A Tragic Tale
Copyright © 2000 by Dave Badtke
By now you’ve heard the poignant story told by author Gabriel Garcia Marquez (NY Times, 3/29/00). After Juan Miguel Gonzalez and Elizabet Brotons divorced, they continued to live in the same house, trying to have the child they had so wanted when they were still married. When, after 7 miscarriages, Elizabet gave birth to a son, he was given a name constructed from the first three letters of Elizabet and the last two letters of Juan: Elián.
Elizabet was the chief housekeeper at a hotel in Varadero when she decided to sail from Cárdenas, Cuba to Florida, a distance of more than 100 miles, in an 18-foot homemade boat with a defective outboard motor. She took Elián, then 5 years old, and went with her lover, Lazaro Rafael Munero, the putative leader of the group, and 11 others. Three inner tubes were their only life preservers.
When the broken outboard motor was thrown overboard during the night, the small boat became unbalanced and capsized. Three survived, including Elián, who was found floating on an inner tube, face up, unconscious and severely sunburned.
Now 6 years old, Elián has become a symbol to many of the strength of freedom and the oppression of Castro. Our media has obsessively monitored Elián at his great-uncle’s house in Miami. We see him playing outside, smiling, making a victory sign with his fingers, shooting toy guns, doing what American boys do.
But he’s not a typical American. He "… saw when Mama got lost in the ocean." He drifted alone fearing for his life. He hasn’t seen his father in 5 months.
Juan Miguel didn’t come immediately to the US to claim his son, which perplexes us, because we tell ourselves that nothing, not even a dictator, would have kept us from coming. But Castro’s dictatorship is so oppressive, we are told, that it’s impossible for anyone to freely speak or travel.
Do I believe Elián is loved and has been manipulated by his Miami family? Of course.
Do I believe Juan Miguel loves Elián and has been coerced, perhaps even threatened, by Castro’s dictatorship? Without a doubt.
Do I believe that our politicians continue to pander to us? Absolutely.
It’s a mess no matter how you look at it, but can we imagine what Elián and Juan Miguel must be feeling?
When you were 6, perhaps you were in first grade. You were learning to read. After school you went home. Your mother gave you a hug and asked about your day. You had a snack and went outside to play, and you played so hard with your friends, running and hiding, that you were always out of breath, the air so fresh that it burned your lungs. You had to be called several times for dinner. You went in reluctantly. And after dinner you played again, maybe did some homework, and took your bath. In bed, warm and clean under your covers, your mother read to you, told you stories. You fell asleep to your mother’s soothing voice.
If your parents went away for the evening, if your routine was disrupted, you were so upset that you felt sick. Your parents told you not to stay up, but sometimes you did, and when they came home, your fear subsided and you finally fell asleep.
How would you feel if you had watched your mother drown? Would you care about freedom in the US?
As Juan Miguel, you were divorced and remarried, but you remained friends with Elizabet: You said, "We were like brother and sister." Elián spent one day with you and the next with his mother, until one weekend when you discover her padlocked home.
You hear rumors that she took Elián on a small boat to America. You call Lazaro Gonzalez, Elián’s great-uncle who has lived in Miami for years, but he has no news. You hope for the best but can’t sleep thinking of the worst. Later you will say that on Nov. 22, "My life ended ...."
On Nov. 25, there is news that Elián is alive, Elizabet dead. A doctor calls to ask about Elián’s medical history. You are overjoyed. But when you finally talk to Elián, he is constantly distracted.
Fidel Castro puts his arm around your shoulder – you will later say he is like a brother to you – and you are afraid, confused and angry. You’re a cashier, not a politician. The world is converging on you, and all you want is your son back. You watch Elián on TV, with Fidel next to you, and wonder how a free people can turn your son into a puppet.
Juan Miguel is now in the US. Let’s hope that by the time you read this, he and Elián are reunited, whether here or in Cuba, and that this tragic tale is behind us.
- Dave Badtke is founder of the developing Carquinez Review literary journal. Find him on the web at www.CarquinezReview.com.
Contact him at:
Dave@CarquinezReview.com or Dave@Badtke.com