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Chapter no 8

Refugee

 

 

โ€ŒIsabel and her grandfather set her papi in a chair in their little kitchen, and Isabelโ€™s mother, Teresa Padron de Fernandez, ran to the cabinet under the sink. Isabel hurried after her. Mami was very pregnantโ€”she was due in a weekโ€™s timeโ€”so Isabel knelt down to find the iodine.โ€Œ

Isabelโ€™s father, Geraldo Fernandez, had always been a handsome man, but he didnโ€™t look it now. There was blood in his hair, and the area around one of his eyes was already turning black. When they pulled his white linen shirt off him, his back was covered with welts.

Isabel watched as Mami cleaned his cuts with a washcloth. Papi hissed as she disinfected them with the iodine.

โ€œWhat happened?โ€ Isabelโ€™s mother asked.

An Industriales baseball game played on the television in the corner, and Isabelโ€™s grandfather turned down the volume.

โ€œThere was a riot on the Malecรณn,โ€ Lito said. โ€œThey ran out of food too fast.โ€

โ€œI canโ€™t stay here,โ€ Papi said. His head was bent low, but his voice was loud and clear. โ€œNot any longer. Theyโ€™ll come for me.โ€

Everyone was quiet at that. The only sound was the soft crack of a bat and the roar of the crowd on the television.

Papi had already tried to flee Cuba twice. The first time, he and three other men had built a raft and tried to paddle their way to Florida, but a tropical storm turned them back. The second time, his boat had a motor, but heโ€™d been caught by the Cuban navy and had ended up in jail.

Now it was even harder to escape. For decades, the United States had rescued any Cuban refugees they found at sea and taken them to Florida. But the food shortages had driven more and more Cubans to el norte. Too many. The Americans had a new policy everyone called โ€œWet Foot, Dry Foot.โ€ If Cuban refugees were caught at sea with โ€œwet feet,โ€ they were sent to the US naval base at Guantanamo Bay, at the southern end of Cuba. From there, they could choose to return to Cubaโ€”and Castroโ€”or languish in a refugee camp while the United States decided what to do with them. But if they managed to survive the trip across the Straits of Florida and evade the US Coast Guard and actually set foot on United States soilโ€”be caught with โ€œdry feetโ€โ€”they were granted special refugee status and allowed to remain and become US citizens.

Papi was going to run away again, and this time, whether he got caught with wet feet or dry feet, he wasnโ€™t coming back.

โ€œThereโ€™s no reason to go throwing yourself onto a raft in the ocean,โ€ Lito said. โ€œYou can just lie low for a while. I know a little shack in the cane fields. Things will get better. Youโ€™ll see.โ€

Papi slammed a fist on the table. โ€œAnd how exactly are they going to get better, Mariano? Do you think the Soviet Union is going to suddenly decide to get back together and start sending us food again? No one is coming to help us. And Castroโ€™s only making things worse.โ€

As if saying his name made him appear, the baseball game on television was interrupted by a special message from the Cuban president.

Fidel Castro was an old man with liver spots on his forehead, gray hair, a big bushy gray beard, and bags under his eyes. He wore the same thing he did every time he was on televisionโ€”a green military jacket and flat round capโ€”and sat behind a row of microphones.

Everyone got quiet as Lito turned up the volume. Castro condemned the violence that had broken out on the Malecรณn, blaming it on US agents.

Papi scoffed. โ€œIt wasnโ€™t US agents. It was hungry Cubans.โ€

Castro rambled on without a script, quoting novels and telling personal anecdotes about the Revolution.

โ€œOh, turn it off,โ€ Papi said. But before Mami had reached the set, Castro said something that made them all sit up and listen.

โ€œWe cannot continue guarding the borders of the United States while they send their CIA to instigate riots in Havana. That is when incidents like this occur, and the world calls the Cuban government cruel and inhumane. And so, until there is a speedy and efficient solution, we are suspending all obstacles so that those who wish to leave Cuba may do so legally, once and for all. We will not stand in their way.โ€

โ€œWhat did he just say?โ€ Mami asked.

Papiโ€™s eyes were wide as he stood from the kitchen table. โ€œCastro just said anybody who wants to can leave!โ€

Isabel felt as though her heart had been ripped out of her chest. If Castro was letting anyone leave, her father would be gone before the sun rose the next day. She could see it in his wild look.

โ€œYou canโ€™t go now!โ€ Lito told Papi. โ€œYou have a family to take care of.

A wife! A daughter! A son on the way!โ€

Isabelโ€™s father and grandfather yelled at each other about dictators and freedom and families and responsibility. Lito was her motherโ€™s father, and he and Papi had never gotten along. Isabel covered her ears and stepped

away. She had to think of some answer to all this, some solution that would keep her family together.

Then she had it.

โ€œWeโ€™ll all go!โ€ Isabel cried.

That shut everybody up. Even Castro stopped talking, and the TV went back to showing the baseball game.

โ€œNo,โ€ Papi and Lito said at the same time. โ€œWhy not?โ€ Isabel said.

โ€œYour mother is pregnant, for one thing!โ€ Lito said.

โ€œThereโ€™s no food to feed the baby here anyway,โ€ Isabel said. โ€œThereโ€™s no food for any of us, and no money to buy it with if there was. But there is food in the States. And freedom. And work.โ€

And a place where her father wouldnโ€™t be beaten or arrested. Or run away.

โ€œWeโ€™ll all go, while Castro is letting people out,โ€ she went on. โ€œLito too.โ€

โ€œWhat? But, Iโ€” No,โ€ Lito protested.

They were all quiet a moment more, until her father said, โ€œBut I donโ€™t even have a boat.โ€

Isabel nodded. She could fix that too.

Without saying anything, Isabel ran next door to the Castillosโ€™s house. Luis, the older boy whoโ€™d saved her from the policemanโ€™s nightstick, wasnโ€™t home from work yet, and neither was his mother, Juaneta, who worked at the cooperative law office. But Isabel found Ivรกn and his father, Rudi, right where she thought theyโ€™d beโ€”working on their boat in the shed.

It was an ugly blue thing cobbled together out of old metal advertisements and road signs and oil drums. It barely qualified as a boat, but it was big enough for the four Castillosโ€”and maybe four more guests.

โ€œWell, if it isnโ€™t Hurricane Isabel,โ€ Seรฑor Castillo said. He had white hair that he wore swept back on his head, and even though there was no food, he had a middle-aged paunch to his belly.

โ€œYou have to take us with you!โ€ Isabel said. โ€œNo, we donโ€™t,โ€ Seรฑor Castillo said. โ€œIvรกn, nail.โ€ โ€œPeople are rioting in Havana!โ€ Isabel said.

โ€œTell me something I donโ€™t know,โ€ Seรฑor Castillo said. โ€œIvรกn, nail.โ€ Ivรกn handed him another nail.

โ€œMy father was almost arrested,โ€ Isabel said. โ€œIf you donโ€™t take us with you, theyโ€™ll throw him in prison.โ€

Seรฑor Castillo paused his hammering for a moment, then shook his head. โ€œThereโ€™s no room. And we donโ€™t need a fugitive on board.โ€

Ivรกn looked at him funny, but only Isabel saw it.

โ€œPlease,โ€ Isabel begged.

โ€œWe donโ€™t have any gasoline anyway,โ€ Ivรกn said. He put a hand to the motorcycle motor theyโ€™d mounted inside the boat. โ€œWeโ€™re not going anywhere soon.โ€

โ€œI can fix that!โ€ Isabel said.

She ran home again. Her father and grandfather were still arguing in the kitchen, so she slipped in the back way. She grabbed her trumpet, gave it one long, sad look, and ran out the back door. She was already in the street when she stopped, ran to her backyard, and snatched up the little mewling kitten too. With the trumpet in one arm and the kitten in the other, she ran the few blocks to the beach, where she banged on the door of a fisherman her grandfather knew. His gas-powered fishing boat rocked gently at a little pier nearby.

The fisherman came to his door, licking his fingers and frowning. Isabel had caught him at dinner. Fried fish, it smelled like. The kittenโ€™s nose

sniffed eagerly at the air, and it meowed. Isabelโ€™s stomach growled.

โ€œYouโ€™re Mariano Padronโ€™s granddaughter, arenโ€™t you?โ€ the fisherman said. โ€œWhat do you want?โ€

โ€œI need gasoline!โ€ Isabel told him. โ€œIzzat so? Well, I need money.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t have any money,โ€ Isabel said. โ€œBut I have this.โ€ She held out the trumpet. Isabel regretted that its brass was a little tarnished, but it was the most valuable thing she owned. The fisherman had to take it in trade.

โ€œWhat am I going to do with that?โ€ he asked.

โ€œSell it,โ€ Isabel told him. โ€œItโ€™s French, and old, and plays like a dream.โ€ The fisherman sighed. โ€œAnd why do you need gasoline so badly?โ€

โ€œTo leave Cuba before my father is arrested.โ€

The fisherman wiped his lips on the back of his hand. Isabel stood for what seemed like hours, her insides churning like a waterspout. At last, he reached out and took the trumpet.

โ€œWait here,โ€ he told her.

Isabel held her breath, and soon the fisherman came back with two enormous plastic jugs of gasoline. Each one came up to Isabelโ€™s chest.

โ€œIs it enough?โ€ Isabel asked.

โ€œTo get you to Miami? Yes. And back again.โ€ Isabelโ€™s heart soared, and she hopped up and down.

โ€œThankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!โ€ Isabel told him. โ€œOh, and you have to take the kitten too.โ€ She held the wiggling creature out to him, but the old fisherman just stared at it.

โ€œIzzat so?โ€ the fisherman said.

โ€œPlease,โ€ Isabel said. โ€œOr else someone will catch her and eat her. But you have fish to eat. She can eat the scraps.โ€

The fisherman eyed the cat suspiciously. โ€œIzzit a good mouser?โ€

โ€œYes!โ€ Isabel said, though she was sure that even a mouse would give the scrawny thing trouble. โ€œHer name is Leona.โ€

The old fisherman sighed and took the squirming kitten from her. Isabel smiled, then noticed how big and heavy the gas cans were. โ€œOh, and I also need you to help me carry these back.โ€

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