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Before the American embassy closed, Jong Jines of Cubans waited, hoping to got a U.S. visa.
HAVANA
( Continued)
trialization tax. We can't afford it, and I
don't believe in it Besides, it's voluntary."
"Do you know how voluntary?" my hus
band interrupted. "To get out of it, you have
to write a letter."
"I'll write it."
"Then you have to go down to the Minis
try of Labor to be interviewed, take along
several pictures, be fingerprinted, and for
mally state your reasons for not 'volun
teering.' " I gave up the idea.
As the months went by, fear rose in the
Anglo-American colony like a silent flood.
The premonitions increased at the approach
of May Day when a giant million-strong
rally had been summoned to show Cuba's
"solidarity" against the U.S. Many Ameri
cans decided to fly to Miami till the day was
over. Reasoning that we couldn't leave with
each new surge of fear, we stayed.
. Talking to a former Castroite turned
counterrevolutionary, my husband voiced
his fear for our family.
"If your wife's worried, I'll fix that up,"
said the counterrevolutionary who had once
given his all for Fidel. "Tomorrow morning
I'll send out two machine guns. Set them up
in your house and take them back later."
We didn't accept, but we did remove the
lawn sign bearing our American surname
and stayed home.
"You watch television all day May 1, and
if you notice anything about to happen,
come over to my house," a Cuban friend
said: "We'll move your car a couple of miles
away, and no one will know you're here."
Practically every American family in
Havana, fearful of communist-organized
goon squads, had received similar offers
from worried Cuban friends.
Our Sen la Brainwashed
We might have been able to take all of
this if it hadn't been for our son, whom we
thought old enough to distinguish right
from wrong, communism from democracy.
But brainwashing is insidious.
"Hey, Pop," he said one day, "did you
know that a couple of years ago an Ameri
can farmer got stuck in jail just because he
overproduced?"
"Where in the name of heaven did you
get that?"
"Why, my high-school teacher told us all
Family Weekly. February It, IM
about it," he answered enthusiastically.
"Say, Mom, did you know that Jose Mar
ti (Cuba's counterpart of George Washing
ton) was anti-American and was actually
the first Cuban communist?"
"Dear," I replied, "you seem to forget
that Marti spent most of his exile in New
York City and that communism wasn't real
ly an issue then."
"Don't . argue," my husband said. "It's
time to go."
We Tear Ourselves Away
Going wasn't easy. That last evening at
home I walked in the garden at sunset,
watching the western sky streak itself with
glowing gold and crimson, with purple and
pink, as it can only in Cuba. I touched the
avocado, lime, and mango trees and tried to
forget that I. would never be tasting the
fruit they were now bearing. And I tried to
shut out the memories as I shut the house
door behind me for the last time.
Now, when we should be reaping the
benefits of years of work, we are starting
over again, beginning from scratch without
our furniture, appliances, china, silver,
without even our souvenirs collected
through the years. Those things were not
ours, but part of the dwindling, depleted
Cuban "wealth." -
Yet we are fortunate, for we are here in
the United States. We got out. There are
many other Americans perhaps .3,000 of
the original 12,000 who haven't been able
to make the trip for economic reasons. We
write each other often, using codes which
we hope will fool the censors. "My eye
sight is very bad"means "Things are getting
worse in Cuba." Sometimes we phone, al
though the wire tapping causes the conver
sation to sound as far away as Mai's. And,
although my letters tell them how difficult it
is to adjust, how hard to start afresh, my
friends in Cuba answer: "You are lucky."
Yes, very lucky. For this land, for this
liberty, for this freedom from fear, I shall be
ever thankful. Yet close to this liberty
which we take so much for granted lies a
sister country suffering," a sister country
which once welcomed us without question
but now is taught to hate us.
Havana harbored me for 18 years. It wit
nessed my marriage, the birth of my chil
dren, our successes and failures. Havana
has been part of me and shall always be.
Havana poor, hapless Havana was home.