Before We Were Free (12 page)

XXXXX
XXXX

(one mark for each day I missed writing in my diary!!!)

June
30, 1961,
Friday, bathroom, very hot night

I know, I know, it’s been nine days and I haven’t written a word.

I just couldn’t after the fright we had the night I wrote up my
schedule.

What happened was just awful!!! I was getting ready to cross back
from the bathroom to the closet to bed when I heard someone moving
around in the yard. The night watchman had already made his rounds at
10 P.M. or so, and this was after 11 P.M.

So I woke up Mami, who “never sleeps a wink,” but I always seem
to find her fast asleep, and we woke up the Mancinis, who turned Mojo
and Maja loose on the gallery, and they scampered off and down the
steps into the yard, barking and growling, and then there were gunshots,
and Tía Mari was screaming from the gallery,
MOJO! MAJA!
but no
answer, and Tío Pepe was trying to drag her back inside, while also hurrying into his dressing gown as there was now loud knocking downstairs
at the front door.

We went into emergency procedure—Mami and I slipped into the
bathroom closets and back into the crawl space—one of the boards is
loose and it made a terrible
Whack!!!
sound—scared us half to death!
We waited for what must have been 20 minutes but seemed forever. My
heart was pounding so loud, I thought surely it could be heard throughout the house, and then, oh my God, I remembered I had left my diary
on the back of the toilet when I rushed to the closet to wake up Mami! I
didn’t dare sneak out to get it and I didn’t dare tell Mami because she
would just die of one of her nerve attacks right then and there.

In a little while, Tío Pepe was back, and we all sat on the floor of the
closet, and Tío Pepe told us the story.

The SIM had come to the door to say they had been called by the
embassy because there were intruders on the grounds. (A lie!) It turned
out the SIM agent in charge recognized Tío Pepe, whose brother-in-law,
Dr. Mella, had saved his little daughter’s life after a ruptured appendix.
Anyhow, when Tío Pepe invited them inside to search the house, this
grateful man said that would be unnecessary. Tío Pepe stood talking to
them a little longer at the door and then they left.

Tía Mari quieted while Tío Pepe told the story, but then she started
to cry again about Mojo and Maja.

The next morning, the night watchman reported the two dead dogs.

Poor Tía Mari was just crying and crying. Mami and I felt terrible,
as it was our fault that this happened. And I felt doubly terrible leaving
my diary out in the open! What if the SIM had come in and found it
there? I could have cost us our lives on account of my carelessness.

For days, I wasn’t able to write a single word. The third radio was
turned off. But then, I started thinking, if I stop now, they’ve really
won. They’ve taken away everything, even the story of what is happening to us.

So, tonight, I picked up my pen and, sure enough, I’ve been writing
my heart out even if my hand is shaking.

July
1,
1961,
Saturday morning

Two resolutions for the new month:

#1: Try to write something every day!

#2: Keep diary hidden at all times!!! At night under my mat, and
during the day when we roll up the mats, in the pocket of Tía Mari’s fur
coat that she wears when she travels to cold countries. It’s become so
much me that finding it would be like finding me. So it’s got to be a diary
in hiding.

When I write in it, I feel as if I’ve got a set of wings, and I’m flying
over my life and looking down and thinking, Anita, it’s not as bad as
you think.

July
2,
1961,
Sunday afternoon

Another dreary Sunday, worrying about Papi. It’s been over a
month since I saw him. Sometimes I find myself forgetting what he even
looks like, and then I feel bad, like my forgetfulness means he is gone
forever.

When I get this way, I don’t care about following my schedule or
writing in my diary or daydreaming about Oscar. All I want to do is lie
on my mat in the closet. Mami gets upset with me.

Come on, Anita, she scolds. You can’t lie around all day. Who do
you think you are, the Queen of Sheba?

Queen of the Walk-in Closet is more like it.

July
3,
1961,
Monday night

The little Marías gave us such a scare this afternoon. Tía Mari was
out doing grocery shopping at Wimpy’s, and she must have thought she
locked up her bedroom door as usual, but she hadn’t. Mami and I were
in the walk-in closet, with the door open for some ventilation and light,
playing concentration, being quiet but not especially careful, when suddenly we heard the little girls coming into the bedroom.

Mami’s going to be mad, one of them was saying—I couldn’t tell
which one.

She is not! said another. She won’t even know.

Then there were sounds of opening drawers, and giggles, and one of
them saying, you put on too much. They were at the vanity, trying on
the lipsticks and perfumes, which I’ve done in my own mami’s bedroom
countless times.

Look what you did! You spilled it.

Then one of them said, Let’s go see Mami’s bear, which is the way
they refer to their mother’s fur coat hanging in this closet.

Mami and I froze. Our concentration game was spread out on the
floor. We had no time to pick it up or cross over to the bathroom closets,
so we just backed in among the clothes.

Suddenly, we heard someone else coming into the room. What are
you girls doing? You know you’re not supposed to be in here. It was
Oscar! I hadn’t heard his voice in so long. It sounded deeper, more like a
man’s voice than a boy’s.

The little girls scrambled off, but curious Oscar stayed on, looking
around. Soon the steps came around the corner and into the narrow hall,
and then Oscar stepped inside the closet and ran his hand over the hanging suits and dresses, then stopped cold. Something had caught his eye.
Very quietly, he backed out of the closet and shut the door.

Mami and I stayed hidden until we heard Tía Mari coming back.
Virgen María!
she cried. I believe I left the door unlocked.

On the floor of the closet, our concentration game was undisturbed—all the center cards facedown. But one card had been turned
over: the queen of hearts!

July
4,
1961,
Tuesday early morning

Before breakfast, I heard a little pebble strike the window of the
bathroom. Then another. I didn’t dare look out just in case. But when a
third went
ping!,
curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked out the high
window—

Oscar was standing in the yard, looking up. I ducked down before
he saw me.

Later

I’ve been wondering if Oscar did see me?

So just now, I took the queen of hearts, slipped it out the window,
and watched it sailing down to the yard below.

July
5,
1961,
Wednesday, after siesta

Yesterday being the day of independence for the United States,
Wimpy had a barbecue behind his store. The Mancinis were invited.
Tío Pepe says that Wimpy knows where we are and is doing all he can to
ensure our safety, whatever that means.

Was Chucha there? I asked Tía Mari.

Was she there! She and Oscar would not stop talking.

I touched the spot on my cheek, trying to calm myself down. But
my imagination has been going wild. Could they have been talking
about . . . me?

Oscar was again outside early this morning, looking up!

July
6, 1961,
Thursday evening news

This evening, a surprise: Tía Mari brought me
The Arabian Nights,
which has to be one of my all-time favorite storybooks. When
she saw the smile on my face, she said, So he was right.

It turns out Tía Mari asked Oscar this morning what book he might
recommend for someone about his age, and he pulled this one out.

I opened the book, and there it was as a bookmark—the queen of
hearts!

July
7,
1961,
Friday night

Just knowing that I might have a secret communication going with
Oscar makes every day brighter. I’m spending a lot more time in the
bathroom, trying out hairstyles.

This afternoon, Mami saw me fussing and said, Who’s going to see
you here, for heaven’s sake, Anita?

My face burned. Of course, she’s right. But still, I told her what Tío
Pepe had said about the Marquis de Sade. Mami just answered with one
of Chucha’s sayings: Dress the monkey in silk, he’s still a monkey!

During supper tonight, Tío Pepe got into a long explanation about
how human beings aren’t using their full potential. If the brain were this
plate, he said, we’re using this grain of rice. Einstein maybe used this
wedge of avocado. Galileo, this yuca patty.

(To think how much potential I’m wasting combing my hair and
wondering if I’m pretty enough!)

How do you know when you’re using your full potential? I asked
Tío Pepe. But before he could get a word out, Tía Mari said, I’ll tell you
when you’re using your full brain power—when you’re smart enough to
eat your supper before it gets cold. That made even Tío Pepe smile and
dig in.

July
8,
1961,
Saturday evening

Reading
The Arabian Nights
again has started me thinking . . . can
stuff like this really happen? A girl who saves her life by telling a cruel
sultan a bunch of stories? Let’s say El Jefe had taken me away to his big
bedroom, like he wanted to do with Lucinda. Could I have told him
some stories that would have changed his evil heart? Or are some people
so awful that nothing can really get inside them and make a difference?

I asked Tío Pepe, and he said that is the million-dollar question. He
said many great thinkers like Knee-chi (sp??) and Hide-digger (sp???)
tried but never came up with a satisfactory answer (and they were working with a lot bigger plate of brains than I am).

Tía Mari has promised to ask Oscar for another book recommendation.

July
9,
1961,
Sunday, late afternoon

Mami and I have been alone all day, as the Mancinis went to the
beach to visit friends. They shut up the house and sent all the servants
away. The place is so creepy and quiet. And of course, every little noise
scares us.

Mami and I played cards for a while, and then we went into the
bathroom, and Mami herself put my hair up in a bun like a ballerina and
made me up with a little lipstick and rouge.

Mami, I asked as we studied the results in the mirror, do you think I
look just the tiniest bit like Audrey Hepburn?

Much prettier, Mami said.

She couldn’t have said anything nicer! I forgave her all her nerve
attacks and how she hasn’t said one nice thing to me in ages. I turned
around and gave her a bone-crunching hug.

Watch you don’t break something, Mami said, laughing, I can’t
exactly go to the doctor’s right now.

Later, Sunday night

Tía Mari came back from the beach with some seashells Oscar and
the little girls collected.

I picked one to take with me to the closet, a shiny spiral with brown
freckles. But then I remembered how Chucha used to say girls who keep
seashells die old maids, and I took it back to Tía Mari and said, Keep
this for me until I’m married.

She looked a little surprised.

Tío Pepe just returned from the embassy next door with some exciting news—Mundín is going to be evacuated soon! It seems there is an
Italian cruise ship in the harbor headed for Miami. The ambassador was
hoping to get us all on board, but the captain said he could only take one
mysterious passenger, as more would be too high a risk in view of how
the SIM are carefully monitoring all ports of exit.

Mami is worried about Mundín and whether the transfer will go
okay, and that starts her worrying about Papi and Tío Toni. She isn’t
sleeping as well anymore, as she doesn’t have any Equanil left. Tía Mari
says that the drugstores are all out. It seems the whole country is taking
tranquilizers.

July
11,
1961,
Tuesday night

Last night, as we lay on our mats in the closet, Mami started telling
me stories about growing up on a sugar estate where her father was the
resident doctor. It was like old times again, when we used to get along
so well.