After They Left

By Betty Viamontes

In April 1980, a family is abruptly awakened by loud banging and screaming at their door. Government officials have come for them to drive them to the Port of Mariel in Havana, where a boat awaits to take them to the United States. However, the entire family will not be able to make this journey to the land of the free. Two sisters, who have been inseparable and shared the same house on Zapote Street, are suddenly separated. One of them, Laura, will leave with her three children to reunite with her husband after twelve years of forced separation. The other, Berta, must stay with her husband Antonio and their two young daughters since they have not been allowed to leave.

After Laura's exodus, Berta and her family become enemies of the state. Many of their neighbors, and even family members, turn their backs on them. For their “betrayal,” the family faces the constant terror of being beaten, insulted, and even killed by violent mobs, encouraged by Castro’s government. The family fears for their lives.

The family faces a constant struggle to stay together and survive, a struggle that robs them of their sleep, health, and energy and threatens to destroy what little they have left.

They must do everything they can to get off the island together and save their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Betty Viamontes
• Release date: Dec 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215256978

Betty Viamontes

Betty Viamontes was born in Havana, Cuba. In 1980, at age fifteen, she and her family arrived in the United States on a shrimp boat to reunite with her father after twelve years of separation. "Waiting on Zapote Street," based on her family's story, her first novel won the Latino Books into Movies award and has been selected by many book clubs. She also published an anthology of short stories, all of which take place on Zapote Street and include some of the characters from her first novel. Betty's stories have traveled the world, from the award-winning Waiting on Zapote Street to the No. 1 New Amazon re-leases "The Girl from White Creek," "The Pedro Pan Girls: Seeking Closure," and "Brothers: A Pedro Pan Story." Other works include: Havana: A Son's Journey Home The Dance of the Rose Under the Palm Trees: Surviving Labor Camps in Cuba Candela's Secrets and Other Havana Stories The Pedro Pan Girls: Seeking Closure Love Letters from Cuba Flight of the Tocororo Betty Viamontes lives in Florida with her family and pursued graduate studies at the University of South Florida.

Book preview

After They Left

From the author of

Waiting on Zapote Street,

winner of the Latino Books Into Movies Award, Drama TV Series category

and

Brothers: The Pedro Pan Boys

Winner of the International Latino Books Awards, Best Fiction Novel category

Betty Viamontes

After They Left

Copyright © 2023 by Betty Viamontes

All rights reserved. Except for brief

excerpts in reviews, no part of this book may

be reproduced in any form, whether

printed or electronic, without the

express written permission of the author.

Published in the United States by

Zapote Street Books, LLC, Tampa, Florida

Book cover by SusanasBooks LLC

This book contains elements of creative nonfiction.

ISBN: 978-1-955848-29-9

Printed in the United States of America

I dedicate this book to—

My aunt and uncle for their love and guidance and for providing information that formed the basis for this story.

My mother for showing me that anything is possible.

My beloved husband and my family for all their support.

My loyal readers for reading my books and

encouraging me to keep writing.

The members of all the book clubs who so kindly have chosen to read Waiting on Zapote Street, The Dance of the Rose, Candela’s Secrets and Other Havana Stories,Havana: A Son’s Journey Home, and The Girl from White Creek for group discussions.

To Facebook groups All Things Cuban for providing a space for the sharing of stories and culture of the Cuban people and Women Reading GreatBooks for creating a forum for authors and readers to meet.

Chapter 1

They Are Coming

Berta

Only the adults in the house knew what was about to happen. My sister and I kept our five children—ages four, five, eleven, thirteen, and fifteen—in the dark to prevent the news from disseminating outside our home. If word got out, our lives could get more complicated, so we had to avoid unwanted attention.

On that pleasant April evening of 1980, the children were on the front porch. Tania, the older, worked on her homework while sitting in a rocking chair. She was the most guarded and least affectionate of all the children. Although intelligent and introspective, her past transformed her in ways we never imagined. Luckily, she took refuge in her writing.

Lynette, the thirteen-year-old, sat on the tiled floor and played jacks with my two daughters—the youngest of the children. Unlike her sister, Lynette was funny, happy, and loving. That’s why my daughters loved to spend time with her.

Eleven-year-old Gustavo, curious about the inner workings of things, attempted to repair a small toy truck that his father had brought him from the United States during his visit in October 1979. Occasionally, he would stand behind his sisters, Lynette and Tania, and make faces at them. Each time, my daughters burst into a peal of contagious laughter. Gustavo was as handsome as his father. Like him, he attracted the opposite sex, so much so that a twelve-year-old began to show up at our house to iron his clothes. When I discovered what she was doing, I was fuming.

Go back to your house this very second and focus on your homework! I told the girl. I also spoke with her mother who didn’t think there was anything wrong with her daughter learning how to be a housewife.

She needs to learn someplace else, not with my eleven-year-old nephew. That was the last time the girl came to our house.

The laughter of our children grounded me and helped me think that everything was going to be fine, that soon our nightmare would end. Our plans had to succeed, for their future’s sake.

My sister Laura could not stay still.

I’m going to Mirta’s house to pick up the girls’ new clothes, she announced and rose from the sofa. She had not changed her work clothes, black pants and white blouse with green flowers that complemented her shoulder-length blonde hair. That wasn’t her normal color, but the girls had convinced her to change it.

My husband Antonio, who sat in a rocking chair while reading an engineering book, peeled his eyes off the pages and glanced at her over his glasses.

It’s nighttime already, I said, putting down Antonio’s blue shorts and the needle and thread I was using to sew the hem. Besides, the kids have school tomorrow.

"What if they come tonight?" Antonio asked.

We spoke in code. Our windows were always open, and anyone standing by the window closest to us could hear us.

They won’t, Laura replied with such conviction that anyone would have thought she could predict the future.

Antonio closed his book.

He should know better than to keep asking the same question, I thought.

What if they do? he asked again, scratching his black-haired head.

I’ll come back soon. Just in case, I’m taking my children.

If they come, you might lose your only chance, Antonio replied.

It’s no use arguing with my sister, my love, I said. She is the way she is. She always must have her way.

"I want my children to look their best when that happens."

Exasperated, Antonio shook his head, got up, and disappeared into the back of the house. I knew what he was thinking. I knew what he would tell me later behind closed doors. Your sister always has little birds inside her head.

She was a dreamer indeed, but we all underestimated her.

While Laura was in her room getting ready, Tania’s seventeen-year-old boyfriend, Orlando, arrived unexpectedly.

What are you doing here? It’s not visiting day, I asked when I saw him standing on the porch in front of Tania. By now, she had stopped working on her homework and glanced at him with a smile. Tania is busy this evening, I added.

The dirty-blond, blue-eyed young man nodded. I know, he said. I was passing by on my way from my aunt’s house and noticed that Tania was outside. It will be a short visit. I promise.

Five minutes, and then you need to leave. She must study. She also has some errands to run with her mother.

Tania giggled during the exchange and played with her shoulder-length golden hair. Orlando was her first love, and his audacity amused her. After I went back inside, I could see through the open windows as they kissed. I didn’t say anything like I would have on any other night. Soon, he would be a part of her past. She just didn’t know it yet.

As I asked, Orlando stayed for five minutes. He must have been looking at his watch. After dating Tania for a few months, he knew not to make me angry. I was glad to watch him leave. I had to finish sewing the hem, and I didn’t want to walk outside to remind him.

Moments after Orlando left, a neighbor arrived to take Laura and her children to the municipality of Luyanó. That was where Mirta, a dressmaker who was married to our cousin, lived. Laura paid him twenty pesos for his trouble, a small fortune, considering that she only made one hundred pesos per month. Luckily, her illegal eye pencil business yielded twenty pesos for each unit sold. She only paid one peso to the man who sold them to her. Although she knew that he was making them with stolen materials, she decided that the thief who steals from thieves has one hundred years of forgiveness.

Fidel Castro had stolen from many by nationalizing all industries and appropriating many residences. Now the people felt justified in doing the same.

I am taking the bus on the way back, Laura told me before heading outside. They will be emptier by that time.

I stood up and hugged her.

If they come, I won’t have a choice… You know what I mean?

You take care of your family. Don’t worry about us, she replied.

I’m always worried about you, Laura. You focus on the smallest of things. Who cares how the children are dressed? Our only concern should be to meet our objective. You have waited for almost twelve years. Isn’t that long enough?

This is important to me. I’ll be back soon. I promise.

I followed her and her children outside and inhaled the pleasant night air that smelled like jasmine. Then I watched my sister and her family get into the 1957 Chevrolet waiting by the curb.

After going back inside, I closed the front door. Not even five minutes later, I heard a knock. My heart skipped a beat.

Who is it? I shouted as I walked toward the door.

I heard the familiar voice of the woman in charge of the Committee of Defense of the Revolution (CDR).

It’s Carmen!

It figures. She is always watching everything.

I opened the door and glanced at her with a look of boredom.

Where are your sister and her children going at this hour? She is not going into the Peruvian Embassy to ask for political asylum, is she?

No, she’s not. Even if she wanted to do that, she already missed her opportunity. I don’t think they are letting anyone else in.

So… if not there, where?

Carmen raised her eyebrows and tried to peek inside the house. She was very close to me now. Her chubby and oily cheeks smelled like onions.

Dear Lord, give me patience not to grab this woman by her hair and tell her to mind her own business.

But I couldn’t. Carmen was the designated neighborhood snitch, appointed by the revolutionary government. There was a Committee of Defense of the Revolution on each block to curb any organizing attempts. No dissent was allowed. Anything Carmen wanted to know I was obligated to tell her.

So I responded to her question.

Chapter 2

The Visit

Berta

After Laura left, I put my daughters to bed. I kept thinking about what Antonio said. What if they came tonight?

Anything was possible.

Now that the house was quiet, Antonio returned to the living room and sat on the sofa to read one of his engineering books. These books, all over twenty years old, all written in English, were his most precious possession. He was always reading them, as if they protected him from his thoughts, from consuming himself with the current state of affairs: the smaller food rations, our crumbling three-bedroom, one-bathroom house shared by three adults and five children, our inability to say anything negative about the government outside the confines of our house.

Be careful. These walls have ears, he would tell me often as if to exhaust me with his paranoia. But he was right. We had to be careful.

As noisy and chaotic as our house was, things were even tougher when my father lived with us. Dad was eighty when we moved him to the nursing home where he eventually died. I wondered if Antonio felt relieved when we moved him out. I thought so, but he also worried about what would happen to him. I could see it in the way he asked me each time I returned from the nursing home, Is your Dad okay? Are they treating him well?

I suspected he received good treatment only because of the gifts I brought to his caretakers.  Any gift helped, a few ounces of coffee we took from our monthly quota, or a bottle of guava marmalade we purchased from our retired neighbor who had tuberculosis.

Before we made the decision to move Dad out of the house, he occupied one of the three bedrooms. His mind was gone, at least most of the time. Taking his feces and spreading them on the walls had become a daily occurrence. With the lack of painting supplies, mattresses, sheets, or any household goods, keeping him at home was impossible.

Antonio wept the day my father died. That spoke loudly of his kindness. He was good. Too good. Only a good man would care for three children who were not his own like a father. They were still little when Antonio and I got married, so he saw them grow up. He took them to Santos Suárez Park and helped them with their homework. My tall and thin gentle giant with glasses never complained about his heavy burden.

Although Antonio played with my sister’s children—and even danced with the girls when they were trying to teach him how to dance (an impossible task if I might say so as he was beyond uncoordinated)—he became most attached to Tania. She followed him around and asked him questions about the books he was reading. Sometimes, she even listened to the prohibited radio station Voice of America with him in our windowless bedroom.

You can’t tell anyone, you understand? Antonio told Tania the first time he allowed her to listen to Voice of America. She must have been seven or eight then. She nodded. Not that she understood anything that the reporters were talking about. But she acted like she did.

The many times she joined him and attentively listened to the United States-based news radio station told me how much she enjoyed sharing this secret with him, how much she needed a father figure in her life.

But Tania was more broken than we all realized.

No child should ever have to experience what Tania did. It worried me that she never talked about that day. Yet the adults were