Freedom Fighters

50. Comrades

"Oliverio, how goes your leg? Fully recovered?" Dario asked. He had missed the cheerful and inquisitive youth, who had been a comforting companion throughout the hardships of the war. The battle of Santiago had been the last time he saw Oliverio. As he recalled, the Chinese boy had his leg crushed by a falling block of concrete after a train fired at the house they were in.

But a skinny boy Oliverio was not any longer. He had filled up and put on weight, presumably during his long recovery in Santiago.

"Yes!" Oliverio chirped, looking up from his food. "I was able to start walking a few months ago, and had been working as Huber's aide since then. My father even came to Santiago to live with me. It was hard convincing him."

"He's great, the boy," Huber commented. "Fast and efficient."

"Good to know you both have been doing well," Camilo said between mouthfuls of stew. "The stew is good. Dario, you get to eat like this every night? How envious!"

The corners of Juanita's mouth turned up at the compliment. "Thank you, Camilo."

Dario could not recall the last time he had an enjoyable dinner like this, surrounded by good company. The past few nights, alone with Juanita, especially in the aftermath of the Castros' takeover, had been... lonely, for lack of a better word. It was not to say he did not appreciate Juanita's company. But during those low times, it seemed that they were alone. In those situations, it was easy for fear and desolation to seep into the atmosphere and then into the deep recesses of his mind.

Just yesterday, on National Day, he still felt that foggy loneliness within him. It was compounded by the dizzying celebrations of the day. But when, unexpectedly, Huber and Oliverio showed up, like blasts from the past, with genuine smiles, he felt a comforting warmth within him, like an old furnace being relighted. When Camilo suggested dinner at his place tonight, he immediately jumped on the offer. 

"Say, Huber," Camilo asked. "How's things in Santiago?"

Huber shrugged, while giving a half-hearted smile. "Good. Good. But ever since the Agrarian Reform Laws were announced, the air changed."

"Changed?" Camilo uttered. 

The air around the dinner table shifted, and all focus was now squarely on Huber. Oliverio kept his head low, looking nervous too. 

Huber Matos, Commander of the Army in Santiago sighed. He put his fork and spoon down on the sides of his plate. 

"It's like there is this new momentum pushing the more radical side of the party. Those damned socialists who have Raúl's backing. They are crying out for blood, Camilo. The labour unions are getting more and more active, with the backing of the socialists. It's difficult keeping a lid on the situation."

"I see." Camilo's eyes had this new focused intent in them. He bit his lips. "It's the same here, Huber. I guess it's the same everywhere."

"I don't know about this. I'm afraid things are only going to go downhill from here."

"Oh, they already are..." Dario whispered, his words washing over the table. When he realised everyone else was looking at him, he said, "Did you guys see the prison camps for the political prisoners? Or as Raúl called them: 'counterrevolutionaries'? They are jailing and executing people by the hundreds and thousands!"

His thoughts then jumped to Rodrigo Casillas, the friend that he helped to facilitate an escape from the country. The man was not a counterrevolutionary, but merely a man who did what he could to ensure a safe life for him and his family. What gave a sick power-maniac like Raúl Castro the right to execute all of these folks? Potentially even more deaths will be soon to come in the enforcement of the Agrarian Reform Laws as the landowners would inevitable resist the theft of their lands?