The Red Umbrella

After two full days of drenching spring storms, the darkest clouds parted and I began a campaign to recover my freedom.

“Please, Mamá, Frankie can go, too. We’ll get groceries. Don’t you need something? Anything?”

Mamá grabbed a pencil and began making a list.

I grinned. Finally, I was going to escape from house arrest.

“Okay, vámonos.” Mamá folded the paper and tucked it into her skirt pocket. “Call your brother.”

“What? No, I meant I’d go for you, not with you.” The moment I said it, I braced myself for a tongue-lashing. I could already hear the words. ¡Qué falta de respeto! What disrespect!

Mamá simply raised an eyebrow and continued to fasten her light blue pillbox hat into place.

I followed as she walked to the hallway mirror to put on some lipstick. “Please, I need to be with my friends. What if they open up the schools tomorrow and I miss my chance to have fun? I can’t take being cooped up anymore!”

“Lucía, por favor, it’s barely been three days.” She popped her lips together. “You act like you haven’t seen them in months.”

“It might as well be! You and Papá treat me like a baby! I’m fourteen. Kids my age are leaving home to join the revolution and you act like I’m still a little kid. Pretty soon you’ll make me hold your hand when we cross the street!”

This time Mamá was not going to let it slide. She spun around. “Lucía, you watch your tone! I will not have you disrespecting me. When I was a child, I would never speak to my mother in that way. You have no idea what your father and I are going through.”

I turned and rolled my eyes. What they were going through? What about me? My only consolation was knowing that someday I’d be free of all their stupid rules and worries.

“Frankie, let’s go. We’re going into town.” Mamá pulled back the curtain, revealing the overcast sky. She took a deep breath. “I know you’re upset, Lucía. Look, if we have time, we’ll go by Machado’s Pharmacy and see if they have any new fashion magazines.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t going to be bought off that easily. A trip to Machado’s for a lollipop or paper dolls worked when I was a kid, but not anymore.

Frankie ran down the stairs, skipping the last two steps. “All right! We’re finally out of here!”

Mamá smiled and grabbed her large bright-red umbrella and tucked it beneath her arm.

I hated that umbrella. It was like carrying a big stop sign that made everyone pause and take notice of us. A ridiculous umbrella for a ridiculous woman. Why couldn’t she bring a plain black one? Why did she insist on embarrassing me with that thing?

“It’s not even raining anymore,” I said, and pointed outside.

“Well, just in case,” she answered. “Mejor precaver que tener que lamentar.”

It was one of Mamá’s favorite sayings … Better safe than sorry.

I followed her out the door. “Just because you’ve had that umbrella forever doesn’t mean it’s the only one you can use, you know.”

“I like my umbrella. It’s the only one I’ve ever found that’s big enough to protect all of us from the rain,” she said as Frankie jumped over the puddles lining the sidewalk.

“But red is the color of the revolution.” I hoped this would make her reconsider.

Mamá stopped walking to look at me. “No, Lucía. The revolution may have taken over a lot of things, but it doesn’t own a color. For me, red is the symbol of strength, and that’s all it will ever represent.”

*  *  *  *  *

That evening, I begged Papá to let me join the Jóvenes Rebeldes. On our trip to town, I had noticed that the soldiers seemed to be everywhere. On every street corner, in every park. Despite what I’d seen and how nervous the soldiers made me feel, there was an intoxicating kind of energy that filled the air, cloaking everything. I even saw some classmates putting up flyers regarding the youth movement. They were laughing and waved to me, but Mamá ushered us along. I wanted to be with my friends. To be part of that excitement.

“Please, Papá, reconsider. Everyone is going.”

Papá shook his head. “Why can’t you invite your friends over to the house and listen to music like before?” He leaned back in his favorite chair and unfolded the evening paper.

I read the headline at the top of the page: Apoya la CTC la Nacionalización de las Escuelas Privadas. I thought about it for a few seconds. Maybe I could use the fact that Cuba’s labor union was supporting the nationalization of all the private schools to convince Papá that going to the meetings was okay. Show him that the school closings were nothing to worry about.

I placed my hand on his arm. Ivette had explained that some parents were afraid of change and that it was up to us to lead the way. “Papá, look.” I pointed to the headline. “The schools will open again, and everyone will think it’s strange that I don’t go to the meetings.” I used my most serious voice. “It’s important.”

He took his reading glasses from the coffee table and slid them over his nose. “Doesn’t matter what others think.” He popped open the newspaper. “And the private schools won’t open again, only the ones run by the revolution. A revolution my daughter is not getting involved with.”

“But why?”

“Lucy, you’re just too young,” he said, staring at the newspaper.

“The revolution doesn’t think I’m too young. See.” I pointed to a picture of teenagers waving from a train that was headed to the brigades’ camp in Varadero. “Thousands of kids my age and younger have joined the brigades. Their parents trust them.”

Papá slapped the side of the chair with the newspaper as if swatting an imaginary fly. “It’s not about trust. Don’t you realize that they’re having to leave their homes for months to go teach and live in the mountains? How it’s now expected that all good revolutionaries will send their kids to the brigades? Is that what you want? To be by yourself in a new place?”

“Better than being stuck here,” I muttered.

“You think your mother and I enjoy saying no to you? We only want the best for you, to protect you. They don’t care about breaking up families. It’s actually what they want. To destroy the family so the only thing left is the revolution, just like Karl Marx suggested.” Papá shook his head. “And this so-called revolution continues to go after anyone who dares to think. To disagree.” Papá sighed. “Lucy, it’s just so complicated …”

“It’s complicated because you and Mamá don’t understand that I’ve grown up!” Tears rose in my eyes. One blink and they’d land on my cheeks. “You are so unfair!” I turned and raced up the stairs. I slammed my bedroom door and felt a scream rise up in my chest. Now I understood why the soldiers got so angry. People like my father couldn’t see that the younger generation wanted Cuba to change for the better. They didn’t see all the good things that the revolution could do. He’s so stubborn, I thought. Why can’t he be like Ivette’s father?

I caught my breath as I heard Papá coming up the stairs. I didn’t want to confront him again. My heart beat faster. I’d never raised my voice at him before. The footsteps stopped right outside my door. After a few seconds, I heard them continue down the hall.

I slowly exhaled.

Stupid gusano.

*  *  *  *  *

The smell of onions and garlic brought me down to dinner. As much as I didn’t want to see Papá, I figured maybe my mother could reason with him.

“Mi hija, can you get the glasses, please?” Mamá took out a starched linen tablecloth and snapped it open over the kitchen table.

I walked past the open kitchen window and took the glasses from the cupboard. “Mamá you’ll let me go to a Jóvenes meeting with Ivette, right?”

She shook her head. “Don’t try playing me against your father. I know he doesn’t want you going.”

I set the glasses down and reached into the kitchen drawer to take out the silverware. “But …”

“There’s no need for you to get involved with the revolution … it won’t last. It never does. I’ve seen Cuba go through so many leaders, all of them with their promises. Each of them just as corrupt as the one before.”

“Yeah, but this time it’s different. You know that.”

“I know that this revolution is jailing good people. That decent, God-loving priests and nuns are being kicked out just because they dare to voice their concerns about what’s going on. Different is not always a good thing.” Mamá went to the stove to flip over the palomilla steaks. “Plus, now that your father is running the bank, he hears things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that Ivette’s mother is involved with the CDR,” Papá said as he walked into the kitchen and took his seat at the head of the table.

“Hmm, the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution … now it makes sense,” Mamá muttered.

Papá flashed her a strange look.

“No, Fernando, nothing bad. She called me this morning to ask why we weren’t more involved with the revolution. She said we seemed ‘suspicious.’ She suggested I send Lucía to the Jóvenes meetings and that Frankie go to the Pioneros group … so we could show our loyalty.”

Papá shook his head. “Who do we have to prove anything to?”

“Maybe I should join something, just so that there isn’t talk,” Mamá offered.

“No, Sonia. We do what is required and that’s it. But we need to be careful with that family; the CDR are glorified neighborhood spies.”

I couldn’t believe how judgmental Papá was being. I’d read the newspapers and knew how much the revolution wanted to help people. It said that the factories had been closed because the owners were giving all their profits to foreigners and that the churches had been infiltrated by American sympathizers. Castro had no choice but to have the government take over many of the businesses so that there wouldn’t be so much corruption. It was all for the benefit of the country, and everyone was expected to pitch in and help. What harm was there in that? Even if I didn’t agree with what had happened with Señor Betafil, so many smart people supported the revolution, they couldn’t all be wrong. “Not all of the CDR are bad. Tío Antonio joined—”

Papá pushed back his chair. “Antonio joined the CDR? Who told you this?”

My heart raced. I couldn’t tell him it was Ivette. Then they’d really dislike her family.

Mamá spoke up. “It’s true. Antonio came by yesterday and told me. Lucía probably overheard us talking. And yes, I was surprised, too, but you know your brother would never do anything to hurt us.”

“And Ivette wouldn’t hurt us, either. We’ve been friends forever, and you’ve known her parents for years.”

“The revolution has changed people. It’s not just the soldiers we have to be worried about,” Papá said.

“But he’s your brother. He’s the only family we have left.” Mamá placed her hand on Papá’s shoulder as she set down a platter of yellow rice.

“No importa. In fact, I think it’s better if you don’t talk so much with Ivette, either, Lucy.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You’re not serious. She’s my best friend. Her mother only called because I said you wouldn’t let me go to the meetings. She was just trying to help.”

“Humpf.” Papá pointed to the smoke starting to rise from the stove. “Sonia, I think the steaks are burning.”

“¡Ay Dios!” Mamá quickly pulled the sizzling pan away from the open flame.

Papá turned to face me again, his face softer. “Mi hija, it’s not just Ivette’s mother. Her father came by the bank today to remind me of my duty to the revolution to report anything suspicious.”

“So?” I shrugged.

Papá paused. “You really don’t see it?” He shook his head. “Of course not, most of the people around here don’t see the problem, either. Everyone’s in love with all the fancy rhetoric.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What he meant was that he wants me to spy on the bank employees and the customers. He even mentioned how much he’d hate to see anything happen to me or my new promotion.” Papá’s face started to turn red. “That it would be a shame if, because of a silly misunderstanding, I were classified as an anti-revolutionary and sent to prison like Betafil.” Papá stood and paced around the kitchen. “It was a threat. That good-for-nothing thinks he has power now. A year ago, he was nothing more than a lazy salesman in a shoe store, and today he wants to dictate my code of ethics. I’m telling you, this revolution is una mentira. It’s all a bunch of lies.”

“Fernando, please. Someone might hear.” Mamá ran to close the kitchen window.

“What? I can’t even speak my mind in my own house without worrying that a neighbor is listening. This is becoming absurd! Lucía, you will not go to those meetings and that’s final!” Papá slung open the back door. “Sonia, I need some fresh air. Go ahead and eat without me.” He stormed out, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

My heart beat wildly, but I sat frozen in my chair. I’d never seen Papá so angry. I glanced over at Mamá, who stood by the sink picking imaginary crumbs from her apron. She then rolled back her shoulders and walked to the stove.

“Close the door and call your brother to dinner,” she said in a quiet voice.

I shut the door and walked to the living room looking for Frankie. As I stood by the large picture window in the front of the house, I caught a glimpse of Papá’s silhouette. He was crossing the street, and the light from the streetlamps elongated his shadow against the wide sidewalk. A quick movement, glimpsed out of the corner of my eye, made me look away from him. At first, I wasn’t sure what it was. Then it happened again a little farther down the block. Even in the fading twilight, I could see window curtains being pulled slightly open, and then, as Papá walked by, they were abruptly closed again. It was almost like … we were being watched.