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

subterranean emotions, one I would have to tiptoe around.
    Not knowing what to do, I unlaced my boots and rubbed my feet, which were red and sore from the long hike up the mountain. My boots were heavy and stiff as cardboard, and I knew they would be difficult to walk in for any length of time. I fingered a plump blister, rolling the liquid beneath the skin. I was tempted to lance it, but I looked at my dirty hands and thought better of it. I felt a pang of longing for Mima. She was the one who tended to my scrapes and cuts.
    José was still staring at me, and I figured I looked very young to him, far too young to teach him anything. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. I lowered my head and studied the ground in an effort to look respectful. I knew I’d have to prove myself to him—and to everyone else.
    My first order of business was to figure out where to bed down for the night. The two boys, Juan and Ernesto, showed me the primitive hammocks they used for sleep, and my hopes for a bed evaporated like smoke in the wind. I unpacked my own canvas hammock, and the boys indicated that I was to tie it between two trees.
    I glanced at Ernesto who was eyeing my blanket enviously. I offered it to him, and he took it with a smile. I knotted the rope the way Abuelo had taught me and climbed into my gently swinging bed. I turned on my side, drew my legs to my chest, and listened to the insects hum in a minor key.
    I missed Abuelo. I missed my parents. I missed the sweet smell of my sheets and the coldness of my pillowcase against my cheek. I missed my mother’s pastries and the sound of her laughter. I missed the safety and surety of home.
    I looked up at the moon and felt comforted that it was the same moon that shone on the roof of my home on Pepe Antonio Street. Then I cried myself softly, very softly, to sleep.
    My life in the hills was very different from my life in Guanabacoa. The thatched-roofed hut that the family called home had no electricity, no stove, no refrigerator, and no indoor plumbing. Chickens pecked the hut’s mud floor and pigs roamed the crowded living space.
    The urine and feces of the two animal species melded into a smell so foul it made my eyes burn. Large black flies feasted on the scraps of food that littered the children’s mouths, and ugly sores festered on their shoeless feet.
    I figured I had to fend for myself to survive. Although I was an official “teacher” and was not required by the State to work, the only way to earn the family’s respect was to pitch in and help.
    Our routine was to rise early in the morning and wash our bodies in a nearby stream, the same stream where Maria did the family’s laundry. José, Juan, Ernesto, and I then went out to work, while Maria stayed home to tend the younger children and to prepare the morning meal. Around ten o’clock she’d bring breakfast for us to eat in the fields.
    The family wore rubber shoes made from old tires. I drew my knife and sliced off enough rubber to make shoes for myself. Maria, a large, powerful woman with a sweet smile, showed me how to sewthe ends with a long curved needle and urged me to stuff the shoes with rags the way the family did. While serviceable, the shoes were slippery when wet, and I had to sit and slide myself over rain-slicked rocks to avoid an accident.
    The family grew coffee, which required long hours of picking, sorting, and packing the beans into rough burlap bags. With no electricity and no machinery, all the chores had to be done by hand. The boys and I found a flat spot on the side of the mountain. We set up a large tray to spread the coffee beans. We spent hours pushing the beans back and forth to dry. Although I ached all over, my arm, shoulder, and leg muscles were beginning to ripple beneath my skin.
    In addition to coffee, we raised red, black, and garbanzo beans, yams, maize, and other vegetables. We mostly ate dried corn, fried plantains, and boiled yucca,