37 Lettuce Grow

Lily

 

Early on I realized we would spend the night at Aubrey ’ s. Aside from not liking him much, it was a great place to stay. I wouldn ’ t be exaggerating to describe it as a mansion.

Aubrey’ s father had patiently listened to my story, and like the others, extracted from me various details I forgot or held back until he was satisfied. In return, I received what I had been searching for—information about my dad.

“ I didn ’ t know your father before . . . during the time of his role in the Movement. I only met him after he came here. He is a good man, a man of integrity. ”

“ Does, does he know about me? ” I had asked, bravely looking Chief Morningstar in the eye.

The pause was long, but in our short time together I came to realize this was his speaking styl e; I was unafraid of the silence. Besides, Arturo often took extra time answering because of the language issue so I was used to it.

“ Does he know what about you, Lily-flower? ”

I smiled at this new nickname. “ I don ’ t know, ” I murmured. “ Anything. I mean, I know he knows I exist, but does he know anything else? ”

“ Very little, ” he said. “ But he has thought about you every day of his life. ”

I squeezed back a tear.

“ He has told me this often in our time together . There has been no word to him that you are traveling, if that is what you mean. After your friends caused the stir by running away and entering Canada, the Network is taking no chances. Only one called JALIL communicates freely. ”

I had heard mention of JALIL, but right then I didn ’ t care; I only wanted to talk about my father. I sat on the brink of meeting my dad after all these years. All I wanted to do was talk about him, hear about him, though I felt afraid to actually be with him .

“ How did he get here? ”

“ He escaped via boat and came inland. ”

“ But how did he get out of jail? ”

The big man smiled. “ It ’ s actually a funny story. Cuba is a pretty place. But these days it ’ s used mostly for two purposes: prisons and agriculture—and a little tourism , though very guided. ” He paused and I waited, trying not to show my impatience. I was quickly learning that Chief, as I began to think of him, had a way of making everything into a long story.

“ Our government us es Cuba for growing fruit—oranges, bananas, grapefruit—because it ’ s easy to conceal there. If you grew something like that on the mainland, many large walls would be needed to hide it from the public. ”

“ I’ ve seen those! ”

He nodded. “ And the prisoners are a good source of free labor. Anything that can ’ t be done by machine, they use prison labor. ”

He smiled. I wasn ’ t sure what the joke was.

“ Your father, jailed for wanting to grow and eat good food, was sent to a place where he got to grow and eat good food. ” His face shone with the humor he found in this irony.

“ A h , t hat ’ s cool, ” I said.

“ After several years, your father managed to talk the warden into letting him teach interested prisoners about growing other, smaller crops from seed, inside the prison grounds. Soon he had developed a program where they grew salad greens and herbs for their meals. The group gave themselves a clever name. ” He stopped, again beaming.

“ What was it? ”

“ Lettuce Grow.”

“ I don ’ t get it. ”

He grabbed a piece of paper from the desk. “ Le ttuce Grow ,” he wrote, and then, “ Let us g row.”

“ Ohh. Yes, very clever, ” I agreed.

“ Only your father told me this name did not last long. The prisoners started referring to their program as ‘ Let us go! ’ The local guards and warden didn ’ t mind. Most of the inmates were political prisoners and nice folks, so they were fond of them. But word of the dubious program and its nickname got out and almost ended the whole endeavor. The cafeteria crew and the health staff came to the rescue, citing how much healthier and better able the prisoners were to work and not get sick. So the program continued but under a new, sanitized name: The Meal Supplement Program. ”

I sat silent, thinking of my father, feeling good that even in prison he found a way to continue doing what he loved and knowing he ’ d had friends. “ But . . . so, how did he escape? ”

“ He had help. Lily, enough stories for now. Ask him yourself? Tomorrow I will take you and Arturo to him. ”

 

We awoke early. I was too excited to sleep in, even if I had wanted to, and Arturo was a habitual early riser. We had a sumptuous breakfast of eggs and meat, which by now I had learned the source of, and while feeling guilty for eating an animal I could not deny how good it tasted and how completely it filled me. Chief said we needed a “ hearty breakfast ” for the day ahead.

Aubrey had asked if he could come along but Mr. Morningstar told him, no, not this time. The three of us made it down the hill quickly, Arturo apologizing again about losing the bike. Chief told him not to worry, he would locate it soon, and until then we would get along without it. We hopped into the truck and were off.

The road was windy, but good. Mr. Morningstar drove without speaking . Even though I didn ’ t like him much, I wished Aubrey were along. I had faced enough silence on the journey here. Now I wanted conversation to fill this void between me and my dad.

“ So, how long ‘ til we get there? ” I finally asked, gathering the nerve to shatter the stillness.

Chief ’ s lengthy pauses were beginning to annoy me.

“ Not long, ” he said at last.

I let out a heavy sigh, the discontent as audible as the sigh itself.

Eventually we turned onto a dirt road barely as wide as our vehicle and began climbing higher. The road was full of switchbacks and potholes . H ad I been driving, I ’ d have turned back, but Chief took them at an unimaginable speed or so it seemed to me—clearly familiar ground for him. The dogs in the back were also used to it, sliding from side to side without complaint. Arturo seemed unafraid and even to enjoy it when my body slammed into his as we sped around the curves.

Suddenly, we stopped. Chief climbed out. I looked around, confused. The trees weren ’ t thick here, but I saw no houses. We were far out in the wilderness. Is this a bathroom break, I wondered? Arturo sat still beside me.

“ Well,” Chief said, “ What are you waiting for, Christmas? ”

Arturo opened the door and climbed out, me right behind him. Chief was letting the dogs out and hoisting our bags to the ground. “ I’ ll get the mules, ” he said, walking away.

Gazing at his departing back, I spotted in the distance an old gray shed.

“ Mules? ”