Free Leaving Glorytown by Eduardo F. Calcines Page A

When he took over the island, one of the first things he did was abolish the traditional education system. He replaced it with a curriculum based on the glories of Communism, including lots of lessons on the Soviet Union, which according to our teachers was just one level below heaven. All the schools were renamed after Communist heroes. And from kindergarten on, we had our heads filled with propaganda about the evils of Yankee imperialism and the wonders of the Soviet Union. By the sixth grade, I had already seen through all the nonsense they tried to shove down our throats. So had my friends. We learned how to tune it out.
    But teachers behaved like government authorities. You had to be as careful of them as you were of the police, because if they overheard you say something against the Revolution, they could report you—and your whole family could get into trouble.
    I walked into Señora Felicia’s sixth grade classroom and took a seat in the back of the room. I hoped that no one would notice me. A few kids looked my way and exchanged whispers, but that was it. So far, so good.
    Then Señora Felicia entered the room. “Everyone, stand up!” she commanded.
    â€œGood morning, Señora!” we chanted.
    â€œSit down!”
    We sat down.
    â€œCalcines! Not you, you rockhead! Stand up!”
    I did so. My face was already burning, and my knees had begun to tremble.
    Señora Felicia was a short, stocky, dark woman with plump cheeks, pointed eyebrows, and cat’s-eye glasses. She used her eyebrows to frightening effect, arching them and staring me down. I felt as if a chunk of ice was growing in my stomach.
    â€œI want everyone to take a good look at Calcines,” said Señora Felicia. “Because this is what a worm looks like. A traitorous, disgusting worm. Look, everyone!”
    A few of the kids snickered. Most of the others seemed just as uncomfortable as I was. But that was shortly to change.
    â€œWhy don’t you tell us, Calcines, exactly what your problem is?” the teacher said. “Why is it your father thinks he knows better than our leader? Does Rafael Calcines have a law degree, like El Comandante? Does he think, perhaps, that he is the smartest man in Cuba?”
    â€œNo, ma’am,” I mumbled.
    â€œSpeak up! No, ma’am, what?”
    â€œNo, ma’am, my father does not think he is the smartest man in Cuba, ma’am,” I said, a little louder.
    â€œWe have one word for people like you, Calcines!” the teacher crowed. “And we all know what that word is, don’t we, everyone!”
    â€œGusano,” said a few of my classmates. Worm.
    â€œLouder! Everyone!”
    â€œGusano!” roared the class.
    â€œThat’s right! Everyone, stand up and tell Mr. Calcines what you think!”
    The students stood up. I stood, too, my head bowed, fists clenched, trying to control myself.
    â€œNow, let’s hear it, nice and loud! Gusano!”
    â€œGusano! Gusano! Gusano!” chanted the kids. Egged on by this so-called educator, their voices grew with enthusiasm, and they began to laugh. “Calcines is a gusano!”
    â€œExcellent!” came a new voice from the door. Everyone turned to see the principal standing in the doorway, a pleased expression on her face. “Señora Felicia, I am happy to see that you are instilling the proper values in your students.”
    â€œThank you, principal,” said Señora Felicia.
    â€œCalcines!” said the principal. “I have one thing to say to you.”
    Everyone waited. The only sound was my labored breathing.
    â€œGet out of our country at once! We don’t need you,” she said. “Then there will be one less worm that our revolutionary government will be forced to re-educate.”
    I couldn’t help myself. The tears began to stream down my cheeks. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
    â€œYou may continue with your lesson,” said