The Passage by David Poyer Read Free Book Online Page A

step nearer, and she caught his face as the shadow of the cane brushed it. “You’re not stupid. You have no education, but you’re shrewd. Then why do you act stupid, like a hija boba ?”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about, guitars,” she said stubbornly, flicking her machete over the stub of a stalk. The flies started up at the motion, circled, settled again, feeding on the sweet ooze. Their buzzing seemed very loud. In the distance, men began a décima, a folk song.
    â€œYou are Graciela Lopez Gutiérrez. Born on a sugar estate near Esmeralda. Your father was a tercedario— ”
    â€œYes. He was a sharecropper.”
    â€œYou began living with Armando Guzman Diéguez, a son of a mill engineer, when you were fourteen. You have never been married. You have borne him three children, of whom one is still living. Diéguez has been convicted as an enemy of the revolution—”
    â€œNot so—”
    â€œHe is an enemy of the people and of the revolution. In 1967, he was condemned by a tribunal and sentenced to five years in prison for setting fire to standing crops, an act of CIA-inspired sabotage. He pretended to reform and in good faith we released him and assigned him to productive labor at Central Number One seventy-six, with his family, just as he wanted. Then last year, he was caught stealing state property and sent again to prison for a further term of seven years.” The man waited, then added, “Is all this correct?”
    â€œIt’s correct. But it’s not all.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘it’s not all’?”

    â€œI mean that yes, he stole, but this is not a just act, to condemn a man for stealing a bag of corn for his family.”
    â€œYou are also a worm, the woman of a worm.”
    â€œYou know nothing about my husband. His brother was killed by the Batistianos. Beaten, his legs broken, driven over with a jeep—”
    â€œHis brother would be disappointed in him.”
    â€œNo, he would be proud. Armando fought against them, too. He took up a gun and fought.”
    â€œI find that hard to believe. All you worms are good for is talk.”
    â€œI have never spoken against the revolution.”
    â€œSomeone is lying, then? All your neighbors are lying to us?”
    â€œA measure of sand for a measure of lime.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œThat if you pay people for lies, you will get lies for your pay.”
    The man said harshly, “A woman with a tongue like yours should keep it firmly in her mouth. What were your people before the revolution? Sharecroppers. Now you have a free house and food. Your daughter’s books, food, classes, everything paid for. Would she have gone to school before Fidel? Would she not be cutting cane like you or bearing bastards for the pleasure of some fat latifundista ?”
    She said reluctantly, looking at the dusty ground, “No, compañero. She would not have gone to school; that is certain.”
    â€œYet still you people continue to speak against us, carry out thefts and sabotage … . I warn you, our patience is at an end. You can tell that to your fellow counterrevolutionaries.”
    â€œI know no other—”
    â€œBe quiet. The revolution cannot be opposed. It moves from victory to victory, marching toward a future we only glimpse. Well, perhaps it will have one final gift for you.” He laughed, a muted snort of contempt. “For you and the rest of the blind worms.”
    She glanced up in sudden fear, but where he had stood was only the sun now, shining so brilliantly between the swaying tassels of the cane that she could not look into it.
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    THE confrontation left her feeling ill and dizzy. So when she bent again, the water sprang into her mouth and she swayed to one side and vomited. She wiped bitter acid from her lips with her sleeve, staring at the ground with open, unseeing eyes.
    Then