The Cuban Connection: Operation Sugar Cane

By Donna Marie Robie

THE MAN: Has Juan Martianos taken the phrase, "What can you do for your country?" to the extreme? How does a patriotic, Cuban sugar cane plantation owner end up in America as a high-ranking comrade in the A.C.P., and just how far will he go for the love of his country?
THE COUNTRY: Beginning with marauding pirates, fierce Spanish conquistadors, greedy American capitalists, corrupt tyrants and Communists-at what price does the "Jewel of the Antilles," a beautiful, vibrant, but hostile country, whose motto is "Homeland or Death," get robbed time, after time, of its freedom?
THE OPERATION: Masterminded by a man who is himself an orphan, how does an American-based orphanage, housing Cuban refugee boys, perform acts of treason against the powerful U.S.?
THE CHILDREN: In a country whose advertised slogan is "Nada de muy importante de nino,"-why must children pay for their fathers' sins? Meet Sara Martin, the beautiful daughter who is about to become entangled in the tumultuous, parallel relationship between Cuba and the United States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 16, 2003
• ISBN: 9780595798889

Donna Marie Robie

The author is a single mother of two wonderful and talented children and is a native of New Hampshire, currently residing in Concord, New Hampshire. She is the Executive Director of SPACE- Statewide Program of Action to Conserve our Environment- NH Current Use Coalition. She has recently appeared on the Bookswap Cafe and was one of two featured NH Mysetry writers at the Town of Wilton's Bicenntiennal. She has received many awards for her support of charitable events for children, the elderly, and her community, she has a truly altruistic spirit. She is currently working on her fourth novel, Silent Drums - to be published in 2009.

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Contents

Acknowledgements

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C H A P T E R 3

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Author’s Biography

This book is dedicated to my two wonderful children, Jennifer Meda Haines, a.k.a. CJ and Justin Patrick Robie, my parents, Richard and Barbara Noonan, my best friend, Dianne Crean, whose help and support on this project will never be forgotten, my friend, Paris and his parents, Kim and Jack Wells, for making me believe in myself and taking an active interest in this story.

And lastly, to all those who are seeking truth and freedom from tyranny of any kind, practice tolerance and peace shall follow.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 

Clinton, Susan Maloney Children’s Press (Chicago)

McSweeney, William,Margot and Josephine. Cuba from Columbus to Castro.

Julian Messner Publisher—New York

www.lonelyplanet.com/mapshells/caribbean/cuba/cuba.htm

www.spanamwar.com/Garcia.htm

www.loc.gov/rr/hispanic/1898/marti.html

www.cnn.com/respurces/newsmakers/world/namerica/castro/html

www.historyofcuba.com/history.batista.htm

www.geocities.com/athens/aegean/5472/index2/html

www.habansol.com/Maps.htm

www.wroldtravelguide.net/data/cub/cub580.asp

Wells, Jack, references

Crean, Dianne, editor

C H A P T E R 1 

The sun was sweltering under the red hued Cuban sky. It relentlessly shone down upon the hunchbacked workers deep in the sugar cane fields below. Sugar swatted a large mosquito from her sweaty, tanned neck. The sound of the heat bugs buzzed loudly in the heavy summer air. The only other sound that could be heard in the cane fields was the swooshing of the large Machete blades slicing down tall stalk of cane. One by one, the stalks fell to the ground leaving a barren trail in their wake. Sugar wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead and buried her fevered brow beneath her tia’s flowing skirt. Her tia, Rosa, smiled at her in silence as they both continued to collect the fallen stalks. The older woman looked very tired and worn for someone her age. Just twenty-one years old, she could easily have passed for a woman twice her age working diligently in the fields. She worked steadily, eleven hours a day, in the sweltering cane fields and then each evening she went back to her shabby quarters to tend to the young girl by her side along with her other siblings. The small girl loved this woman with whom she had spent the last six years of her life. She had known no other family.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the thudding sound of an approaching rider. On the dirt lane appeared a strong, dark-haired senor dressed in his finest clothing. The steed he so proudly rode upon was just as strong and dark as the senor. What a picture they made. The man peered carefully through the cane fields as if he was looking for something or someone. The little girl had never seen this particular senor before. He looked very strong and well built beneath his fine clothes, and he was an extremely handsome man. She wondered if he was the same man whom she had heard so much gossip about from the older girls working on the plantation. He was the head of the large plantation where they were living. It was his fields of cane she tended daily. He lived in the large hacienda beyond the rows of cane and a small fruit grove, hardly visible from where they worked. He was a powerful and wealthy land baron and by the looks of it, from the coy smiles he was receiving from all the young women, he was quite the ladies’ man. Sugar looked up at the tall dark stranger from her crouched position and smiled out of mere politeness. Her tia stepped quickly in front of her blocking her from the Senor’s hard and penetrating stare. Rosa sensed something was amiss. Rosa knew she had seen this particular man’s face somewhere before, but at this time could not place him. She and her extended family had arrived several weeks ago from another smaller plantation on the southern-most tip of the island. She never knew from one field to the next whom she worked for. Working hard for very little pay, they weren’t treated nicely by many overseers who generally ran the fields for their rich owners. The overseers were brutal men who enjoyed making life unbearable for the field workers.

Sugar was haggard looking and filthy beyond recognition. Her long hair was so matted and filthy from her state of unseemliness that he couldn’t even tell its color. She had to be some peon’s child to be so unkempt. She smelled like an animal, causing him to turn his head quickly away from the stench emanating from her small frame. He dismissed the filthy girl and quickly turned his attention to another young woman whose peasant blouse had just slipped off her naked shoulders, exposing her nubile and rising chest. The man’s teeth glistened as he smiled at the pleasant sight before his eyes. His teeth were pearly white, and well-taken care of, making him even more rakish to behold. The young woman momentarily being admired dropped her basket and coquettishly covered her bare chest. He spoke rapidly to her and she answered demurely and nodded her head as if in agreement. Sugar couldn’t hear their conversation because her tia was still trying to hide her from the handsome man’s gaze.

Dismounting from his grand horse, the tall man gave the willing young woman a drink from his personal canteen. Sugar licked her own lips in thirst. The young woman licked her lips flirtatiously as she slowly drank the cold water. All the while she quenched her thirst from his cool canteen, his eyes followed a path of the cold clear fluid down to her ample bosom. He spoke softly to her as she returned the half-emptied canteen back into his strong hands. He then led his steed by the reins and started walking with her a short distance away from the other workers. He spoke to her again, but this time in a more serious tone. She shook her head nervously. She had thought she had been chosen for an afternoon of passion at the hands of her handsome and wealthy boss, but instead he had asked her if she had seen any young girls in the fields lately between six and seven years old. She shook her head slowly and then pointed in the direction of the small, disheveled girl he had passed by earlier. He grunted at her, then looked again, this time more closely. He concentrated on the small girl’s features this time, not on her state of filth. The young woman walked down the lane towards the plantation, looking sad and slightly disappointed. She also felt disgusted that the handsome senor had been more interested in the filthy young child, when she had been so willing to accommodate him. The small girl brushed back her matted hair from her face and returned the man’s cold stare. Her brilliant black eyes flashed back into his, challenging him. Her face was perfectly shaped and quite cherubic. Underneath all the field soil she was probably a real beauty. There was a confidence and headstrong defiance in her eyes. She was unlike the other woman as she had waist length hair which if cleansed properly would probably be golden. Her skin tone was the same as the others around her, but the long hours toiling under the hot Cuban sun could very easily have turned her fair skin this dark golden color. It appeared this girl, for one so young, was already an experienced field worker.

The man spoke to Rosa, who gave the small girl a menacing look and a gentle tug as if to warn her that she feared this strong senor. The dark-haired senor started to approach the small girl, but the child backed away noticing her tia’s sudden dislike and the defensive stance she took towards the approaching man. She hid herself safely behind her tia’s colorful skirt. The woman stepped directly in front of the approaching man, blocking his path completely from the child. The man smiled gently sensing their fear. He spoke softly to pacify them.

So, I am told that the child’s name is Sarita, said the man.

The small girl peered out of curiosity from the folds of her aunt’s brightly colored skirt and nodded negatively at the mention of someone named Sarita. The man responded to the girl’s nod and replied to the young girl. You look very tired and too young to be a field worker. Where is your mother, child? asked the inquisitive man.

The older woman stepped forward and answered abruptly for the child. She was left in my care by her ailing mother. Her mother was very poor and from the north. She had no choice but to abandon the child. She has been with me ever since she has been able to crawl. Her mother’s name was Vera something. I don’t remember too much about her as it has been well over five years since the child came to live with me and my family, said Rosa. The senor replied, I am not interested in any woman named Vera. But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to have a word alone with the child. He turned from Rosa and crouched down to eye level with the child and asked, How old did you say you were?

I didn’t say Senor, answered Rosa.

She looked a lot younger at first but I’d say she’s somewhere between six and seven years old, wouldn’t you agree? She also doesn’t look like our normal ninos as her coloring is much fairer than any true Cuban. Surely, you must remember if the child’s mother was Cuban? asked the man.

I do not know, replied Rosa, nervously. As I said before, I didn’t know the woman very well.

I thought the child referred to you as her aunt? he asked.

Si, she does. It was easier to explain to such a young child that I was her aunt than to tell her that her mother died and was left with strangers. Her mother’s identity is a mystery to both of us, said Rosa.

Hmm. I find it quite unsettling that a dying woman would willingly leave such a beautiful daughter to a complete stranger. Despite her present state, the girl has some attractive qualities about her, smiled the man. He continued the interrogation and his intense scrutiny of the child. Again, Rosa stepped directly in front of the child, shielding her from the inquisitive man who was now circling them both as if ready to pounce.

Si, senor, she is indeed very pretty, but please senor, she is only a child of seven-years. pleaded Rosa.

Yes, yes, and such a child doesn’t belong in this intense heat and in such oppressive working conditions at her tender young age, wouldn’t you agree? What an awful place for a child to have to grow up. I’ll tell you what, ask the girl if she’d like to join me and take a ride on my horse, Thunder. I’ll take her up to my hacienda for some cool refreshments, smiled the man. The girl’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of food. She was quite hungry, lunch having consisted of merely a few pieces of stale bread.

Rosa was very hesitant and uneasy around this man. Now that he was just inches from her, she felt she knew him from another place and time. She sensed the child’s safety was in jeopardy from the circling senor, who reminded her of a snake, ready to strike. The girl’s real mother had been a foreign woman with long golden hair and not some strange Cuban woman from the northern village of Cardenas. How such a beautiful woman ended up in Cuba was beyond Rosa’s imagination. That blond haired beauty could have been a famous movie siren. She possessed such rare and delicate beauty, like a fragile petal, nice to glance upon, but the kind that might fall apart at a heavy touch. Rosa’s thoughts were running back and forth from the impending danger to the sketchy past and she carefully watched the man’s mannerisms for some sign of recognition. He reminded her of a senor that she and Manuel had once worked for many years ago. Rosa was unnerved by the stranger’s intense interest in her young ward. She couldn’t remember specific details of that past time but knew it was more than likely a painful memory, one that she had chosen to block out. She knew that some evil had transpired at the time she had taken this small girl. She hoped that the senor would grow tired of the small talk with this innocent child and find someone a little older and more suitable for his interest. If the senor left now without Sugar, then she would make sure come nightfall, she and her siblings would leave this plantation and travel to another field far across the island. Somehow in her heart she knew that the chances of her escaping with Sugar from this man’s watchful glances were very slim. Her heart was pounding. It ached for the small child she had grown to love like a daughter.

The small child peered out again from behind her tia’s skirt and gave the man an enticing smile. This time the senor smiled in a friendly way back at the child, not with the earlier curl of contempt. The child finally came out from behind her aunt’s shield fully and stood side by side with the man, no longer afraid. She then asked her aunt if she could ride upon the beautiful horse and have a nice cool refreshment at the big house. The older woman gave the child a pleading look but she knew that this man was going to take the child away with or without her permission. She shrugged her weary shoulders and smiled faintly at her. She kissed her on the cheek and hugged her tightly. She felt in her heart that this would be the last show of affection between them. She wiped a tear brimming from the corner of her left eye as the child hugged her tightly in return and kissed her fevered brow. Sugar then dropped her basket to the ground and willingly took hold of the handsome senor’s extended hand. He gently lifted the child onto his horse and placed her safely in front of him on a large, expensive, ornate saddle. He spoke in rapid Spanish to Rosa and then quickly mounted his horse and disappeared in a cloud of dust towards the large hacienda. The small child, her hair whipping in the breeze, was a free-spirit laughing and smiling as she turned several times to wave to her tia, but within moments the fields and her tia were a blur as the hoofs of the horse raced forward. Unseen to her were her tia’s eyes filled with tears as she stood there frantically waving goodbye to her Sugar.

The dark-haired senor stopped briefly as two field hands scurried up to his steed. He shouted a command to the men, they smiled wickedly, and then shook their heads understanding his intent. They gathered their large machetes and headed back towards the fields. The senor grabbed the reins tightly and raced towards the sanctuary of his home.

In the distance, he could hear the familiar sound of machetes cutting through the humid air as cane stalks fell to the ground. The swooshing stopped for a moment as if it struck a heavy object. A piercing scream filled the air and then all was silent.

Meanwhile, the blond haired woman paced the floors of the veranda awaiting any news from her husband. She could hear his horse approaching and dropped her basket of wild flowers as she ran down the veranda stairs.

The small girl was amazed at the enormity of the house as it first came into view. She had never seen a home so lovely. She had grown up in a hovel, sharing its tiny space with seven other people. The senor stopped the horse, patted its mane affectionately, and then dismounted. He pulled the child down into his strong arms. He held her tightly and walked proudly towards the large white hacienda. The child felt so slight in his arms. How he had longed to hold her in his arms again; their time with her had been so brief. He slowly lowered her to stand next to him as the blond haired woman came running down the stairs to meet them. He had not seen such life in his wife’s stride in years. She was crying hysterically, Sarita…Sarita, mi, nina. The sobbing women scared the child, and she withdrew behind the senor’s large frame. Again she heard herself being addressed as Sarita. The man grabbed her hand to pull her in front of him to greet the beautiful but sad lady. He gently prodded her to acknowledge the crying woman. The lovely woman fell to her knees and embraced the child, kissing her fevered brow over and over. Sugar was petrified at such a display of emotion from a complete stranger. She had never set her eyes upon this woman in her whole life. She was overwhelmed by the woman’s grief. Sugar enjoyed the horse ride immensely but now all she wanted was the cool drink and food the senor had promised her and then to be returned to her tia.

The woman rose reluctantly from her knees, her expensive silk skirt now covered in dust, clearly distraught that the child had reacted so coldly. How could a child not recognize her own mother? The man spoke softly, comforting the woman as she wiped the tears from her drained face. The lovely woman pushed past her husband’s extended arm, and scurried into the large house, slamming the door loudly behind her.

The summer was nearing its final stages, but still the air hung heavy in intense heat. All Sugar wanted was a cold drink of water, a piece of fresh fruit and to be returned to her tia’s hut. The man took her arm gently and led her to sit down by his side on the veranda swing. They both sat quietly, then he placed a protective arm around her small body and caressed her filthy hair with his lips and whispered, Sarita, the same name that the hysterical woman had spoken repeatedly moments earlier.

She shook her head vehemently at the senor and pushed him away. She spoke for the first time since leaving the cane fields.

My name is Sugar, not Sarita, she insisted.

That woman in the field that I found you with, did she name you Sugar? asked the man.

I guess so. That’s what I have been called since I can remember. I hate the name you keep saying. She is my tia and I love her very much. I would like very much to go back to her right now. said the girl.

The man shook his head, No, I am afraid that I cannot ever return you to that woman. That woman is not really your tia. The blond haired lady and I came from families as different as night and day but we loved each other very much, married and had a daughter. Does Rosa have any children of her own? asked the man.

No, but Rosa has many sisters and brothers and they call me their little sister. smiled Sugar.

Rosa took you away from your real parents when you were just six months old, the senor stated. Her husband, Manuel, had been accidentally killed in one of my fields and Rosa wrongly blamed me, as the landowner, for his death. Manuel was a good man. He was also like a brother to me when I was growing up. Life can get lonely being an only child. I was saddened by his death. Rosa became very distraught over the loss of her husband and her own child, being a mere child herself of fifteen with her belly swollen with their child. One evening she stole you from your mother and father who loved you very much and they have never stopped searching for you ever since. They were led to believe that the deranged woman had killed you to avenge her husband and child’s death. They had never given up hope that once the woman saw how beautiful you were that she would not harm you but care for you until your parents could find you. They have loved you in silent agony for the past six and a half years, not able to hold you in their arms, watch your first steps, or hear your first words. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you? asked the man; tears welling in his eyes.

The girl shook her head no. I do not know what you are talking about. Tia Rosa is probably wondering where I am right now. I want to go back to her. You and that crazy lady are scaring me. I am no longer hungry, I want to go home! yelled the girl.

It pains me, child, just as it does you. I can see that you do, indeed, love this woman. I am happy that she did not bring any harm to you, and for that I will be eternally grateful. But there is another woman who loves you just as deeply as Rosa does and she is not dead. I am sure one day you will come to understand all of this. Once we get some decent food in your stomach, a warm bath drawn to take away all the dirt, and some clean clothes on your back then perhaps that nice lady who greeted you will join us for dinner. Would you like that? asked the man.

I don’t feel hungry anymore, and I don’t need any clothes. I want you to bring me back to Tia Rosa now! screamed the girl. Your name is not Sugar. Your name is Oh, mi cara. I don’t expect you to comprehend this all at once, but you must know that you can never go back to Rosa. Sarita, Sarita, if you could only feel the anguish your mother and I have been through all these years in search of our precious little girl, and then to find you in our cane fields working amongst the peasants, filthy beyond recognition when we could have given you a wonderful childhood. Now I find that you haven’t a trace of us left in your heart Sarita Anna Martianos, and you are my daughter, and that lovely, crazy woman inside, is your mother, sobbed the man.

At this point the senor lost all his defenses and cried silently while looking out across the darkening evening skies. The child was too frightened to move and sat stiffly next to the strange man who claimed to be her father. The evening air was hot, and a knife could have cut through the silence on the veranda. She did not fully understand anything that the man had said, nor did she want to. She listened numbly to the crying man and thought about her lovely tia off in the distant fields and wondered if Rosa missed her as much as she missed her. This stranger must be an evil man to make up such terrible stories about Tia Rosa. He and his fragile-looking wife must not have been able to have their own children, so they thought that they could trick her into believing their lies with promises of hot food and fancy clothes. She had done without for so long that she didn’t need for such fancy things. She didn’t know what was right or wrong at this moment, but she knew that somehow, someday she would escape from these horrible people and begin her own search for Tia Rosa.

Her heart was heavy and tears clouded her vision. The heat and all the commotion had made her very tired. She fell asleep in the man’s arms as trickles of tears trailed down her sweaty face. Even in her slumber she heard Rosa crying out to her, Beware these people, for they are indeed evil. Rosa’s voice kept crying out, Sugar, Sugar, and then the sound of Rosa’s pleas evaporated into the deep fog that rolled across the cane fields.

C H A P T E R 2 

Sara Martin was now finishing up her final semester at Princeton. She had done very well in all her studies, with the exception of English, and had maintained a 3.85 accumulated grade average. She seemed to have a little trouble with grammar at times, but other than that slight flaw, she excelled at everything else. She was quite popular with the teaching staff as well as, being the most sought-after date on the large, expansive campus.

She possessed sparkling, dark eyes and a mane of lustrous golden hair that hung down below her tiny waist. She had an exotic and sensual presence about her. Her smile could melt the hardest taskmasters as well as draw admirers from, most the male population on the campus. She had been brought up in the suburbs of Ohio, and her parents were very wealthy. They traveled extensively, so Sara had ended up spending most of her childhood and adolescence in private girls’ schools. Her exposure to males had been quite limited prior to arriving at Princeton, and she hadn’t known why everyone fussed about her looks. She had been allowed to travel once a year for an extended family vacation with her parents. Their annual trip usually brought them to the western tip of the Florida Keys, or one of the many, out-lying Caribbean islands. Even during these excursions, she spent very little time with her parents. She had always been allowed to bring one of her classmates with her to keep her occupied and out of their hair.

Sara had majored in Political Science and was now in her dormitory typing up the last page of her resume. She had never worked a single day in her life, so she lacked any job skills. Good employers looked as highly upon potential employees’ experience in a related field as they did college degrees. Her parents had given her everything a young girl could long for, the finest schools, the best clothes, and whatever else struck her fancy. She had planned on taking this final summer off before settling down in either New York or Washington, D.C. She hoped that her resume would land her a prestigious job—hopefully, a government job. She had never been able to quite grasp her identity and wished to be alone in a city filled with complete strangers and not among the pre-arranged friends and activities which her parents had conjured up for her since she could remember.

She had been torn during her adolescent years with feelings of great loneliness and insecurities. She could not understand what generated all these negative feelings. Even as she got older, she still had times when she had great difficulty making it through the day. She could speak fluent Spanish, yet had never taken a Spanish class in her life. She couldn’t comprehend how a girl from Ohio could speak the Spanish dialect almost to perfection. She even had the roll of the tongue down to a science. The words just flowed. At a very young age, she would often accompany her parents to the Caine Orphanage to visit the refugees and, surprisingly, even then she could carry on fluent conversations with the Spanish and Cuban boys. Her parents had seen to it that she led a sheltered life, and she had never fully understood their over-protection. She had very little exposure to the real world, but now she was of age, and she was going to explore all her dreams. The first place she wanted to visit before she went to Florida for a stay when she left these corridors was the impersonal streets of New York City in the midst of Manhattan.

Her parents lives consisted of charity functions for some cause known only to her as the A.C.P. Club. Her mother, at forty-five, was still a very lovely woman. Sara possessed many of the same winning qualities that made her resemble her mother physically. But Sara far excelled her mother in the intelligence department. Her mother was pretty to look upon but lacked depth. She had never felt a closeness towards the woman and at times had to feign her emotions. Her father contrasted both of them with his dark and handsome qualities. He was a successful businessman and spent most of this time traveling. The only local activities he sponsored were the A.C.P. Club and the Caine Orphanage run by a very close friend, Stephen Caine.

Her parents had belonged to the A.C.P. Club as long as she could remember. They were high-ranking members. The membership was exclusive. Sara had always thought, or rather was led to believe, that the A.C.P. Club was merely an elite country club. Sara was beginning to realize that she never truly knew Anita or John Martin, even though they were her parents. Even as a child growing up she had never felt the closeness one feels being an only child. She had convinced herself at the age of ten that she must have been adopted and that her real parents had left her in the care of these two people. Also, her parents’ preoccupation with Stephen Caine and the Caine Orphanage sparked her suspicions further. The Caine Orphanage was a prestigiously run enterprise. Stephen Caine was a handsome man with many of the same features as her father, but he wasn’t a man that Sara had ever had good feelings about. She sensed something sinister in his personality. He was too glib and talked too much. His orphanage dealt mainly with Spanish and Cuban boys misplaced in the American society. Sara could not understand why her parents were so involved in the orphanage. She knew that it was important to them. At times she felt her parents were becoming obsessive with the goings on at the reclusive orphanage. Sara hadn’t minded her occasional visit because somehow she could relate very well with the Spanish-speaking boys. Often in her dreams, Sara saw a Cuban woman in her mid-twenties bending over the sweltering cane fields gathering up the cane in a large willowy basket under beautiful but, hot, red-hued skies. She couldn’t remember seeing such a woman while growing up, but was haunted by this recurring dream.

Sara’s life up to now had been a closed book. She had been shipped from one elite school to the next. It seemed to her that just as she had made new friends, she was being shipped off to another school. John and Anita Martin had programmed her whole childhood, and she’d be damned if she was going to let them take control of her future. With college now behind her, Sara intended to make it on her own without their assistance. She had made several close friends during her years at Princeton, and she planned on spending the summer with one of them, her best friend, Marilyn Schmidt from Fort Lauderdale. Marilyn’s parents were extremely well-to-do and had offered the two girls use of their luxurious condominium for the entire summer. Sara couldn’t wait to get down there, away from her parents, and soak up some of the warm Florida sun. She had a few loose ends to tie up before she departed. One loose end in particular was her relationship with Paul Riley.

Paul Riley had been her lover for the past two semesters. Even while solely dating Paul, other men seemed drawn to her. Sara had always preferred older men, but Paul was funny and always there for her when her dark moods would overcome her. She saw him more as a close friend than as a serious future mate. Sara had never been able to fully commit herself to just one person. She had a hard time getting close and intimate. She grew tired and bored with most men easily. She didn’t enjoy sharing her innermost secrets with others and found that the boys wanted much more from her than she was able to give in return. Perhaps it was because of her own relationship with her father and the distance apparent in that father/daughter relationship that caused her to shy away from attachments.

She decided that she would leave Paul a long letter explaining her summer plans and telling him goodbye tactfully. She hoped he would take the news well, as she wished to remain good friends.

Her thoughts kept drifting back and forth as she packed the remainder of her personal belongings. Stopping for a moment, she was reminded of something else she had left undone. She was thinking about Florida. She loved the hot sun and the heat. She enjoyed basking under the sun and being tanned. The brownish tone seemed to bring out her vibrant features, particularly her dark eyes. It also had a tendency to lighten up her golden tresses naturally. Yes, she thought silently, she was going to have a good summer as long as her parents didn’t interfere.

She peered out the dormitory window to see if her father had arrived yet to take her to the city. She spotted her father’s Mercedes Sportster parked in the fire lane just below her dormitory. Oddly enough, he was conversing with her best friend, Marilyn, in an animated discussion. Marilyn’s long, lean form was bent over talking to her father. Sara thought it was strange that the two of them would be so involved in a casual conversation. To her recollection, she had only mentioned Marilyn Schmidt briefly, and the two of them had never met face to face. Marilyn was an extremely attractive brunette and lord knows her father, just forty-five years old, was still a very handsome and virile man. And the car clinched it, expensive—the kind of man Marilyn was attracted to. Sara hoped that he would not become too friendly with her. Marilyn had been her only friend that had been of her own making and not pre-selected by her parents. Or had she? thought Sara. She smiled and dismissed their animated conversation as mere flirtation between an overly zealous and attractive woman and an older distinguished man in an expensive car. Hadn’t Marilyn always told her that she found older men with lots of money to her immediate liking? And at first glance her father fit Marilyn’s model to a tee. The more she thought about it, it was fortunate for her that the two had met because she had not yet discussed her summer plans with her parents. They assumed she’d be returning to Ohio for the summer. She hadn’t felt the need, being twenty-two years old. Sara closed the shades so it would not appear she was spying on them, and gathered the remaining small items she had earlier plopped onto the bed. She chuckled at the thought of her father and Marilyn together intimately. How ridiculous! She grabbed her purse and paused by the door to take one last look around the room, which she had shared with Marilyn for the past four years. Sara hated saying good-bye. The onset of a huge tear skimmed the surface of her eyelash. She knew as she closed this old rundown door that this happy chapter of her life was ended. She brushed the tear from the corner of her eye and said aloud, Good-bye, old friend, and turned abruptly with her possessions and hurried down the corridor.

Her mother must have decided to stay in Ohio, for she hadn’t seen her in weeks. She had come for graduation but, as always, she stayed in the background. There had been only one other time that Anita Martin had graced the campus of Princeton. Both times she had made such a fuss about Sara’s living quarters that Sara had been relieved that Anita’s visits had been so rare.

Sara started down the corridor and stopped along the way to say good-bye to a few friends still in their rooms gathering their possessions. She stepped into a familiar room and headed towards the dresser to place her letter to Paul. She closed the door and sighed deeply at the thought of Paul’s reaction when he realized she had gone. He thought that after they both got established and had good-paying jobs near Washington, D.C. that eventually they would marry. Paul was away at a collegiate sporting event and wasn’t due to return for several more days. Time enough for Sara to exit gracefully. By the time he found the letter, Sara would be hidden in the hubbub and impersonal and feral streets of New York City and then off to Florida. As she made her way down the corridor, two more good friends grabbed her arm, drew her into their room, and kissed her soundly good-bye. She embraced the two guys and told them that she would miss them and all their crazy antics. As she hugged Ben, her eyes were drawn to the small color television. At that moment, she dropped her arms from Ben’s embracing bear hug and asked if she could turn the television up. Ben shrugged his shoulders slightly put off by her sudden coolness.

Sorry, but this looks important.

They were announcing the latest hijacking to Cuba. At that moment, the station flashed a picture of the apprehended suspect, a young boy who was trying desperately to yank something from the lining of his jacket. For a moment Sara thought the young Cuban boy looked vaguely familiar to her. The young boy was intercepted by two Cuban officials who whisked him off and waved angrily at the media. The camera panned out and the Cuban boy’s face was lost in the crowd.

In the back of her mind, she hoped that her own scheduled flight to Miami wouldn’t end up as this flight had. What a scary thought, being hijacked in mid-air. In the past ten years, there had been over ten hijackings to Cuba, and mostly on southern flights heading towards Miami. She hadn’t paid much attention to the hijackings in the past, but this particular young Cuban and this hijacking struck a nerve deep within her. As she was leaving, she waved good-bye to her friends and left in a trancelike state, fully absorbed in her thoughts. Her thoughts remained on that small Cuban boy. Where had she seen him before?

She thought, it must be that he resembles one of the young teenage boys she had met at the Caine Orphanage. If they had focused on his face just a few minutes longer she felt certain she would remember.

Sara headed towards her father’s car and by the time she reached it, Marilyn had already left. Her father greeted her coolly, as usual, and he got out of the car, as good manners would dictate to help her put her small box of belongings and suitcase into the back section of the small car. She had sent all of her larger items home to Ohio weeks earlier. She didn’t want to part with her belongings, but until she got a job and settled into her own place, she couldn’t very well cart everything around with her. She had managed to accumulate a lot of junk over a four-year period. She started up a conversation with her father but stopped suddenly when she realized that she was the one doing all the talking. He was in another world. Her father had never been a terrific communicator, as his priorities were always focused elsewhere. Her father glanced back briefly at the dark-haired girl getting into her Porsche. The flashy red sports car flew pass Sara and her father. As it did, Sara recognized that the driver was Marilyn and waved frantically trying