Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) Read Online Free

on the counter in an expression of rage. Neither of us could believe this was happening.
    My hand flew to my mouth as I considered what to do. The knot that had been growing in the pit of my stomach after I saw the soldiersat school exploded into a stream of bile that burned the back of my throat. I looked around, not knowing whether to run or to hide.
    Our neighbors were standing in front of their houses, stretching their necks to see what was going on. Some people were whispering and mumbling to each other. A few women were crying.
    A child being taken from their parents was something Cubans had never experienced before. We had lived under President Carlos Prío Socorrás, a man who hosted lavish parties where guests snorted cocaine and relieved themselves in bathrooms outfitted with faucets of gold.
    We had lived under Batista, a dictator who hung dead revolutionaries from the limbs of trees and subverted the interests of his nation to those of the Mob. But the idea that children could be sent to some unknown place for the sake of the revolution was totally foreign.
    The “volunteers” were ordered to go to the baseball stadium for processing before being taken to the train station in Havana. I looked out over the crowd and spotted my sisters and brothers. Theresa was holding my father’s hand and sobbing uncontrollably. My brother, George, stood with his arms crossed, looking angry and rebellious. My mother was holding my baby brother Raúl.
    Anguish filled her eyes. I was her oldest child and the fear of losing me haunted her expression. My throat constricted in grief as I read the sorrow creasing her face. She squeezed my hand tightly and kissed me before I left.

CHAPTER 3
    The railroad station was mass confusion. Trucks were lined up like sentries to drop off more than five hundred boys and adult teachers from all over the city. Some of the younger boys were sobbing for their mothers. The older boys looked just plain angry.
    A few scuffles broke out but, for the most part, everyone was too scared not to toe the line. We were herded into cattle cars for our three-day trip to the Sierra Maestra, the wildest, most remote part of the country. The mountains were six hundred miles away, the same mountains where Fidel’s Rebel Army had made their headquarters and launched their guerrilla attacks. Most of us had never even heard of the place.
    The train ride was long and tedious with the cars screeching and lurching along the tracks. There were no bathrooms that I could see, and kids were peeing and defecating on the floor. Many of the boys got sick. The stench was horrific.
    Boys were pushing and punching each other. I was lucky to find a place to sit. I closed my eyes and thought about the long grasses fluttering in the slipstream of the train. I wished I were fishing with Abuelo.
    When we got to Bayamo, heavily armed soldiers handed everyone a literacy ID card, a uniform, a blanket, and a canvas hammock. They issued each of us two books—
¡Venceremos!
and
¡Alfabetizemos!
    I tried thumbing through the books, which contained pictures of happy families proudly standing next to their animals and produce. One book contained phrases such as “The Revolution Wins AllBattles,” “Friends and Enemies,” and “International Unity” as a teaching aid. I scanned the glossary, but there was too much commotion to read. Soldiers distributed blue lanterns donated by China to be used during lessons.
    None of us knew where we were going or how long we’d have to stay. Frightened and bewildered, I hoped I would end up somewhere near my cousins and friends. Luckily, Gilbert, Tato, Luis, and Antonio were still with me. We stayed in a small town in the mountains for two days, sleeping outdoors, drinking coconut milk, and wondering where we were headed. During the day it seemed like a big adventure, but at night I cried a lot.
    On the morning of the third day, soldiers arrived to escort