba, there is no mercy. We’ve come this far, and we’re not going back. We’re all going to Florida.”

  Macho grunted, knowing what I said was true. I thought the issue was settled when my uncle interjected, “But we’ll surely die out here. Drowning is such a horrible death. What will happen to Rosa and my girls?” His voice began to crack, and I was afraid he was going to become hysterical.

  “I don’t want to die,” he cried.

  “You’re not going to die.” My voice brimmed with frustration. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Now shut up, damn it. Both of you.”

  The others in the boat started mumbling among themselves, talking about the danger. Many of the original passengers resented our presence. One man in particular was vehement in his opinion that we had no right being in their boat in the first place. Others grumbled their accord. I knew if I let this continue, things would quickly get out of hand.

  I could count on the soldiers to keep order, but there was another problem that needed to be solved. All of us could never make the ninety-mile journey in this small boat. I needed to take action—and fast.

  I turned to the captain and ordered, “Shut off the motor.” The captain looked at me in disbelief.

  “Have you gone stark raving mad? Why?”

  “To save gas. Now do it.”

  “No, I’m turning back,” he responded defiantly.

  “No, you’re turning off the motor,” I said in a steely voice. The captain shot me a look of contempt, and the passengers cowered in their places, fearing a fight would break out. The soldiers stared at me, willing to back up any decision I made.

  “This is my boat,” said the captain. “And I’ll do what I think best.”

  “This is not your boat anymore,” I thundered. “This is our boat. And you can either follow orders, or you can jump overboard and swim to shore by yourself. But no one will help you, and we’re not turning back.”

  The captain sat fuming. I gave him a minute to calm down. The only sounds were the waves splashing the sides of the boat and a child’s whimpering. I watched as the moon seeped between shredded clouds, casting a silver glow onto the water.

  “What are you proposing we do?” he demanded.

  I looked at the soldiers. “We’re going to wait here until we see another boat either this size or larger. And then we’re going to take it.”

  At first the captain looked astonished, but then the muscles in his face relaxed slightly and his breathing became easier. He knew what I said made sense. He didn’t say another word. Neither did I. Nor did anyone else.

  He reached over and turned off the motor.

  We sat in the darkness for several hours, waiting, praying, and drifting with the movement of the waves. The boat rocked back and forth, sometimes lurching violently. Almost everyone was nauseous. With no food or water, people were becoming dehydrated.

  A thick mist settled over the boat, adding to our discomfort. One of the old men was shaking, tears drifting down his thin, parched skin. I grabbed a rubber-lined sack to cover him, hoping it would ward off hypothermia. He looked at me with gratitude and a terrible fear in his eyes.

  A young woman was vomiting, and her husband was trying to comfort her. She was eight months pregnant and afraid she would go into labor in the boat. She was holding her belly and crying that she didn’t want to deliver her baby at sea—with so many people watching. She feared she and her baby would die. Her husband urged her to be brave, and he promised to get her to a hospital as soon as we reached the States.

  Occasionally, someone would mutter something about going back, but these comments went almost unnoticed—and definitely unheeded. By this time, everyone seemed resigned to their fate, silently bemoaning the fact that they had lost control over their destiny.

  After a while, the fog lifted and we spotted the lights of a boat headed our way. The mood lifted in the boat, but I instructed the captain not to start the motor until it got closer. I wanted to save as much gas as possible. The passengers who were awake were nudging those who had fallen asleep. They were very excited.

  Unfortunately, as the boat got nearer, I could see it was even smaller than the one we were on. It just wouldn’t do. A collective groan rose from the throats of the passengers, and the boat grew heavy with disappointment.

  About a half hour later, another boat appeared in the distance. It looked big enough, so I told the captain to start the engine and head toward it. Some passengers were hopeful. The more sanguine were relieved.

  When we got closer, however, I could see that another fishing boat sat alongside it. I was afraid they would defend one another. Even if we could overtake two boats, it would make things too complicated. The passengers grumbled in resignation. A few started weeping. Dreams were turning into desperation.

  “Just hang on. The right boat will come along soon,” I said. I didn’t want people to abandon hope. Another hour elapsed before I spied a third boat. It was just the right size and appeared to have three men on board. The outlines of their hunched bodies were black against the midnight-blue sky. With all the soldiers at my disposal, I figured it would be a cinch to overtake them.

  “That’s it. That’s our boat,” I screamed to the captain. I was both excited and relieved at the sighting. People started sitting up straighter and looking around expectantly. A couple of people pointed in the direction of the boat.

  “Crank up the motor,” I ordered.

  “It’s no use,” said the captain. “It’s too far away. Our boat is too heavy. We can’t go that fast. We’ll never catch up.”

  “Just do what I say, damn
it. Do it anyway.” I was desperate not to miss this opportunity.

  The captain started the motor and we inched toward the boat in the distance. It was about four miles out at sea. The men aboard it were fishing. We traveled at a sluggish pace. Still, we were moving and they were sitting still. We were gaining on them, slowly but surely.

  “Just keep going,” I said. “We’ll make it. How’s the gas holding out?”

  “We’re still okay,” reported the captain.

  I motioned to one of the soldiers to come and talk to me. “When we get there, I want the soldiers to commandeer the boat.” I handed him a circle of rope.

  “Tie and gag whoever is on it, and then we’ll redistribute the people to balance the weight. Do whatever you have to, but take that boat.” I looked at the young soldier and said, “Just watch out; the fishermen may have knives.” The soldier nodded and passed the order along to the other men.

  I leaned over to speak to Macho. He was looking more hopeful. “Once we take the boat, I want you to drive it. As soon as the soldiers secure it, we’ll tie the two boats together so they won’t drift apart. It’s not going to be easy. Have your friend serve as your mate.” Macho silently nodded.

  With our plan in place, I watched as we drew closer to the boat. It seemed like an eternity. But little by little we were catching up. Conditions in our boat were becoming increasingly difficult, and I hoped against hope for success.

  As we approached the boat, I called for our captain to kill the motor. We slid next to the boat, and I used an oar to keep the two boats from ramming into each other. Once the boats slowed down, I reached out to the other boat to steady us.

  Before the three men in the second boat knew what was happening, six soldiers jumped into their vessel and grabbed them. They struggled, but were soon overpowered.

  The soldiers bound their hands and feet, but I instructed them not to gag the men until I had a chance to speak with them.

  “Who are you and what are you doing out here?” I asked.

  The first man spoke in an outraged voice as if he were king of the sea. “I’m director of the fishermen’s cooperative,” he said, looking as if I should be impressed with his credentials. He was so supercilious, he made my flesh crawl. He nodded toward the younger man sitting next to him, a man with kind eyes who looked to be about thirty. He regarded the man with contempt. “This worm tried to escape the country and was sent to jail for five years.”