Read Online Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) by Patti Sheehy - Free Book Online Page A

crippled penguins on slippery ice?
    It was too rich. Too reckless. Too much fun.
The Communists be damned!
I thought. I let out a whoop and a yell.
    We peddled like wild men all the way home.

CHAPTER 9
    I tossed and turned all night, trying to get some sleep. My sense of euphoria about having escaped the school was giving way to a feeling of dread about what would happen when the school officials came to get me—and I knew they would. Señor Gonzalez could not let my escape go unchallenged lest other boys in the school follow my lead and try to run away. I had no idea what my punishment would be, but I knew it would be stiff. I was going to have to face the music.
    The next morning my mother prepared breakfast, and we talked about “my great escape.” Mima laughed with me when I told her about riding on Gilbert’s handlebars. Still, I could tell her nerves were on edge. A hint of fear colored my voice as I talked about my adventure. I was hoping she wasn’t sensing my apprehension.
    Since my experience with the literacy brigade, I no longer felt like I had control over my life. I had frequent nightmares about someone forcing me to do something I didn’t want to do. I would awake in a cold sweat, and it would take me a couple of hours to get back to sleep.
    On my last visit home I told my mother about my dreams, and she confessed that she’d been having nightmares, too. Not knowing where I was—or what had happened to me—when I was away in the Sierra Maestra had been very painful for her.
    Before she cleared the table, she stood up, pulled me to her bosom, and kissed me on the forehead. She stroked my hair and held my head to her chest for a little while as my body began to relax. Her mouth quivered, and I knew she was happy to have me home.
    My brother, Raúl, began to cry, and my mother went to tend to him. I turned and looked at my father, who was sipping his coffee and eyeing me curiously. He lifted his spoon and stirred his coffee to release sugar sitting at the bottom of his cup. He studied my face for a moment, knowing full well that something was weighing heavily on my mind.
    A man of few words, my father cleared his throat and said, “Tell me what’s bothering you, son.”
    I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to burden my father with my fears, but I had to talk to someone. “What if they come to get me?”
    â€œWho do you mean by
they
?”
    â€œYou know who I mean,” I said, almost afraid to speak the words out loud. The expression on my father’s face turned dark with a disturbing thought. He shook his head and pushed his chair away from the table with enough force to rattle the dishes. He stood abruptly, threw down his napkin, and said, “You’re not going anywhere.” His face wrinkled into an accordion of rage. He was in no mood for discussion.
    Later that morning there was a loud knock on the door. My father opened it to find Señor Gonzales and two soldiers standing on the front steps.
    I was in the kitchen helping my mother prepare lunch. An old checkered apron hung around her neck and was tied at the small of her back. We could overhear what was going on, but Mima held me back from entering the living room. I felt her warm arms encircle me and watched a red flush creep up her neck. I took a deep breath as a ribbon of fear danced up my spine.
    â€œCan I help you?” I overheard my father say.
    â€œWe’re here to take your son back to school,” said Señor Gonzales. “He left without permission, which could be construed as counterrevolutionary activity—a very serious offense.”
    My siblings wandered into the living room looking wide-eyed andfearful, and a crowd of neighbors started to gather outside my house. In my neighborhood, like in many others in Cuba, whenever soldiers showed up on anyone’s doorstep, it was cause for alarm. The front door remained open, leaving little to the