90 Miles to Havana by Enrique Flores-Galbis

Author:Enrique Flores-Galbis
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781429969673
Publisher: Roaring Brook Press

THE REVOLUTION

It’s dinnertime and I’m standing at the end of the table behind a pond of thick brown gravy, spoon in hand. I can see Gustavo sitting at the first table folding and unfolding a ten-dollar bill. La Balla, wearing a red handkerchief, cowboy style, is fidgeting next to him. I spot Caballo at the door and lift my spoon. La Balla pulls the handkerchief over his face and slips under the table.

Caballo cuts to the head of the line. He slides his tray along, stacking and piling on more food than any two people could eat. When he gets to me his eyes are glued to the greasy brown lake in front of me.

“Load on the gravy!” he growls without even looking up.

Gustavo winks at me as I flood Caballo’s plate with the greasy brown stuff. When Caballo slides his tray off the table, Gustavo steps up and “accidentally” drops the ten-dollar bill right in front of him. Caballo sees the bill. When he bends over to pick it up, a loud ripping noise cuts shreds through the room. The dining hall is quiet and everyone’s eyes are on Caballo as he straightens up. He reaches for the split middle seam in the back of his pants. He must be feeling a breeze in the wrong place. Then La Balla, with his handkerchief covering his face, Old West bank robber style, flashes by and snatches Caballo’s dessert right off his tray. Caballo lunges for him but stops when he hears the ripping noise again. Gustavo leisurely strolls to the big fan and then turns it on.

Caballo is standing still as a statue under the American and Cuban flags. The flags and the four loose pieces of fabric hanging off his belt are now snapping and waving in the electric breeze. We all stand up and start singing the Cuban national anthem.

Caballo, confused, half turns toward the flags but when he turns back, string beans, chocolate cake, and slippery mashed potatoes start raining down on him. This was not part of our plan but we join in throwing food and knocking over chairs. We sing the national anthem and the polka-dot bikini song at the same time. Caballo looks around at the wild crowd and then ducks out the back door.

Every bit of fear, anger, and sadness we’ve been carrying around, the frustration that drove us around the baseball field, the uncertainty we wove into an endless variety of hats, has been cut loose with only one purpose: to turn this cafeteria into a slippery zoo.

Angelita and I are dancing on a groaning table like its New Year’s Eve, as if our revolution is over and Caballo the dictator has grabbed all the desserts and flown away. Now I understand why those people in Havana were throwing chairs through the windows and ripping parking meters out of the ground with their bare hands.

When Caballo finally comes back with the director, they just stand in the back of the room with their arms crossed.

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