2 JANUARY 1961

First thing in the morning, Victoria and Jackie waited to cross the street to the small bodega catty-corner from their apartment building.

“Did we have to wake up so early?” Jackie yawned and leaned against Victoria as if she would fall asleep standing.

None of the family had recovered from being up almost all night for fin de año, but Victoria didn’t see an alternative. “If we show up later and miss the owner, that’s another day—”

“Sí, ya sé. But the bed was very comfortable.” Jackie sighed before starting to jump up and down with her arms flapping over her head. To any early-morning spectator, it would appear as if she were being attacked by a giant invisible bee. When she stopped, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes had lost their half-asleep glaze.

They finally crossed the street, and Victoria returned her attention to the flyer they had created:

Two Cuban Chicas

Need help? Call Victoria and Jackie for all your needs!

*Pet care

*Babysitting

*Tutoring: spelling, grammar, reading, math

*Sports partner: tennis, baseball, racquetball, volleyball

*Swimming lessons

*Horse exercising

Smart, friendly, and reliable! Call afternoons, evenings, and weekends at FR 4-6802

Victoria groaned. “I should have written ‘equine exercising’ so they would know that I know about horses.”

Jackie draped an arm around her. “It’s perfect, trust me.”

They had slept in on New Year’s Day and spent the afternoon working on the flyers, written out in their best penmanship, with Inés offering to decorate the margins with vines and flowers. They had passed out the flyers to all the residents in their L-shaped building. (Nestico wanted to do that, but also wanted a quarter for his “trouble.” They did it themselves). Already Mrs. Greenwald from next door had said she would pay them “one whole dollar” to look after her cat for four days. Only $149.00 left to go.

Mami, of course, had been against the idea of them hiring themselves out like “common housemaids,” while Papi thought that it was great and they would learn responsibility and contribute to the family.

“Women of our social class don’t work,” Mami had argued.

“Mima would,” Jackie responded immediately. Mami pulled a disapproving face that revealed exactly what she thought of her rebellious older sister.

Victoria jumped in before Mami continued with her snobbery. “When we return to Cuba, things will go back to how they were. But here, in order to fit in, we must become modern women who don’t depend on men to support them.”

Mami huffed, Papi smirked, and Victoria and Jackie went back to making their flyers.

Under the grocery store’s awning, baskets and crates of fresh fruits and vegetables sat in heaps, many with strange names like “rutabaga” and “artichoke.”

“Mira.” Jackie pointed at the door, where next to ORANGES, 60¢ A DOZEN! and POTATOS, 35¢ FOR 5LBS! there was also a notice that said HELP WANTED, INQUIRE WITHIN.

“It’s a sign!” Jackie said in English, and chuckled over the pun.

Victoria held the flyer firmly to avoid twitching. “He’s not going to hire two children to work for him. You don’t even turn thirteen until later this month.”

Inside were three aisles of food with refrigerators and freezers against one wall. Two metal cash registers with long protruding keys like a typewriter gleamed by the front, with the office just visible off to the side.

The smell of freshly baked bread in a display case met them as soon as the bells announced their entrance. Victoria closed her eyes for a second and inhaled deeply. Shopping after school meant the bread smell had faded away; she hadn’t even known the store sold bread from a bakery. The last time she’d had fresh bread was when Papi had bought them those sandwiches from the Jewish deli when they went apartment hunting. The sliced Wonder Bread she bought for school not only had no taste, but no smell. Maybe for Jackie’s birthday she’d splurge and buy the family a decadent loaf.

A woman with black hair teased into a gravity-defying bouffant leaned over the counter next to her cash register as she read a magazine. The stock boy placed a foot on top of a cardboard box to slowly redo his shoelaces. The lone customer, an older man, idly strolled through the aisles, pausing occasionally to pick something off the shelves he didn’t seem interested in buying at seven o’clock in the morning. Only the large man with thinning wisps of brown hair sitting behind a desk covered in papers seemed to be doing any actual work.

“Excuse me, are you the owner?” Jackie asked. “The Pulaski of Pulaski’s Market?”

Victoria shifted uncomfortably. She’d forgotten how straightforward Jackie was.

The man in the office stood up from his desk. “Yes?”

“Would you be so kind,” Victoria said with extra politeness to make up for Jackie, “to allow us to put a notice up on your window?”

Mr. Pulaski glanced at the paper and waved his hand in approval. In a second, the cashier (who obviously thought they were more interesting than her tabloid) produced a piece of tape dangling from a long nail. Victoria thanked her and went to hang the sign.

“If you’re at least fourteen, I could use your help here,” Mr. Pulaski said.

“We are!” Jackie lied. “I’m related to Superman and can stock the shelves.” And without waiting for permission, Jackie effortlessly heaved a case of twenty-four cans of fruit cocktail that the stock boy had left on the floor by the storeroom door. She carried the case to the canned-fruit section and started placing the cans on the shelf with each label facing forward. Except for the one she placed in the sole customer’s hand, with the comment, “Have you tried these? They’re my favorite.”

“Look at her, taking initiative,” said the cashier. Her name, Gladys, was stitched onto her apron. “I’ve heard Cubans are hard workers.”

“You’ve heard right,” Jackie called back before gathering another box to shelve.

Mr. Pulaski smiled at Jackie. “Thanks, kiddo, but all my employees still undergo a two-week trial period.”

Victoria breathed in sharply, already worrying about what they would have to do to pass the trial, but Gladys caught her eye and shook her head as if it was all a bluff.

Victoria still worried, unsure how she could prove herself. “Unfortunately, I’m not that strong, but I suppose I can shelve items. Or perhaps I can help you organize your office? I’m good with numbers and I’m learning how to type.”

Mr. Pulaski nodded as he considered that possibility. “I’ve seen you coming in here to do the family shopping with your siblings, always tallying up the groceries before getting to the register.”

Victoria blushed. It was embarrassing enough to have limited money; it would be more so if they had to put something back because Papi hadn’t given her enough. “I’m good with numbers,” she repeated.

“I bet. But today if you can type up a new inventory sheet, that would be swell.”

“Of course.” Victoria took a step toward the office, then stopped. “Excuse me, may I fix the sign on the door first? ‘Potatoes’ in plural is E-S.”

Gladys laughed and handed Victoria a marker. “I like these two. Not only are they smart, but they’re not afraid to point out your mistakes, Peter.”

Mr. Pulaski’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t seem too upset.

Misspelled potatoes fixed, Victoria again hesitated before entering the office. “And may I ask, how much will we get paid?”

“A pittance,” Gladys groaned.

Mr. Pulaski opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment the door’s bells chimed and in came a family. He turned to Victoria in a low voice. “I’ll start you each off at eighty cents an hour, five or six hours a week, plus ten percent off any groceries.”

Immediately Victoria’s mind whirled with the numbers. Between the two of them, they could earn up to $9.60 a week. That was a lot more than looking after Mrs. Greenwald’s cat for twenty-five cents a day. “We can work as much as you want today and tomorrow before school starts on Wednesday, and then on Saturdays. Would that suit you?”

“Deal.” And Mr. Pulaski shook her hand as he would an adult. Or at least a pretend fourteen-year-old.

As she fed the typewriter a sheet of paper to organize the messy handwritten inventory categories, she continued calculating their wages. Simply speaking, if she and Jackie worked a total of twelve hours a week, they could save enough money for Tía Larita’s passport in fifteen weeks. Less if their work notices produced additional odd jobs, and a few more weeks if Papi was earnest about not being able to afford an extra mouth to feed.

At any rate, sometime in April they should have the money. Not that they would need a passport for Tía by then. Surely they’d be back home much sooner.

Wednesday, January 4, 1961                   5¢

MIAMI’S SOL

¡GRINGOS FUERA!

Yesterday, President Eisenhower, in what could be his final major act in office, decided to sever all diplomatic ties with Cuba. Negotiations have ceased and the U.S. embassy in Havana has closed; the Swiss embassy will assume some of their responsibilities. In response, Fidel Castro has declared that American citizens have forty-eight hours to evacuate the country. The fear in everyone’s minds has been confirmed. With increasing allegiance to the U.S.S.R., Cuba has truly become a Communist nation. Even with Kennedy’s inauguration in a couple of weeks and his determination to stop the growth of a Communist country in the Caribbean and the spread of Communism throughout Latin America, Cuban exiles shouldn’t expect to return home anytime soon.…

Jackie focused very hard on not ripping the newspaper they hadn’t bought into shreds. She thrust it into Victoria’s chest to fold nicely and return to the newsstand. She couldn’t bear to read more anyway.

“Why is Fidel kicking out the gringos?” Nestico asked as they continued walking toward school. “Don’t they bring the island lots of money?”

“Yes, and that’s part of the problem,” Victoria said. “Fidel doesn’t like people who’ve gotten rich at the cost of the poor.”

“So instead,” Jackie grumbled, dragging her tennis shoes against the sidewalk, “that good-for-nothing Fidel brainwashed the poor and is now threatening everyone’s families.”

Victoria grabbed Nestico’s and Inés’s hands and looked both ways before crossing the street. Jackie shoved both hands into the pockets of her shorts, kicking a pebble at the gutter. Even the ping of the stone connecting with the target didn’t improve her mood.

“I’m surprised the gringos haven’t wanted to leave before now. Like we did,” Inés said.

“No Cuban wanted to leave,” Jackie corrected through tight lips.

“We’ve been forced into exile. We are here as political refugees,” Victoria explained.

“What’s the difference between ‘forced into exile’ and ‘kicked out’?” Inés asked.

Nestico rolled his eyes. “The difference is that we were sent away from home, not told to go home, dummy.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Jackie tuned out her younger cousins’ squabbling: let Victoria deal with it. She had her own worries. Like whether there would even be a way for Cubans to get visas to enter the U.S. with the embassy now closed. Or whether Fidel would decide to close the border against all travel completely. Her plan to save up for Mima’s passport could be for nothing. She kicked up a leg at an invisible demon. How she hated not being able to take care of things!

She folded her arms tight across her chest, remembering the day Alto came to deliver her passport and airline ticket.

“I’m not going.” Jackie had stared at Mima with more stubborn resistance than she had in her life. “There’s no way they can send every single child on the island to Russia for Communist reconditioning. Parents will never allow that.”

But it was Alto, not Mima who responded. In contrast to his normal patient and matter-of-fact manner, he pounded a fist on the kitchen table. “How many times do I have to tell you? The Communist government owns and controls everything, including all of the people. Including us.”

Jackie wasn’t intimidated. “You don’t act as if you’re controlled.”

Alto pulled at the ends of his hair. Though he was only nineteen, Jackie noticed a couple of grays in the black. “True, and the second I’m caught, I’ll be killed.”

“That’s why you’re going to Miami,” Mima said, waving a pointed finger at Jackie.

Except Jackie wasn’t scared of the waving finger. “But seriously, sending all of us to Russia? There must be close to a million children on the island.”

“You’re right,” Alto said in a patronizing tone. “At the moment that’s not their plan. But it’s still unclear which children or how many they will send away. Ten percent, fifty percent? Who knows.”

“So, odds are I’ll be fine.” Jackie grinned.

Mima let out a bitter laugh of disbelief. She lit a cigarette by the open window and shook her head. “Why are we even having this discussion? I’m not gambling with your safety.”

“And you won’t be fine, even if they don’t take you away.” Alto rose from the table and bummed a cigarette from Mima. He never used to smoke. “School is becoming mandatory for all children throughout the island. Many guajiros and other laborers used to leave school at a young age to help support their families instead. Not anymore. Everyone will be subject to a national Communist curriculum. You’ll be treated like a number, not an individual. Everything you do or say will be heavily monitored. You could be punished just for mentioning your Elvis Presley records.”

Jackie had heard this all before. She resorted to her last option. “But I don’t want to go.”

“I know, bebé.” Mima’s free arm squeezed her shoulders while she planted a kiss on her temple. “But you’re still going.”

Jackie had folded her arms then as they were folded now. She kicked another pebble. With no target, this one just skipped a few feet before rolling to a stop.

“Everyone says you have a dumb face,” Nestico taunted Inés.

“Nestico!” Victoria scolded, but her brother had already run off to join his friends at the elementary school’s playground.

“At least I know how to wipe my bottom!” Inés chased after him.

“Deep down, they must love each other, right?” Victoria sighed and linked her hand through Jackie’s elbow; Jackie didn’t loosen the folded cross over her chest. “I’m so glad we’ve always been best friends. I missed you so much. It’s wonderful having you here with us, safe and sound.”

Jackie pulled a face but said nothing. Victoria didn’t know anything. Sure, money and food might be tight, but at least Victoria had her whole immediate family around her. She had left before things had gotten really bad. Everything she knew about the Cuba of today was secondhand. She hadn’t been there for Clark’s colicky nights. She didn’t know what it was like to be trapped inside one’s house because it was no longer safe to walk down the street. She couldn’t begin to understand what it was like to be sent away from her family.

“I don’t think the countries hating each other will affect our family.” Victoria squeezed Jackie’s arm when she didn’t comment. “Either they’ll be here with us soon or we’ll be back there. Things will change after the presidential inauguration. You’ll see.”

“First it was ‘after the election’; now it’s ‘after the inauguration.’ You need to realize there is no going back for us. Not in our lifetime,” Jackie said.

“I know it seems that way, but there’s no way the U.S. government is going to allow a Communist country so close to their borders, and Papi says—”

“¡Para ya! Enough with the politics!” Jackie released herself from Victoria’s oppressive grip. A few youths crowding around the junior high school turned in their direction, but since her shout had been in Spanish, their attention wasn’t held. “It’s bad enough that’s all your dad talks about, but you too? Face it. We can’t do anything. We can’t change anything. There’s no point in talking about it anymore.”

Like Nestico had done, Jackie took off before Victoria could say anything else. Three boys were playing catch in the baseball diamond next to the school building. She waved for them to throw her the ball. She caught it easily despite the lack of a mitt and returned the pitch to the farthest boy.

“Wow, that’s some arm!”

Jackie shrugged to say she knew that but wasn’t going to brag about it. Then, because she could, she threw the next ball lefty. How she had missed school! And the best part was knowing that Victoria wouldn’t come near the game, to hang on her every chance she got, or nag about politics.

At last.