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

us to our assigned families. Fifty or sixty of us walked in single file up Turquino—the highest mountain in Cuba. We marched up a narrow path thick with cacti and then wended our way through hanging vines and dense guaguasi trees. Lizards slithered through the underbrush and colorful birds pierced the air with cries of alarm. We were told to beware of large mud holes that could suck you in so quickly you would drown in mud before you could escape.
    When I stumbled on broken rocks, soldiers nudged me along with the barrels of their rifles. One of the soldiers allowed me to sip water from his canteen. A howler monkey narrated the scene.
    Boys were dropped off at different towns along the way. When they departed, the soldiers smiled. It was obvious we were a burden they were eager to unload.
    Below us, waving in the wind, were rows and rows of King Cane, harvested by the darkest of people, people who were considered too ignorant to make their own decisions and run their own lives.
    Giant sugar complexes, mostly American, had either bought out or driven out all the small farmers and now ran their consolidated holdings with an iron hand. The families of those who oversaw the operations lived in nearby gated communities where they swam in crystal-blue pools, dined alfresco, and sent their huge profits home.
    We passed under manchineel trees whose poisonous sap caused angry sores on our skin. I used my hands to slap mosquitoes from my sweat-drenched limbs.
    Soon the blue lantern felt too heavy, and I threw it down the mountainside. It tumbled over itself and landed next to a fallen branch. Other boys had already discarded their lanterns, so the soldiers barely gave it a glance.
    We walked the rest of the way in silence.

CHAPTER 4
    When we got to our destination, I was delivered to a Haitian family that eyed me with suspicion. Two boys about my age sat on a dirt floor, while a barefoot girl glared at me from behind a banana tree. A fine layer of clay lightened their ebony skin.
    A matronly woman with straggly hair and missing teeth clung to her husband, José, while three dirty-faced toddlers hung on her legs. The father stood tall, an onyx giant, with well-defined muscles etching his shoulders and back. His arms were stronger than his legs and his shoulders showed the results of years of hard labor.
    Wiry black hair covered his chest and back. A “lazy eye” wandered around in his eye socket, making it difficult to tell whether he was looking at you or not. A rope hung around his neck and a machete yoked his waist. The carcass of an animal—I didn’t know what kind—hung from a pole to dry. Its skin had been removed and its body was marbled with blood.
    I looked at the children, feeling sorry that they had to live in such squalor. I figured the parents were former slaves brought to Cuba from Haiti to work the plantations, but I didn’t ask any questions. That wasn’t my job.
    One of the soldiers, the taller of the two, stepped forward and said, “Frank is here to teach you to read.” He spoke loudly and slowly as if that would help the peasants comprehend what he was saying. He butted me with his rifle.
    â€œShow ’em the books so they understand.”
    I scrambled to hold up the books for them to see.
    José shot me a look of disdain. He fingered the handle of his machete and grunted.
    â€œAin’t no use for readin’ here,” he said. “Might as well send ’im back where he belong!” The boys nodded in agreement. Then the man spat on the ground and walked away. I wondered how long I would have to stay with these people.
    The soldiers shrugged their shoulders and took their leave.
    After the soldiers departed, José and I squatted on the ground opposite each other while the children busied themselves winding and unwinding a ball of twine. Neither of us knew what to say. He seemed content to just sit and look at me. He struck me as a man filled with