Freedom Fighters

54. Calling

June 1960
Miami, Florida, United States of America

A copy of the Miami Herald  lay on the dining table, the front page headline reading the following. 

CASTRO ANNOUNCES NATIONALIZATION OF SHELL AND ESSO REFINERIES

Dario eyed the paper while preparing his coffee. The sound of sizzling oil could be heard in the kitchen as Juanita prepared lunch. After pouring the creamer into the cup, he stirred the mixture with his spoon. He sat down, sipped his coffee, and held the newspaper in his hands.

His eyes scanned through the front page article. As he read, he could feel a familiar boiling emotion emerge. Just seeing the name "Fidel" made him feel sick in the stomach and hot in the head. 

Juanita emerged from the kitchen with two plates of sausage and mash in hand. 

"Look at this. Your brother decided to nationalise oil refineries owned by American corporations because they refused to process Soviet oil," Dario said. He breathed out a harsh sigh, before placing the paper back down. "He's ruining the country."

Juanita set a plate down in front of Dario, before sitting across him. She took a quick glance at the paper, before shoving it away. "Don't bother about it, alright? It's making you sad."

"It makes me angry. Maybe we should have stayed and fight him or-"

"Don't finish that thought, Dario. We did the right thing. Look at us now. We are free to live a quiet life."

Dario kept his tongue in check, digging his spoon into the mash absentmindedly. In a sense, what she said was true. It had been more than half a year since they escaped from Cuba on a boat Juanita had managed to procure with the help of her smuggler friend. 

Within days, their request for political asylum had been granted, and they were allowed to live freely in America. They still held a substantial amount of cash from their time in Cuba, and so were able to rent an apartment upfront in a middle class district. As both of them were able to obtain various part-time jobs to get by, they quickly settled into their new life. 

However, a dark cloud still hung over them. The immense grief of losing Camilo still gripped Dario. Sometimes, he would be aside himself, and get into unnecessary arguments with his lover over trivial matters. Their relationship had somewhat strained over the months as Dario grew increasingly neurotic.

"I always wonder," Dario spoke, his voice strung with pain. "Did we actually do the right thing?"

The sound of Juanita's spoon clattering onto her plate echoed throughout the dining room. 

"Dario," she said firmly. "We are not talking about this again. Please. I'm tired."

Dario could feel his hands shaking, and hear his heart beating rapidly in his ear. He stared into Juanita's trembling brown eyes, and a sharp ache surged through his heart. He retained the sense not to broach the matter for the hundredth time, and looked back down at his plate. A overwhelming sense of fatigue washed through his mind, dulling it. He continued eating his lunch in silence. 

The sound of the doorbell punctuated the silence. Grateful for the interruption, Dario rushed to the door and opened it. 

Behind the door stood a middle-aged white man he had not seen before. The ice blue eyes with wrinkle lines at their corners were the first thing Dario noticed, as well as the receding patch of neatly combed white hair. 

"Good afternoon," the man greeted in a gruff voice. 

Dario frowned at the stranger, who seemed to be in good shape despite his apparent age. He possessed a slight figure of leathery skin underneath the formal attire. Curiously, he held a briefcase in his right hand. Dario's impression was that he was a businessman of some sort.