Flight to Freedom (8 page)

Every night Ana Mari practices Christmas songs she is learning for a winter festival at school. I recognize most of the melodies, but the words are different. She sings “Jingle Bells” and “Silent Night,” both of which I know only in Spanish. When she does this, I get a lump in my throat thinking of past holidays and of Pepito spending this year's alone. He probably will not be allowed to visit my grandparents, and for years there has been talk by the Communist government about outlawing the festivities. The talk, though, never did dampen our neighborhood's enthusiasm for the holiday. We always managed to celebrate in some way even when the rationing was bad. Cousins would stop by, and we would listen to Mami's long-play records of
villancicos
caroling away. Mami would set up, in a corner of the living room, the old Nativity set she inherited from a great-aunt. And Mami's oldest brother, Tío Camilo, always managed to bring us a
lechón
or, at the very least, a pork leg from his farm for Nochebuena.

Here we do not have any decorations except for some drawings Ana Mari made in school with construction paper and crayons. Efraín's boss gave him a Christmas tree, and Tía Carmen has decorated it with garlands and glass balls she bought at sales in a discount store named Zayre. I wish we had a tree, too—a silver one with blue balls. I suggested it once, but Papi immediately dismissed the idea. He considers it a waste of money. I wish he would change his mind.

Abuelo Tony is back from the hospital. He looks better but much skinnier.

We had a big surprise at Ana Mari's school during the winter festival when she and four other girls sang two Christmas songs in Spanish. One of the carols is a lovely melody we used to sing in church when I was very little. Although I have forgotten its name, I can't help but hum it as I write:
Vamos, pastores, vamos, a la gloria de Edén. Vamos a Belén a ver ese niño.
“Let us
go, shepherds, let us go to the glory of Eden. Let us go to Bethlehem to see the child.”

When they heard this, lots of people in the school cafeteria got to their feet and clapped with delight. Some of the women cried. I suppose the carols reminded them of home. One man shouted, “¡Viva Cuba libre!” And Papi said, “Bravo! Bravo!” I was so glad to see him happy. But for me it was strange, because those songs come from another world. They belong in another life. They should be performed not in a cafeteria but in the arched entranceway of my old school. And they should be followed not by chocolate chip cookies and punch but by
turrones.
(I like the almond nougats best.) It seems as if everything is being thrown together all at once, one world blending into the other. It's hard to keep them apart. Jane thinks this is good, but she doesn't understand how confusing it can be. Just because my parents eat chocolate chip cookies doesn't mean they will let Ileana attend a party without a chaperone. And because everybody is trying to sing along to the words of a carol in Spanish doesn't mean the Claudias of the world will stop teasing us about our accents or our clothes.

Nochebuena.
The smell of roasting pork fills the house. It is the best smell in the world. Mmmm! Tonight the entire family will gather here to celebrate Christmas Eve. I have invited Jane and Mrs. Henderson, too. At first we were going to have the celebration at Tío Pablo's, but Abuela María had the idea of moving it here, to the backyard where we will all fit around a long folding table Efraín's boss lent him. Since we are making the pork, Tía Carmen is making the black beans and rice and the yucca. I'm hungry just thinking about it. But it also makes me sad because it reminds me of home and of all the cousins who would visit for Nochebuena, bringing a flan or a
turron,
or some cider or rum. At midnight we would all go to mass, even the children, and I would fall asleep on my mother's lap. What are my cousins doing now? Is Pepito home with Mami's parents? Are they able to eat pork? Mami and Papi have been trying to place a phone call to Cuba, but it is almost impossible to do so. There are very few phone lines, and a long distance call is very expensive. Sometimes it takes days just to be able to reach someone on the island, and
that is if you're lucky and your relative is at home when the operator finally puts the call through.

I am so full! It was a wonderful night. Jane and Mrs. Henderson had a good time. I could tell because Mrs. Henderson laughed at Tío Pablo's stories and helped us women with the washing and the cleaning. She brought a pastry she made herself, something called an apple pie, and it was very tasty. She put vanilla ice cream on top of the warm pastry. O-o-oh! Efraín had three pieces.

Mrs. Henderson also told my parents that I was invited to a dance party she and Jane will host at her house for New Year's Eve. She is asking ten girls and ten boys, and several parents will be present—including mine, if they would like to. Papi smiled at her politely but told her I was much too young to go to any party, especially on that night, when tradition calls for Cuban families to remain together. Mrs. Henderson blushed, and I was mortified, but thank goodness Papi at least told her we were honored at the invitation.

I'm leaving the best for last. Jane gave me the most
fantastic gift. (Here families exchange presents not on Three Kings' Day, as we do, but on Christmas.) Anyway, guess what she gave me? Fishnet stockings! It is the most beautiful gift in the world. I am wearing them to midnight mass. I have to think of a good gift for her from Los Reyes Magos. Efraín says he will lend me the money if I help him cut the grass at his house.

Must go. Mami is calling me to church. I know I will not fall asleep tonight.

From happiness to sadness so quickly. Mami has been crying almost every night. And when she is not crying, she sits alone staring into space. Ana Mari sits on her lap and hugs her, but she doesn't pay much attention to the hugs. I also show her all the Nancy Drew books I am reading while on school vacation, but she just nods and looks away. She misses Pepito very much and has not stopped talking about him this week. Tía Carmen says that everybody gets depressed during the first holidays in exile. She remembers she could barely get out of bed, and if not for her job, she would have buried herself under the covers.

Ileana does not help matters, either. Tonight she had a fight with Papi because he will not let her go out with friends to see a movie on Friday. He said a nice young lady from a decent family spends the holidays at home with her loved ones, not tramping about the city. (I think he does not want her to fall in love with a boy if we are to return home soon.) But she screamed that this outing was for only one night. Since she wasn't allowed to go, she has locked herself in the room. We are not allowed in. Whenever she has a fight with Mami or Papi, Ana Mari and I pay for it. If I wanted to, I could get Ileana in lots more trouble. Not only does she sneak out every once in a while, but I also know that every morning during Christmas vacation, between the time Mami leaves for work and Abuela María comes to take care of us, Ileana has talked on the phone to Tommy. She is lucky I am not a tattletale.

I am so sleepy I can barely write, but I am determined to stay up until midnight so that I can eat the traditional twelve grapes that will bring luck and prosperity
for the new year. Abuelo Tony slept all afternoon just so he can be the one to throw the bucketful of water out the front door. This will wash away the old year and everything we do not want to keep. Papi says we need a lot of washing away. Lots of buckets. An entire bucket brigade. Sometimes my father can be very funny.

I wish I could have gone to Jane's party. Ileana even suggested I sneak out, but I'm not as brave as she is. Right now I'm going to concentrate on figuring out what to give Jane for Los Reyes Magos. It has to be something special but not too expensive.

1968. 1968. This is the first time I write out each of the digits in the new year. How strange the eight feels. Like an exile!

Tía Carmen took us three girls for a haircut. We did not go to a beauty salon as we used to at home but to my aunt's hairdresser, who now gives her old clients a trim or a permanent in her own living room. Tía Carmen says her dentist and her doctor from Cuba also see patients in their homes. Like Tío Pablo, each is studying to get a license here, but in the meantime they help their old patients and charge them whatever the patients can afford. Ileana, who is very smart when she is not arguing with our parents, said this kind of arrangement is called an underground economy, which means that people work without the government knowing about it. She also said that more and more people will begin to do this because the government is too busy with the war to serve its people right. This does not sound like Ileana at all,
and I am sure she is repeating what Tommy tells her. Tía Carmen told her to stop being a party pooper and be grateful for what she has.

I got my hair cut short just like Mami's. Though I wish Mami would grow her hair back, I like my new cut very much. It makes me look older and more serious. I think I look a little like the movie star Audrey Hepburn. Won't Jane be surprised to see me! After our haircuts, Tía Carmen took us to G. C. Murphy's, and she and Ileana helped me pick out a gift for Jane. I bought a 45 record of Aretha Franklin singing “Respect.” Jane sings that song a lot. It makes me want to dance.

Jane loved the gift. We do not have a record player, so we could not listen to it, but she said that as soon as she got home, she would play it on her mom's.

Her grandparents, who are visiting for the holidays, brought her to the house, but only for a little while. They are very old, older even than mine. They have white hair and blue eyes the color of the sky and both dress the same, like twins, in blue jeans and in
cowboy shirts. Every summer they take Jane on a car trip, and they want me to come along when school's out. Wouldn't that be fantastic? I would do anything to be allowed to go. Maybe I can start working on Papi now!

Jane's grandparents were surprised I was not a Negro. They said they thought all the people from the Caribbean islands were Negro. I explained that many are, but my great-grandparents came from Spain. This got me thinking about how people from different countries really do not know much about each other. When I first got here, I thought all
los americanos
would be very tall and blond. I thought they would eat only hamburgers. But I discovered that is not true. Like Cubans,
americanos
come in all sizes and colors. They eat different foods, and the language sounds different depending on who is speaking. Mr. Fixx, the physical education teacher, has an accent that Jane says comes from the South. He sounds very different from Jane's grandparents, who lived in a place called Pittsburgh until they retired.

For Three Kings' Day, I received a new limecolored dress from Mami and Papi. It is to be worn only for church or special occasions. Tía Carmen and
Tío Pablo got me a very pretty blue pant-skirt (just like the ones everyone at school is wearing) and a matching blouse. From Abuela and Abuelo, I received talcum powder and a bottle of an Avon perfume called Sweet Honesty. It smells wonderful. Abuelo Tony then teased me about being so pretty and smelling so good that all the boys would fall at my feet. If he only knew that they do not even know I exist. Besides, all of them are so short, and they act so silly.

I wore my new pant-skirt to school. I also put a little perfume behind my ears, in the same way Ileana and Mami like to do. With my new haircut, everyone thought I was a new student. Even Srta. Reed said I looked like—guess who—Audrey Hepburn! Julio and David sat with us at lunch and told jokes. Both kept looking at me as if they had never seen me before. Now I know how Ileana feels when boys turn around to look at her. She is very pretty and she knows it, but now I can look pretty, too. I was walking in the clouds all day.

I felt so good I decided to ask Papi about the car
trip with Jane. “Are you crazy?” he shouted at me, then walked away. He wouldn't even discuss it! I guess I have my work cut out for me.

Abuelo Tony is back in the hospital. I think he is very sick, but no one tells us children about why he is there. Please, dear God, take care of my
abuelito.
I love him so much.

I thought of my friend Ofelia in Cuba a lot today. When I was home, I used to walk down the block to her house almost every day, and together we would listen to the radio and pretend we were singing into a microphone. We would dance with each other, too, trying to learn new steps, and if one of us stepped on the other's toes, we would collapse in a chair, laughing. Can we remain friends even if our families do not agree on politics? Will I ever see her again?

Papi insists we won't be here long. On New Year's Day, when we went to Tío Pablo's after mass, he said,
“Año Nuevo en La Habana.”
Well, it is thirteen days into the New Year, and we are not in Havana at all. When we do return, I would like to come visit Miami. I am beginning to like it here. I know the teachers and they know me. I have friends. I have even grown used to the language.

Besides, we got a black-and-white television set from Efraín's boss because Mr. F.'s family bought a new one. Now we don't have to go to my uncle's house to watch our shows.

The call finally went through to Cuba. It was late last night, but Mami woke everyone up so that we could talk to my grandparents. They sounded as if they were talking through water. I didn't get to say much except “I love you.” Pepito was not there. No one knows where he is stationed now, and this worries Mami even more.

Papi says Abuelo Tony is getting better, but if he truly is, why can't I visit him at the hospital?

Ileana gets home about an hour late each afternoon. I am sure she is not taking the school bus and is instead riding with Tommy. No one has noticed because our schedules are all mixed up with Abuelo in the hospital. Ileana's absence means that I have to prepare Ana Mari her snack and help her with homework. We usually eat rice pudding Mami has made or cream cheese with guava shells. I also clean whatever room Mami has told me we should clean. The living room was scheduled for today, so I dusted the coffee table and I shook those heavy cushions from the old sofa over and over again until I felt my arms about to fall off. (One of Papi's coworkers at the hospital gave us the sofa. It's in pretty good shape, though it is an ugly green color, like split pea soup.) I also swept and mopped the terrazzo floor.

It's not fair that I'm doing all the work alone, but if I tell Mami, Ileana will get in trouble. Ileana said that if I loved her, I would be a good little sister and keep my mouth shut. When she said this, she pinched her lips together. I don't know what to do, but if she makes me help her with the laundry folding on
Saturday, I'm going to tell. She should have to do
all
the folding.

Abuelo returned home again from the hospital, and we went to visit him at Tío Pablo's. He looks awful. Like a skeleton. His eyes are sunken into his cheeks. His skin is the color of chalk, and he has bruises all over his arms. He said the bruises happen when the nurses try to put in the intravenous medicines and supplements. I'm glad I wasn't at the hospital to see all that butchering.

Abuela María was busy all afternoon making lentil soup. She will fatten him up in no time because she is the best cook in the family. When we were in the kitchen and she was chopping up the potatoes and the chunks of ham, she was crying very softly. I hugged her hard. Now I'm a whole head taller than she is. I am growing, that's true, but I also think she is shrinking down while Abuelo is shrinking sideways. Ana Mari said that our grandparents look like gnomes, these little people in the picture books she likes to read. When we got home, she showed me.
She's right, except Abuela and Abuelo don't have the funny noses or the warts.

I know I shouldn't have gone, but Ileana talked me into it. Together we snuck out and met Tommy at the corner, then we drove several blocks to a party given by a brother and sister whose parents were out of town. It was very noisy, and many of Ileana's friends were drinking beer. She introduced me to a boy who is in the tenth grade. He seemed very nice and was—thank goodness—taller than I was. We talked for a while, but when he found out I went to Citrus Grove Junior High, he couldn't get away from me fast enough. It took me a while after that to find Ileana. She was in the backyard talking. When she spotted me, she leaned over to Tommy and I could tell they started having an argument. On the drive home we didn't talk to each other. Now I'm too wound up to go to sleep.

Ana Mari has taught Ileana and me a new American song in English. It goes like this: “This land is your land, this land is my land / From California to the New York island, / From the redwood forest, to the Gulf Stream waters, / This land was made for you and me.”

We sang it together for Abuelo Tony, and we sounded very good, almost like the Supremes. It made him smile from ear to ear. It also made me remember all those times he and Abuela baby-sat us back in Cuba. With the radio music on, I would stand on his shoes and we would waltz around the living room, round and round until I got dizzy. Sometimes he would go so fast that I would have to hold hard to his belt buckle. He also taught Ileana how to cha-cha and mambo because he said every self-respecting Cuban should know how to dance. It's in our blood, our music, he said. Tonight I will pray just for him. Usually I pray for Pepito because I figure he needs it most, but I think Pepito can wait a night or two. I pray to La Virgencita del Cobre because Mami says that Jesus cannot ever turn down a request from his mother. So, Mother in heaven, please take care of my grandfather.

At mass this morning I almost fell asleep. Ileana kept elbowing me to stay awake. Mami is now worried that I am coming down with a flu. If she only knew! I won't even tell Jane, and you can bet I won't go out again. It is too risky.

Mami always says that life is full of surprises and, dear friend, she is absolutely right. The person I least expected to see again came into homeroom this morning during the public announcements. At first I thought it was odd how much the new student looked like the girl I had left behind in the special country school. But as soon as she turned around to walk to the empty seat in front of me, I knew it was her. I immediately shouted her name: “Alina!”

She was so happy to see me. You should have seen the relief on her face, and I know why. I still remember what it was like to not know anybody in school. It is so awful to be a stranger, to not recognize any hallway or classroom or teacher. It is even worse not to understand what others are saying to you. Of course,
it is getting a little better now because there are more Cubans in school. A few teachers speak Spanish, too. Still, that sense of not belonging anywhere is terrible.

The other day Tío Pablo said he hears Spanish in a lot more places now, especially where he and Papi work. He also said that every week four thousand people arrive from the island on the Freedom Flights, that airplane ride we took to come to Miami. Some move north, but many stay here. And even those who move somewhere else eventually return to Miami because they do not like the cold weather. Mami's cousin lived in a place called Buffalo for five years and just moved back last month. She hated the snow. I think I would like the snow—at least for a day or two.

Alina and I share the same homeroom and lunch period, but we do not have any classes together. I was still able to show her around. I could tell she was very nervous, but I told her that's exactly how I felt for a long time. Not anymore, though. We talked a little about some of the other girls who were with us in the country school. Neither of us liked any of them too much. She also told me that Ofelia now attends a special school on the outskirts of the capital and that her
parents are planning to send Ofelia and her older brother to Russia to study. Poor Ofelia!

Alina says the best thing about leaving Cuba is knowing that nobody will call her Granito anymore! She made me promise I would never bring that up. Alina came here with her brother, who is in the sixth grade, and her mother. Her parents got divorced because her father became a big Communist and wanted her mother to do the same, but she refused. Alina's grandparents live here, too. She loves her grandparents but misses her father. They plan to write each other every week. I didn't dare tell her about Pepito and how we hardly ever hear from him. Why make her suffer more?

Starting today we are supposed to go to Tío Pablo's house after school so that Abuela María can watch us there. Mami will fetch us when she returns from work. It will be interesting to find out what excuse Ileana will use to explain her tardiness. I tried to tell her she's going to get into trouble by allowing Tommy to bring her home and sneaking out to those parties,
but she pinched my arm and told me to mind my own business.

My English is improving day by day. I now have a part in a short play we will perform in class. I speak only a few lines, but I feel proud to have been chosen. At lunchtime Alina and Jane help me memorize my part. At home I practice my lines in front of the mirror. Everyone has noticed how my English is getting better, but sometimes I wonder if that means I will forget Spanish. If I know both languages equally, in what language will I think? How will I dream? How will I pray? Already I know the names for certain things in English but not in Spanish. I've learned them in school and have to ask Papi or Mami to translate the word into Spanish.