Free Flight to Freedom by Ana Veciana-Suarez Page B

was very polite and said, “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am.” Of course, neither of them knew what the other was saying. Ileana had to translate for both Mami and Tommy during the entire visit. Because ofthe guests, we were allowed to drink Coca-Cola and eat the guava pastries Mami bought just for Ileana’s friends. They left before Papi arrived from work. Mami made sure of that.
    Every night Ana Mari practices Christmas songs she is learning for a winter festival at school. I recognize most of the melodies, but the words are different. She sings “Jingle Bells” and “Silent Night,” both of which I know only in Spanish. When she does this, I get a lump in my throat thinking of past holidays and of Pepito spending this year’s alone. He probably will not be allowed to visit my grandparents, and for years there has been talk by the Communist government about outlawing the festivities. The talk, though, never did dampen our neighborhood’s enthusiasm for the holiday. We always managed to celebrate in some way even when the rationing was bad. Cousins would stop by, and we would listen to Mami’s long-play records of villancicos caroling away. Mami would set up, in a corner of the living room, the old Nativity set she inherited from a great-aunt. And Mami’s oldest brother, Tío Camilo, always managed to bring us a lechón or, at the very least, a pork leg from his farm for Nochebuena.
    Here we do not have any decorations except for some drawings Ana Mari made in school with construction paper and crayons. Efraín’s boss gave him a Christmas tree, and Tía Carmen has decorated it with garlands and glass balls she bought at sales in a discount store named Zayre. I wish we had a tree, too—a silver one with blue balls. I suggested it once, but Papi immediately dismissed the idea. He considers it a waste of money. I wish he would change his mind.
Wednesday, 20th of December
    Abuelo Tony is back from the hospital. He looks better but much skinnier.
Friday, 22nd of December
    We had a big surprise at Ana Mari’s school during the winter festival when she and four other girls sang two Christmas songs in Spanish. One of the carols is a lovely melody we used to sing in church when I was very little. Although I have forgotten its name, I can’t help but hum it as I write: Vamos, pastores, vamos, a la gloria de Edén. Vamos a Belén a ver ese niño. “Let usgo, shepherds, let us go to the glory of Eden. Let us go to Bethlehem to see the child.”
    When they heard this, lots of people in the school cafeteria got to their feet and clapped with delight. Some of the women cried. I suppose the carols reminded them of home. One man shouted, “¡Viva Cuba libre!” And Papi said, “Bravo! Bravo!” I was so glad to see him happy. But for me it was strange, because those songs come from another world. They belong in another life. They should be performed not in a cafeteria but in the arched entranceway of my old school. And they should be followed not by chocolate chip cookies and punch but by turrones. (I like the almond nougats best.) It seems as if everything is being thrown together all at once, one world blending into the other. It’s hard to keep them apart. Jane thinks this is good, but she doesn’t understand how confusing it can be. Just because my parents eat chocolate chip cookies doesn’t mean they will let Ileana attend a party without a chaperone. And because everybody is trying to sing along to the words of a carol in Spanish doesn’t mean the Claudias of the world will stop teasing us about our accents or our clothes.
Sunday, 24th of December
    Nochebuena. The smell of roasting pork fills the house. It is the best smell in the world. Mmmm! Tonight the entire family will gather here to celebrate Christmas Eve. I have invited Jane and Mrs. Henderson, too. At first we were going to have the celebration at