Freedom Fighters

44. Vengeance

Still in a state of revolutionary fervour, the streets of Havana were plunged into chaos. Dario had been ordered by Fidel to stand his men down and allow the task force free rein in the streets, hunting down anybody who worked for the old regime. The military underwent a similar purge. High-ranking officers from Batista's time were promptly arrested, sent to Che's La Cabana fortress prison, never to be seen again, replaced by revolutionaries like Dario. 

Dario and Camilo shared their worries with each other, mostly in private within Dario's new home in the affluent Vedado district. The house had belonged to one of Batista's closest aides who fled the country with the dictator, leaving it unoccupied. 

"I don't like where this is all going," Camilo said as he downed a shot of whisky, before wincing at the burn in his throat. "I feel like a bystander, Dario. I do. It's like we are just watching everything unfold before our eyes, and we cannot do a thing about it. Why did we fight so hard, only to let a crazed ideologue like Raúl do whatever he wants. The country's going to be ruined, Dario."

Dario shrugged, pouring yet more whisky into his friend's glass. "What can we do, Camilo? If we oppose them, it would prove detrimental. It was not long ago that we were still fighting the war. Cuba needs time to heal its wounds. We cannot reopen them."

"Bah! Dario, you are too soft. You are."

Sometimes, Juanita would join them. She expressed her own doubts about her brothers too, saying that Raúl had always been enarmoured by socialism, ever since he came back from visiting the Soviet Union years ago.

"He had this glow in his eyes, that Raúl. He was a dreamer, and I fear that his dreams may have entered Fidel's mind."

Juanita had been given an appointment in the newly formed "Intelligence Directorate", an agency that dealt with foreign intelligence. Even there, she said that the ideas of socialism were always a hot topic, and they were spreading like a virus. Many people in the agency advocated for closer ties with the Soviet Union. 

"Are we doomed then?" Dario said once, over dinner. His eyes were clouded in a dark pessimism, holding a hollow emptiness. "We have to accept this new reality, that we are headed in this downward spiral no matter what?"

"Not if I can do a damned thing about it," Camilo spat. "I have been thinking. And I say that we must stop this nonsense. I don't care what it takes. We will do it."

"And what do you propose, Camilo?" Juanita said. "I tell you, Raúl's faction of radical socialists grow larger every day."

Camilo grinned. As he chewed on a morsel of pork, he folded his arms, staring at the ceiling with a hopeful look. "I say we talk to Urrutia. You know the saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

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"Please," the man pleaded into the microphone with teary eyes, his voice pegged with desperation. The word echoed across the fully packed stadium. "I had no choice. I swear! I... I love the country!"

"You said you love the country," Raúl said into his microphone. "But yet you fought against the very people who sought to free Cuba from tyranny."

The man on trial stuttered. "But... but..." It seemed to Dario that he saw no way out. No way to prove his innocence. He had already been pronounced guilty the moment his name appeared on the list of suspects Raúl's task force rounded up.

The stadium erupted into a unified cheer. The bloodthirsty mob chanted, "Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!"

It had been a baseball stadium, converted into a stage for Raul's show trials. The surrounding rafters acted as funnels for the chants, raining down onto the proceedings. The "defendant" , an ex-military officer under Batista's regime, stood between two guards, with a microphone in front of him, his hands cuffed.

Raúl and a few judicators sat on an elevated stage, looking down on the terrified man.

He took a moment to discuss the matter with his fellow judicators. However, the result had never been in doubt. It was a mere formality, to keep up the pretense of due process in the trial. He turned back to the defendant with a smug sneer, and said, "Alejandro de Silva, the jury has decided. You are hereby pronounced guilty of treason to the state. Your sentence: death by firing squad. You will be transferred to the La Cabana prison facility, where you will be kept till your execution. Guards, take him out!"

The man's face turned as white as paper as the reality of death stared at him right in his face. As the crowd roared in approval, he grabbed the microphone, and yelled, "You can't do this! I have a family! I had no choice! I..."

The guards beside him, forcefully yanked him away before he could utter another word. He struggled as much as he could, but with his hands cuffed, it was a futile exercise.

"Next!" Raúl ordered. And a new "defendant" was brought out, another one among a long line of them. The crowd cheered in anticipation, and Raul seemed to bask in the adulation of meting out "justice".

Dario could only wince in disgust at what he saw. Complete disregard of law and the due process that made a trial fair. This was theater, meant to please a bloodthirsty audience still reeling in a revolutionary high, and also a show to keep up a facade of civility. But any astute person could see the barbarism on display.

He focused his sights on Raúl Castro, who had this fanatical wild look in his eyes, as if he were some predator staring at his prey. At that moment, Dario felt a haunting chill go down his spine. That man was possessed. Dario initially came to this place, wanting to reason with Raúl, but it seemed that he inhabited a far different world. 

Not wanting to witness anymore of the farcical trials, Dario got up and left his seat, his bodyguards following him to the exit. 

He got into his car, and his driver looked at him with a quizzical expression, expecting instructions. Dario bit his lips and leaned against the open window, forehead creased in deep thought. 

What did they fight for? Did they fight for this? The revolution shed all that blood in a brutal revolutionary war only to bathe the country in yet more blood? Is more killing the answer to peace? Raúl may claim so, that all this was for the sake of consolidating the gains of the revolution and preparing for the future. But, deep in his heart, Dario felt a nauseous revulsion. Bloodshed would only lead to more bloodshed, no matter the intent. 

It was clear that there was no getting to Raúl. But what else could he do to stop this madness? The stadium... the crowd chanting for the man's death... It was like an arena, the trial a sort of sick entertainment for the bloodthirsty masses. If this continued, Dario feared the consequences could extend far beyond the deaths of thousands. 

He sighed. The driver, who had been waiting patiently, prompted him. "Yes, General?"

Finally, Dario said, "Drive to the La Cabana Fortress Prison."

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Dear Readers,

Wow wow wow. And we jumped right into the deep end. Looks like the revolution is not going as smoothly as expected... to put it mildly. I would like your feedback here. Do you think there should have been more build up? Or it was okay to jump right into more conflict? 

As usual, do vote and comment! Thank you very much for sticking with me thus far. 

Yours sincerely,
SyllabusPearl