My Brigadista Year

There had been no warning of danger, and if not for the animals, we would never have known. We were in the back room as usual that Monday night. My thoughts by then were not on Maria’s lost love life, whether real or imagined, or even her lack of poetic talent, but on my students.

Nancy was busy writing and rewriting her letter. She had pushed herself to finish her exams because next month her baby would be born. Writing the letter was proving much harder for her than the rest of the exam. She was something of a perfectionist and could not tolerate a single erasure. “Look,” she said disgustedly, “you can still see the mistake underneath. I need to do it over. It has to be beautiful if it is to go to Havana.”

Rafael was racing Daniel and his mother, determined to beat them both through the primer, and Daniel was just as determined not to let a six-year-old triumph. I was beginning to have real hope that most, if not all, of my students would complete their three exams before December.

I was working hard with Dunia, and Luis, as usual, was tutoring Joaquin. The elder Acostas had finally passed their second exams but were struggling with the lessons leading to the third.

“Nothing but long words!” Joaquin complained loudly. “I can read the little ones, but now they are all as long as a water snake!”

I could hardly disagree. He had gone from words like house and hill to words like industry and revolutionary government. A bit of a distance for an old man who had first met the alphabet just a few months earlier.

Luis broke the words into syllables and drilled the old man until he was nearly crying for mercy. But Luis was a stern teacher who wasted no pity. “If you don’t learn these words, you can’t write your letter to Fidel, and poor Lora will go home feeling like a failure. Besides,” he added, “do you want your wife to finish first? Dunia is not letting the long words defeat her. Remember! Our motto is ‘We shall prevail,’ not ‘We tried but the words were too long, so we whined and gave up.’”

“But even if I learn the words, you say I have to make these little marks over some, but not all of the letters, and to put a squiggle above the en-ye!” the old man complained. “That’s too much for my old brains to remember. I guess those evil Spaniards invented all that as well?”

“Yes,” said Luis, “I’m sure they did, but now they make good Cuban words. Besides, I think the marks and squiggle, as you say, are pretty. Would you want your language to look as dull and undecorated as North American English?”

I was almost beginning to think it was a good thing that Luis had broken his leg. He was such a help, and I knew I needed a lot if I was going to get all of them through the last test before the end of the campaign.

We were deep into our lessons. Veronica was determined to pass her final exam before her son did, and I was in the middle of the dictation section when Luis suddenly said, “Hush!” I stopped reading aloud, and we all listened. “The animals,” he whispered. “Something is out there.” And then we all heard them. The chickens were cackling excitedly, the pigs were squealing, and even the oxen and goats were making anxious bleats. Luis grabbed a crutch and, as he struggled to his feet, whispered, “Douse the lamp, somebody.” Daniel jumped up to obey. Luis pushed back from the table, shoved aside the blanket, and stumped his way into the kitchen.

The animal protests grew louder. Then we heard shouting and a bam, bam, bam on the front door.

“Open up! We know you have a brigadista in there!”

For a moment we sat there, frozen. Then Rafael let out a muffled cry: “Mama.” Veronica put her arm around him.

“Shh.”

The banging and yelling continued. Suddenly it was interrupted by Luis’s voice.

“I will not open my door to criminals. But be aware that I also have a rifle, and if you bandidos try to enter this house, you will not see another morning!” I never knew Luis to own a rifle, but he was banging on the back of the door with something that sounded like the point of a gun.

There was some muffled talking outside. And again Luis’s strong voice: “If you try to break in, just remember, I’m in the dark and you’re in the moonlight. You won’t see who’s killed you until you reach the gates of hell!”

There were a few more half-hearted bams on the door and then “We’ll be back!” There were more threats thrown back at the house as, apparently, the insurgents drifted toward the woods. I thought I heard in the distance the sound of a piglet squealing.

When only the chirp of insects broke the silence of the night, Luis came back into the bedroom. Daniel relit the lamp and revealed Luis standing in the doorway with a broom in his hand. He dropped it and gave an embarrassed titter. “I guess I can let go of my weapon now,” he said sheepishly.

For a long while, we sat silently around the table. Finally Daniel stood up. “It’s safe to go,” he announced. “And we have animals to care for in the morning.” We all went out to watch them go, peering anxiously toward the dark forest. When they disappeared into the shadows, we stepped back in and Luis bolted the door. On her mattress, Isabel turned over with a sigh. I looked down. The little girls had slept through it all.

“Sleep if you can, Lora,” Luis said. “The animals will wake me if there’s danger.”

It was a hot October night and the air in the small back room was stuffy. But I lay shivering in my hammock, as cold as a fish on ice. From the woods, an owl screeched. I jumped. I won’t be fourteen until November 5th. I am too young to die. I don’t think I said the words aloud, but they were pounding as noisily in my head as if I had. I pulled my almost-forgotten rosary out from under my nightdress and tried to smother my fear with a succession of whispered Our Fathers and Hail Marys. Dear Mother of God, don’t let me die out here so far from my own mother. Even, even if they don’t kill me, won’t I be putting my beloved new family in danger just by being here?

It’s too hard! The thought hit me like a bullet to the chest. I had promised to go home when it got too hard.

By morning, I had made up my mind. Luis’s leg was nearly healed. He could take over my teaching job. I had done the work I’d come to do. There would be no shame in leaving a few weeks earlier than scheduled. Next Sunday, when I went to the meeting, I would tell Lilian about the threat. I had the feeling she would be more sympathetic than Esteban. I’d ask her to send word to my father. In the meantime, I wouldn’t say anything to the family. I would work harder than ever, and then when my father came to fetch me, I would tell the Santanas that I must go home.

I told myself that it was not only my own safety that I was fearful for. As long as I was in their home, they were all in danger. This time the insurgents had made off with a small pig and a few chickens, but when they came back — who knew what they would do? A broom banging against the door might not fool them a second time.

Veronica was the only one who expressed grief for the lost chickens, but the little girls cried over the piglet. They had named him Oscar, and Emilia was sure he hated being kidnapped by those “bad men.” Rafael was happy that at least Gordo, his favorite pig, was much too fat to be carried away.

By Wednesday, someone — Daniel? Joaquin? Veronica? Surely not Luis, still on crutches until the doctor came in November — had gotten word to Esteban about the incident. Word came back that all brigadistas were to stay in their houses until further notice — not to go outside, not even to go into the close-by fields to work.

I caught up on my diary notes. I started to reread Pride and Prejudice. I was glad all over again that I had brought the original English. It would take much longer to reread than if it were in Spanish. Veronica and Rafael were doing the outdoor work, so I did as much of the housework as she would let me and taught the eager Emilia the entire alphabet in one day. Luis was tutoring Rafael when his son could be spared from the field, so I couldn’t

be of much help there.