Dear Malka,
You won’t believe what happened today! This morning, Mario José and the workers called a strike at the sugar mill. And the workers all asked to join the Anti-Nazi Society of Agramonte.
Manuela came by early to see if I could come with her to the sugar mill to show our support for the strikers, and Papa said I could go. Then we went and got Francisco so the three of us could be together. We were eager to get there, and as we got farther away from Agramonte and were out in the open fields, we started racing one another just for fun. It wasn’t long before we were sweaty and tired, so we stopped at the edge of a sugarcane field to rest.
“I had forgotten how fast I could run!” I said as I caught my breath.
“Me too!” Francisco said. “I don’t get to run anymore since I’m always helping my uncle in the store.”
Manuela nodded but didn’t say anything. She looked downcast, and I wondered why she was suddenly so sad.
“Are you not feeling well?” I asked her.
Her gaze settled on the sugarcane fields surrounding us and she didn’t say anything for a long while. At last she said, “As we were running, I thought of the people before me who were enslaved, how so many wished to run away to freedom. But most who tried were caught and punished with beatings. Only a few got away. They were able to live as free people, hiding in the woods, in palenques, as we call them. While running, I asked myself, Would I have been able to run to freedom? Could I have run fast enough?”
Her voice trailed off. Francisco and I drew closer, and we each took one of her hands and huddled together.
“It’s horrible how there can be so much cruelty in the world that people have to run for their lives. Imagining what your abuela Ma Felipa went through is enough to make you lose all hope,” I said. “At least those days are over, but the sugarcane workers are still not being treated right.”
“I hope this strike helps,” Francisco added.
“Yes,” said Manuela. “I do hope it helps all of us.”
We all felt ready to continue then and headed toward the mill.
As we walked, I gazed up at the clear blue sky and said a silent prayer of thanks that we were all free here.
Mario José had called for a peaceful strike, and the workers were gathered around the entrance to the mill when we arrived. Several held their machetes, waiting to go back to cutting the last of the cane so that it could be turned into molasses. I saw many friendly faces from the days when Papa and I peddled statues and sandals in the countryside.
The three of us quietly stood with Mario José, who held the keys to the mill in his hand.
Soon Señor Eduardo appeared, galloping in circles on his horse and raising dust. Pointing at me, he yelled, “This is all your fault!”
My heart beat fast. I was so afraid. But now Manuela and Francisco put their arms around me and I felt better.
Manuela whispered, “Don’t listen to him. This strike is for every one of us. We’re standing up against all his injustice.”
Furiously looking down at the crowd from his horse, Señor Eduardo yelled to the workers, “You want to starve? That’s fine! No work, no pay!”
He rode off and no one said a word as we all stood still under the scorching sun.
Then an old man called Agustín began to speak. He’d lost an arm feeding the cane into the rollers to squeeze out the sweet juice, but he was still one of the best sugarcane workers. He was famous in Agramonte for wielding the machete expertly with one arm.
“Let the sugar rot in the fields, if that’s what he wants. Let him get a taste of the bitter suffering of our ancestors.”
“Sí, sí, sí,” people said in response, and they remained standing tall. Then they began murmuring among themselves.
“We won’t give up,” they said.
“He can’t scare us anymore with his threats.”
A little while later, Señor Eduardo returned and surprised everyone by announcing, “All right, this is enough silliness. You’ll all get a raise if you return to work in the morning.”
Agustín raised his machete in the air and everyone cheered. And that was how the strike ended.
Later we heard that Señora Graciela had spoken to her brother and urged him to treat the workers more fairly—and for once he must have listened. Even though the strike only lasted one day, dear Malka, it was long enough to teach Señor Eduardo a lesson. He saw he needed to cooperate with Mario José and the workers if he wanted to keep his sugar mill running. And he told Mario José that he still couldn’t stand the sight of Papa and me, but he’d leave us alone as long as we stayed out of his way.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand people like Señor Eduardo. His hatred is like a shard of glass in his eye that distorts his vision. But today I learned that when people band together, they can make things better for everyone. The sugarcane workers were willing to stand up for Papa and me, losing a day’s pay when they earn so little. That was the most generous of gifts, and yet they shrugged when I said “Gracias” and simply answered, “De nada,” as if it were the most natural thing to do. Tell me, Malka, why did I have to travel so far to find myself at home, here among the palm trees of Cuba?
With all my love as always,
ESTHER