Linda
She peered out from behind a palm tree erupting from the mangrove thickets along a lonely stretch of the beach. Several two-story buildings made up what was left of the Plaza de Oro, a Cuban resort once popular with a rich American clientele. It had faded into
obscurity as the revolutionary government rose to power in the fifties. By 1978, Linda Garcia had reached the ripe old age of 11. As a member of the revolutionary youth she wore the mandatory uniform, khaki skirt and blouse topped off with a bright red kerchief. She had missed her school bus, and her absence would soon be reported. The morning’s rising heat compelled her to loosen her kerchief. She let it fall to her feet, next to a yellowed rattan suitcase. She could hear the gentle early morning breeze rustling through the palm fronds overhead. The heat began moving humid air in heavy wafts, some reaching her through the lush mangrove and tamarind scrub. As she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, she turned to look at the decaying hotel. Something had stirred in that direction.
An eternity later she heard a faint purring of a motorboat coming from beyond the curved boundaries of the lagoon. She stood up on the suitcase, lifting herself on her toes for a better view. Suddenly she heard the crunching of sand and pebbles coming from behind,
and turned quickly to see two girls running from the hotel.
“Linda!” yelled one, while the other shushed her.
Both wore student uniforms and were carrying suitcases. Within seconds they reached Linda’s mangrove thicket. Linda shouted,” I thought you would never come. I thought something had happened. Where’s mom and dad?”
obscurity as the revolutionary government rose to power in the fifties. By 1978, Linda Garcia had reached the ripe old age of 11. As a member of the revolutionary youth she wore the mandatory uniform, khaki skirt and blouse topped off with a bright red kerchief. She had missed her school bus, and her absence would soon be reported. The morning’s rising heat compelled her to loosen her kerchief. She let it fall to her feet, next to a yellowed rattan suitcase. She could hear the gentle early morning breeze rustling through the palm fronds overhead. The heat began moving humid air in heavy wafts, some reaching her through the lush mangrove and tamarind scrub. As she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, she turned to look at the decaying hotel. Something had stirred in that direction.
An eternity later she heard a faint purring of a motorboat coming from beyond the curved boundaries of the lagoon. She stood up on the suitcase, lifting herself on her toes for a better view. Suddenly she heard the crunching of sand and pebbles coming from behind,
and turned quickly to see two girls running from the hotel.
“Linda!” yelled one, while the other shushed her.
Both wore student uniforms and were carrying suitcases. Within seconds they reached Linda’s mangrove thicket. Linda shouted,” I thought you would never come. I thought something had happened. Where’s mom and dad?”