A New chapter

              We left very early that morning of March 15, 1962 (the Ides of March), at around four o’clock. A car was waiting outside. We dared not speak in order not to make any noise. The driver, a trusted colleague of our mom from work, took our suitcases and put them in the trunk. Norma, mom and I got inside. No family members were present. That was strange, I thought.

              My mom had kept our departure a secret until last night. Nobody had an inkling that we would be leaving this early in the morning! As the car drove the route to the airport, I silently bid farewell to the buildings and houses that we passed by on the highway and believed that I would probably never see again.

              When we arrived at the airport in Havana, we were ushered into a room people called "la pecera," meaning fish bowl. It was a waiting room enclosed within three glass walls. Passengers waited for up to ten hours in that hot room without air conditioning. We weren’t allowed to communicate with anyone. The slightest hint of communication could get us into trouble. We were just supposed to sit there and wait. The milicianos (Castro's police force) watched us closely. 

             Within a short time, some relatives showed up. They peered through the glass walls to look at us, for a split second, for they knew that they could not make eye contact with us. Mom also peeked through the glass wall, put her index finger to her lips and lowered her eyes, reminding us to keep quiet. And just as quickly, she was gone.

              “I’m scared, Tony,” Norma clutched my hand.

              “It’ll soon be over, Norma,” I assured her.

              They started calling us, one at a time, for luggage inspection. I was guided into an office. The stature of the man inside appeared enormous to a nine-year-old like me. 

              “Put your suitcase on the table!” He ordered angrily.

              Our eyes met. We were both surprised to see each other. He was the head of the committee on our block!

              The committee ("el comité") was made up of people from the neighborhood. Every block had one. You could do nothing without their approval. Frankly, the real purpose of the committee was for people to spy on each other. The committee made it its mission to find out everyone’s activities. No one could be trusted, not even your own family.

              “You…? So, you’re a traitor, too, aren’t you?” he sneered. “When you get to Yankeeland, tell them that Cuba is the greatest country on earth!”

              I heard my mom’s voice in the back of my mind. “Remember what I told you. Don’t disagree with them. Be polite.”

              “I… said…” he repeated his words deliberately and irately, “tell them that Cuba is the greatest country… on earth!” 

              “Yes, sir.”

              He observed me skeptically. “Open your suitcase!” he barked. “Let’s see what you’ve got!” As he started going through my clothes, I could feel my Adam’s apple hit me right in my throat. “You have two shirts!” he scowled. “You only need one!” He took my best shirt, a brand new one I had not yet worn, and threw it into a bin.

       He grinned condescendingly. “You just made a donation to our glorious revolution.” His gaze was intimidating. “Do you have a problem with that?”

              “No, sir.”

              Then he found my toy soldiers and jungle animals. They were about three inches tall, khaki green and made of hard plastic. These were not just any toy soldiers; they carried rifles and machine guns and bazookas. Some had bayonets and were poised in hand-to-hand combat. My jungle animals were leopards, panthers and gorillas, alligators, rhinos and elephants. I also had, like the song from the 1939 film, “The Wizard of Oz” ... "Lions and Tigers and Bears!"

              Oh, my! Well, it was my fault. Mom warned us not to pack toys.

              “Toy… soldiers…” he said in a calculatingly low tone, “and… jungle… animals! My sons will love these!”

              My mother had prepared me for such a situation. Once again, I heard her voice in my mind. “If they take anything away, let them have it. Don’t ever complain! Always be polite!"

              I gulped and looked intently at the monstrosity of the man in front of me. I tried to speak slowly and calmly. “I hope that your sons will enjoy playing with my toys as much as I have.”

             Apparently, he was not expecting such a response. If truth be told, he appeared to have been stunned by it.

             He tilted his head sideways and scrutinized me with curiosity, as if saying, “This kid’s nuts! He’s out of his mind!” Then he emitted a loud laugh.

             Soon after we were escorted outdoors to our airplane, a Pan American World Airways aircraft. The path to the vessel was lined by milicianos equipped with rifles and machine guns. By this time, I had become accustomed to their existence, as most people had, or so I assume. The fact is that their ubiquitous presence had become second nature. They were everywhere and they were always heavily armed. It could be argued that their presence could be viewed as an attempt at intimidation. That’s what they were hoping for, I guess.

              Nonetheless, these milicianos could not put a damper on my feeling of exhilaration. I had never flown in an airplane and, by gosh, this truly was going to be an adventure! 

              We had to climb a long ladder to go aboard. From the window we could see our relatives in the distance, on the roof of the Departing Flights building, waving at us. Norma started crying. I tried to be strong for her, but I couldn't help it, I started to cry, too.

              Once inside, a stewardess, or Flight Attendant, as they are called today, led us to our seats. She was teary-eyed herself. She wiped her eyes with a hanky and handed us some Kleenex tissues. We nodded our heads in gratitude through our tears.

              “Let me help you with those,” she said as she fastened our seat belts. The other passengers, children and adults, could see their loved ones waving goodbye from the same building and they started to cry as well. Then the other stewardesses joined us. Everyone was sobbing and weeping! 

              After fifteen or twenty minutes of flight, we heard the pilot through the intercom system, interrupting the somber mood. “We’re flying over United States territory. You are free!”  Everyone howled with joy. People started clapping and hugging and kissing each other. Someone shouted, “¡Viva Cuba libre!” (Long live free Cuba!) and all responded, “¡Viva!” Someone else started singing “Guantanamera,” and everyone sang along.

             Guantanamera means the lady from Guantánamo. It’s a famous Cuban song made popular in the United States by Pete Seeger, Joan Báez, The Sandpipers and others. After that we broke into the Cuban National Anthem and other Cuban patriotic songs.

             When the plane landed we were taken to a bus along with other children. An hour later we approached a small town. Two nuns greeted us, “Welcome to Florida City!”

              And so began a new chapter in our lives.