Fifty Grand

A confusion of soldiers, cops, civilians. The street had been blocked off by army jeeps manned by troops toting enormous machine guns. The police had their guns drawn and there were still more soldiers in green fatigues with black armbands kneeling and pointing rifles at the hacienda. The villagers were congregating behind the jeeps-almost everyone in the little hamlet had come out to enjoy the spectacle. The helicopter came lower and its spotlight began scanning the house, the yard, and the fields beyond.

“We’re going to be seen here,” I whispered to Ricky.

“What do we do?”

“The palm tree,” I said. “In the break between the beams. Stay with me.”

We scrambled into the yard and climbed the palm tree at the back of the house. From up here we could see everything better. All told there were about fifty soldiers and as many police fiercely surrounding Uncle Arturo’s house as if it contained lost survivors from the Bay of Pigs.

A lead policeman in a civilian suit was trying to speak into a megaphone but he couldn’t get the thing to work.

The big helicopter was landing. It was probably running low on gas.

The noise was incredible. We watched it until it went behind the trees, thundering, shaking coconuts out of the branches. Other cops had set up a generator and when they turned it on arc lights flooded the scene.

I hadn’t stopped shivering since the beach and six meters up a palm tree was no place for a fainting fit.

“What do you think Uncle Arturo did?” Ricky asked.

“Maybe this is about the American cigarettes and those magazines.”

The policeman with the megaphone finally got it to work. He stood on a tree stump and started telling the other police officers to get the civilians away.

“Why is he doing that?” I wondered.

“In case there’s a shootout, of course.”

“How do you know he has a gun?” I asked.

“I’ve seen it. Juanita said-Hey look, it’s the sausages,” Ricky said, pointing to the line of ’izos three branches up. “That was a pretty good throw for a girl; pity girls can’t play baseball.”

“They can and they do.”

“In America,” Ricky said dismissively.

In the typically Cuban way, a man pushing a food cart appeared from nowhere. He was selling flan and beer but the police made him go away after confiscating all his merchandise for themselves.

Finally, when the policeman with the megaphone was satisfied that the crowd was sufficiently safe, he turned his attention back to the hacienda. He was a short guy with shiny black hair and boots.

“Arturo Mercado, come out with your hands up,” the cop said.

The crowd went silent and then much to our surprise Uncle Arturo answered: “What is this? I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Send out your family,” the policeman said.

“I have a right to know what this is about. Under the Cuban Penal Code all persons have a right to know what they are being charged with,” Arturo shouted.

“You are not being charged with anything, Mercado, not yet. We want to question you. Be a man, at least send out your family.”

“How do I know they’ll be safe?” Uncle Arturo said.

“Of course they will be safe. There are hundreds of witnesses.”

“Give me your word.”

The cop blanched for a moment but then recovered his poise. “My name is Captain Armando Beltre. I give you my word that if you release your family to my care, they will be unharmed.”

Five minutes later the cousins, Mom, Luisa, and Aunt Isabella came out. Everyone was carrying suitcases and bags as if they might be going away for some time. I was impressed. Uncle Arturo had clearly had some time to prepare. They walked past Captain Beltre and were grabbed by the leading edge of the police. The children were separated from the women, who were all bundled together into a police julia.

“Did you see that they took Mom to the police van?” Ricky asked.

“I did. Don’t worry. Mom didn’t do anything.”

At around midnight there was a shot from inside the house and everyone screamed. One of the policemen shot back and then another and another. The order came to cease fire. The policeman with the megaphone shouted into the house to see if Uncle Arturo was all right, but there was no answer. Not long after the shooting another older policeman turned up. He looked to be pretty high up and he seemed displeased with everything that had been going on. Immediately after talking to Captain Beltre, he ordered the street cleared. The cops and the army started moving everyone back into their houses or way down the village into the fields. The older policeman took the megaphone and said that if Uncle Arturo didn’t come out he would order the army to storm the place and Arturo would be responsible for the consequences.

Uncle Arturo came out.

He was wearing a white shirt and there was blood on the shoulder. He was holding his hands in the air. He walked to the front of the house and lay down in the yard. Policemen ran and cuffed him.

“This is fantastic,” I said to Ricky.

“Yup,” he replied breathlessly.

Both of us were shaking with excitement.