Flight to Freedom (7 page)

We had black beans and rice, too, my favorite, and Abuela María baked a flan. Efraín said we should have had something called pumpkin pie because that is the typical dessert of this holiday. Tomorrow he will buy one and bring it home. So many different tastes! So many new things! I wish sometimes not everything was so new. It's nice to have old things, too—holidays and friends and places you know so well that
they are already inside your heart. I like it when things are comfortable and familiar.

After dinner, Ana Mari told us the story of the first Thanksgiving. She learned it in school. Then she showed us drawings from her art class of the people called Pilgrims. It was very interesting.

Big fight. Huge fight. Ileana wanted to go to a party, and Mami said that she could. That was two days ago. Then Papi found out and he said no, absolutely not, because he does not know the friend giving the party or her parents. Mami then convinced Papi that Ileana deserved to go because she is sixteen, seventeen in less than a month. Mami planned to go as a chaperone, but when Ileana found out about this, it was like someone had let all the chickens out of the coop. Even Abuelo Tony got into the argument, but I'm not sure which side he was on. That's how bad it was.

Ana Mari and I were told to play in the backyard, but we listened through the open windows as much as we could. In the end, Ileana did not go to the party. Tía Carmen said she was being hardheaded, which is
true. Tía Carmen says that we must adjust to the new ways slowly, and we should let Papi do the same little by little. She suggested that Ileana take a chaperone for the first few parties. Then, as he gets used to new customs, Papi might allow her to go places with Efraín, who would be a good protector. But Ileana will not have anything to do with the idea. She said she would be the laughingstock of the school because nobody takes chaperones. That is not true because Patricia's older sister does, but I did not dare open my mouth. Ileana cried and cried. Her eyes were puffy like a frog's.

We are moving to our own house. Yes, yes, we are! We will be renting a two-bedroom house that is just around the corner from this one. I have not seen it, but Mami says it is well kept but small. Who cares? At least we won't be living like sardines anymore, taking turns at the dinner table and wiggling and jiggling when somebody is in the bathroom and we have to relieve ourselves.

I am very happy we will be moving, but I think I
will miss my uncle and aunt, and my grandfather and my grandmother. But I will especially miss watching television with Efraín. He has introduced us to shows like
Gomer Pyle
and
Bonanza
and
The Andy Griffith Show.
I especially like
The Flying Nun
because sometimes the characters say words in Spanish. In school the other students talk about these shows, and because I know what happens and who the characters are, I can participate. It makes me feel less strange.

We are all moved in. Our new house is a pale coral color, and it has pretty rose bushes that Abuelo Tony said will produce beautiful blooms if somebody takes care of them. I share a room with my sisters and sleep on the top bunk bed, Ana Mari at the bottom. Ileana gets her own bed and she has hogged up both nighttable drawers. At least we all have new bedspreads of yellow chenille. Tía Carmen bought them for us, for our good grades. I wish I had my jewelry box from home.

Mami spent the weekend scrubbing and scouring from top to bottom. We helped with our room and
with the bathroom. Tonight she complained about her aching back, but I think she is happy to be here. She was humming along with Efraín's portable radio all day. We do not have a television set yet, but Mami says maybe the Three Kings will bring it for Los Reyes Magos on the sixth of January. She will have to convince Papi first because he insists we should keep our possessions to a minimum. “It will be easier to return to Cuba if we don't have to worry about too many belongings,” he reminds us constantly.

Mami has a new boss at the shoe factory, and she is a Cuban lady who came over in 1960 with her husband and two sons. Mami says the new forelady did not know any English and had never worked before she arrived in this country, but she has managed to be promoted every few years and now runs the entire factory.

“Girls,” Mami told us right before we went to bed, “there is a beautiful lesson in that story, and I hope you learn it.”

Finally! We have received news from Pepito. My mother laughed hysterically when she found the letter at Tía Carmen's after she returned home from work. Then, even before opening it, she began to cry. Abuela María and Abuelo Tony tried to console her, but she would not stop. Actually, it was not crying but a wailing that pierced my ears. Ana Mari, who doesn't need any encouragement to break into her own tears, cried with Mami. And nobody had even read the letter! Tío Pablo was called, but he could not help. It was as if somebody had opened the door to a dam and all this grief could not stop pouring from my mother's eyes.

Eventually Tío Pablo was able to rescue the letter from Mami's grasp and he opened it and began to read it aloud. This seemed to calm her down. It was short and somewhat mysterious. “My dearest family,” it began. Pepito, believe me, would never write anything so corny. He assured everyone that he remains in good health. He asked after his “little sisters who are so dear and precious.” This is Pepito writing?

He did not mention anything about his military service, not even where he is stationed. He also did
not say anything about the increased food rationing, but he wrote about the birth of a baby to one of our cousins and about my Abuelo Pancho's rheumatoid arthritis, for which he is being treated free of charge—Tío Pablo snorted loudly when he read this—at a state-run clinic.

When Papi arrived from work, the letter was reread aloud. Twice, in fact, and both times everyone kept trying to dissect and analyze each line for hidden meanings that might have escaped the government censors. My mother was inconsolable during every reading. Yesterday my brother turned nineteen. Alone. Far from us. As a conscripted
miliciano.

There was other important news, too, which Tío Pablo read to us from the newspaper. The world's first successful heart transplant was conducted in South Africa by a doctor named Christiaan Barnard. Abuela María said, “What will they think of next!”

All night I have thought of the man with the transplanted heart. And
sí,
I will admit that I cried, but just a bit and very quietly. The man with the transplant is just like me—or should I say, I am just like him. My heart, the one now beating in my chest, feels like it belongs to someone else. It has been transplanted here,
and everybody seems to want to force it to feel something it cannot feel. I may know a little more English, and I may now have a friend or two, but I do not belong here, in this country with street signs I do not always understand and people who do not understand me.

Jane got in trouble at school because of something another girl said about me. It was so unfair. Jane now has to complete an extra page of mathematics homework. We were working quietly when Claudia—that's the girl's name—said that it was a good thing I got good grades in class because I sure didn't know how to dress. I was so upset by this remark that I didn't know how to reply, but Jane said it was a good thing Claudia had a quick tongue because that way she could keep her buckteeth inside her mouth. Claudia then shouted something I did not understand, and Jane called her a stupid hillbilly. That's when Mrs. Boatwright came into the class. She had been outside talking to another teacher and only heard what Jane said, not a word by Claudia. I wanted
to talk to Mrs. Boatwright after class, but Jane wouldn't let me. She said that if I did, the other pupils would think I was a tattletale.

Speaking of tattletales. Tonight, after everyone was asleep, Ileana woke me up and asked me to sneak out with her to meet Tommy because she was scared of going alone. I couldn't believe my ears, and of course I went. Though it was past 11 P.M., we met him at the corner and took a ride to the airport to watch the planes land and take off. Tommy and Ileana kissed in the backseat while I sat in the front, very bored and very nervous. Finally I turned around and told them we needed to return home. Tommy was not happy.

“Your sister needs a boyfriend,” he told Ileana.

I wouldn't dare.

Today we traveled downtown on a public bus. I was very sleepy from being out late, but the streets were decorated for Christmas, with silver bells on light poles and red garland draped over storefronts, so I paid attention. On one corner there was even a man
dressed up as Santa Claus with a red kettle. He was sweating in the outfit because it was so hot.

Tía Carmen showed us this very fancy store that she says is similar to the old El Encanto back home. This fancy store in Miami is called Burdines, and it is very big. The salesladies were nice and they let us spray perfume on our wrists. Mami and Tía Carmen tried on clothes, too, and they giggled when they posed with the new outfits in front of the dressing room mirrors. Of course we did not buy anything. We had our noon meal at Walgreen's, which has a lunch counter like the
tencens
we had in Cuba. I tried a dish called a grilled cheese. It was delicious!

Later, after Efraín arrived from work, we watched television to see the daughter of President Johnson get married in the big mansion where the president lives. Her dress was beautiful, with a long train and puffy veil. Ileana said that when she gets married, she wants to wear a short red dress, something no one has ever thought of wearing to a wedding. I plan to have a long, white dress with lots of pearls stitched on the bodice, and the train will be so long that I will need six flower girls, three on each side, to carry it
down the church aisle. Papi laughed when I said this, but when I looked closely at his face to see if he was making fun of me, I was surprised to find tears in his eyes. Then he said very softly, “I suppose you will want to get married in Los Pasionistas.” That is the church in our old neighborhood in Cuba, but I was actually thinking of Saint Michael's, our new church. I didn't say anything, but I wish Papi would stop making comments like that. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I don't know exactly why. Maybe it is because I feel he should not worry so much about what is behind and think instead of what is ahead. Sometimes when Papi says certain things aloud, Tío Pablo tells him it won't do him any good to live in the past. It is the exile's curse, my uncle says, to always be looking over your shoulder.

I have a secret! Tía Carmen and Efraín are teaching Mami to drive. They made me promise to not tell, and I won't. Never. Not even Ileana knows. Of course I don't know what Mami will drive. We do not have a car.

Besides, she needs a lot of practice. She drives around the neighborhood only for a couple hours while Papi is training with his militia group. She always makes sure she's home before he gets back.

Abuelo Tony was taken to the hospital today. There is something wrong with his heart, and doctors must do something to it to make it better. I asked if that meant he was getting a new heart, like that man we read about in the newspaper, but Abuela María said no. He gets to keep his own, with some fixes. I am worried about him. He looked so pale before he left and he seemed to be out of breath all the time.

I wonder how my brother is feeling. Is he doing anything dangerous in the army or is he working in an office, comfortable and safe? I know he is Mami's biggest worry. The other night I heard her tell Tía Carmen that sometimes she feels as if she abandoned her son in Cuba. Tía Carmen told her not to think such foolish thoughts. Mami had to leave with the rest of the family because the Freedom Flights are a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Soon Pepito will join
us, my aunt insisted. I hope so. I love my brother more now that he is far away. I think it is true what grown-ups say about distance making the heart grow fonder.

I am so proud. Today when we went to visit Abuelo at the hospital, I served as a translator for Mami. I understood everything the nurses and volunteers at the information center told me. Mami was impressed, too. I had already noticed I was improving my English because I just zip through the Nancy Drew books. I am ready for something more difficult.

You have to be sixteen years old to visit the patient rooms, but I snuck in with Mami. Abuelo did not look well. He seemed to have shrunk, and he was all wrinkled. He slept during our entire visit. I am worried about him. Maybe he does need a new heart.

Ileana wanted me to sneak out with her again tonight. She said a whole group of students from her school
are planning to have their own Christmas party at a construction site and maybe I would meet a boy I liked. She says I look old enough to be a ninth or tenth grader. I wouldn't go, though. What if we get caught? But now I'm sorry I didn't. It is almost midnight, and she is not back. If I had gone, she probably would've returned by now.

Today Tommy came to the house with another girl. He pretended that he had never met me. The three of them worked on a school project about the thirteen American colonies. Ileana draws well, so on a piece of poster board she sketched a farm scene from a book Tommy borrowed from the library. He was very nice. And, in daylight, I could also tell he was handsome. His hair is long, but not as long as some of those rock ‘n' roll singers like John Lennon or Mick Jagger. I could tell Mami liked him despite the hair because he was very polite and said, “yes, ma'am” and “no, ma'am.” Of course, neither of them knew what the other was saying. Ileana had to translate for both Mami and Tommy during the entire visit. Because of
the guests, we were allowed to drink Coca-Cola and eat the guava pastries Mami bought just for Ileana's friends. They left before Papi arrived from work. Mami made sure of that.