A reminder on the gift of democracy*** Maria had once told me that before leaving Cuba, she had been forced into two years of hard labor by the government when it found out that she wanted to leave the country. She never said much about it, and I didn't question her. Maybe it was the sweetness of the drink that brought her back to the beauty of Cuba that she loved. When Maria talked, though some of her words seemed dark and shocking, she withdrew in silence, and in the background of a solitude of mind I had never witnessed before, she related images and landscapes of hope and promise that saved her from the devastation of the terrible experience.
She told me that the officials would bring workers, including many women, to different labor camps every day. One particular day began with the usual slice of bread (often trodden upon by rats before it was finally served), and guava. The rain had been severe and the ground was thick with mud. Their job was to fertilize seedlings. In the background, Maria heard women crying. Their cries were devastating, and through cruel means of control, the officials told the women that their fate was better than turning to prostitution for a living.***