Free Captives by Tom Pow

to the story he was telling. How his face had darkened at Quitano’s threats; and how, when he said, “Education is the key,” Maria had nodded to herself: “Sí, la educación es la llave.”
    There were many times when Abel wished to tender his resignation, but who would then speak for the children? Who would then trumpet: “Education is the key” ? Certainly none of the other gentlemen sitting around the table. New medals seemed to grow on their chests at each meeting, their cars grew longer, sleeker, their mistresses—minor starlets—more bejewelled. Haciendas began to spread on the outskirts of the city, behind high walls and electric fences. Soon no one knew in which one Quitano lived; he moved like a medieval monarch around his palaces.
    â€œHere,” Quitano said to Abel one day, “here is a present from the government.” It was the keys to an estate on the far side of the island.
    â€œNo,” said Abel, who had just seen his budget increase by a miserable two million pesos. “I cannot accept.”
    â€œOh, come on. This is not the people’s money. No one is taking it from your precious education.”
    â€œWell, where…?”
    â€œFrom friends of this government.”
    â€œAnd who are they?”
    â€œUnited Nickel. Yes, a big American company is our friend. Our best friend, Abel. Our best friend for a future.”
    â€œYours, I think.”
    â€œâ€˜Do not dare to accuse me.” Quitano’s voice echoed down the corridor.
    *   *   *
    All this time, of course, Rafael was enjoying a privileged lifestyle. But it wasn’t enough to blind him from the poverty, illiteracy, and lack of opportunities that lay outside the hacienda’s walls. And what he did not see, Maria gave him eyes to see, so the lines of his poetry became cleaner and sharper. He had freed himself of his family name, preferring instead to publish under his mother’s name, Portuondo. Perhaps, he thought, well-chosen words would be able to cut through the tangled mesh of interests that bound his father.
    Rafael and Maria were not the only ones to see how Abel had aged in his ministry and how betrayal was beginning to show in his eyes: how genuinely sorry he seemed to be that he could make nothing happen. Yet still he travelled through the countryside; still he spoke with passion—and with apology—to teachers, parents, children, and to community leaders. Often his wife, Mercedes, accompanied him now. She had been a teacher herself once and, whereas teachers and parents could admire the fervent belief Abel had for his cause, children loved Mercedes for the unaffected warmth of her concern. “You should be the politician!” Abel said to her more than once.
    Word began to spread of a good man trussed up in a corrupt situation.
    But word also spread to Quitano’s sharp ears of this paragon who was gaining popular support. Worse, that his ponce of a son, Rafael—“The ungrateful wretch who casts off the family name as if it is something to throw in the gutter!”—was involved in student politics and that Abel was making no effort to curb his enthusiasm. The universities, he thought, needed watching more closely.
    But Abel was not the innocent Quitano took him to be. He was aware of the danger he was in and would have been careless if it were a danger he faced on his own. Putting his family in danger was another matter entirely. He made arrangements for his wife to leave the country for the safety of Miami. It was ostensibly a holiday, but Quitano’s contacts told him of the long-term lease taken on a property. It was the excuse he wanted. He had Abel arrested on charges of corruption and political intrigue—that should tarnish the troublesome saint. Word reached Rafael that he and Maria should immediately go into hiding. He dropped his literature studies.…
    *   *   *
    There is