May 1961
The White House, Washington, D.C, United States of America
"This way, Sir," the suited man said, gesturing Dario and Oliverio to follow him. They walked down the hallway. On the walls hung portraits of dead men, men who built the United States of America.
Oliverio's eyes held a curious wonder as he glanced at the portraits. The austere grandeur the hallways of the White House held amazed him. Never would he imagine that he would stand in this very building, the seat of power in the western world, called here by the President to receive a medal.
On the contrary, Dario maintained a cool demeanour. He was acutely aware of the reason behind Kennedy's decision to award them medals for bravery. He remembered the Bay of Pigs incident with vivid clarity. Kennedy had left them in the lurch, like disposable pawns that had served their purpose. These medals were intended to gloss over that fact, to boost his public image. Dario did not want any more part in this murky world of politics.
An intricately designed white door stood at the end of the hallway, open. The man who had been leading them thus far smiled and signaled for them to head in. Dario and Oliverio entered the Oval Room to a round of applause.
A host of reporters circled around the President's desk, lights blinking from their cameras as they snapped photographs. President John F. Kennedy stood by his desk, a wide smile draped across his face. He wore a clean pressed suit, and his golden hair was shaped into a pompadour, just like the photos in the papers.
His sharp blue eyes took in the sight of the two Cubans, and their corners curled up, forming faint hints of crow's feet.
He spread his arms, taking Dario first into an embrace. Dario reciprocated, if only because of the presence of reporters. He felt a cold chill run through his heart as he wrapped his arms around Kennedy's back. Kennedy then took Oliverio Chang into another hug, before breaking off. His aide stood behind him with a tray in hand. Splayed out across the shiny metal tray was two medals.
The President faced the cameras with a grin. He spoke, in his honeyed yet firm voice. "Today we gather here to celebrate the bravery of these two young men, who have escaped Cuba. Dario Ruiz, a survivor of the Bay of Pigs operation, and Oliverio Chang, a defector. As a token of recognition of the bravery of these two individuals, I hereby bestow upon them.."
Just from standing in the highest office of the United States, Dario felt queasy. Kennedy's words entered one ear of his, only to exit the other. His words rang hollow. What did it matter? Shiny medals. Sugary praise. All of these meaningless showmanship when hundreds lay dead on the shores of the Playa Girón, and a thousand more suffered in Fidel's prisons, because Kennedy withdrew his air support, and refused to send in his marines, leaving the exiles to the mercy of their enemies.
A white hot sensation filled his head, and he gasped for air, feeling claustrophobic in the face of the reporters. Yet, he maintained a cool facade. The next thing he knew was Kennedy finishing his speech, and hanging a medal around his neck. He nodded, smiled at the cameras, to a respectful applause. Kennedy then moved on to Oliverio, who received the same ovation.
After a few more words by the President, the press dissolved, the ceremony apparently over. Kennedy once more approached the two Cubans. He placed a hand on Dario's shoulder, saying, "It must have been hard for you, Mr. Dario Ruiz. I know my words cannot replace the good men who died in the operation. I assure you that although the invasion did not go as planned, we have plans in place to negotiate with Castro for the release of the other exiles."
He turned to Oliverio. "As for you, you have demonstrated great bravery and skill in rescuing your comrade. I would like to say that the United States welcome both of you as one of our own with open arms."
Just as the President was speaking, another man, bespectacled with wizened features and receding gray hair appeared beside him.
He extended his hand, with a thin smile. "Richard Bissell, CIA."
Dario shifted his cold gaze from Kennedy to Bissell. He shook the outstretched hand after Oliverio, all the while maintaining the tension in his jaw.
"I just would like to give my heartfelt gratitude to the both of you for all that you both have done," Bissell said. "Moving forward, I would love to offer you both fast-tracked employment with the CIA, as I believe that you offer us valuable skills and insight on Castro's regime. I will be honest. The Bay of Pigs operation did not work out the way we planned it out to. On behalf of the CIA, I accept responsibility for the failure. Thus, there is plenty we have to do to make things right. I promise-"
"I don't care about your promises," Dario lashed out suddenly.
Kennedy and Bissell stiffened up instantly while Oliverio's eyes widened.
"I'm tired of this world. The world of politicians. Of lies and deceit. Of violence and destruction. I have seen enough for a lifetime."
Bissell recovered from his shock to formulate a civil response. "Well, if you do not wish to accept the offer, I respect your decision, and shall not press further."
Dario's forehead heated up, stemming from the simmering ball of emotions within him. His eyebrows hung low, and his eyes hardened. "I fought at Bay of Pigs not for the United States, but for myself, my dead brother, and my love for my country. I remember the distinct moment, as wave after wave of Castro's soldiers piled up their assaults, I prayed for deliverance, for a way out. I requested for aid, but it was denied, on orders you had given, Mr. President Kennedy."
Kennedy puffed up his chest. With an involuntary shake of his head, he explained, "There were a variety of complex reasons that went into the making that hard decision, Dario. Trust me when I say that I made that decision with a heavy heart."
"To hell with your complex reasons," Dario snarled. "You can say that to the good men who died on those beaches, and to the many others rotting in Cuba's prisons. Politicians like you and Castro are all the same, spouting honeyed words and promises, doing anything and everything for the sake of power."
With that tirade, Dario swung away, storming out of the Oval Office. Oliverio followed his friend, leaving Kennedy and Bissell stranded in a sea of shock.
Dario stopped in his tracks once he was out of the office. Leaning against the wall, he slumped his shoulders, facing his beloved friend.
"Why did you that?" Oliverio asked.
Dario clapped his hand onto his pounding head, and inhaled sharply. He replied, in a ragged voice. "Why? I am weary of it all, Oliverio. Every time someone close to me dies, I feel like a part of my soul is being ripped away. And now I have nothing left to give. My parents, the Almeidas, Huber, Camilo and Rodrigo. All the comrades who gave their lives for the revolution. To what end? All the good men who died in the Bay of Pigs. For what? I am tired of it all, Oliverio. So very tired."
It pained Oliverio to see his friend in such agony. Dario looked tired, his sunken cheeks and lean frame awkward in his plain grey suit. Yet, strangely enough, he exuded a weary elegance, like a man aged far beyond his meager years.
They both shared a look of understanding, before locking in an embrace. It occurred to them both that they were merely young men caught up in the grand scheming of political machinery. Oliverio barely twenty-one, and Dario approaching twenty-eight. The past years and battles had taken a toll on them all.
"Juanita is waiting for me downstairs," Dario said. "I will see you later at the hotel, alright?"
"Of course."
Gazing into Oliverio's eyes once more, he said his next words with his sincerest voice. "Thank you, Oliverio, for all you have done."
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Dario paced across the green expanse of a lawn, reaching the security gate where he was patted down and checked. He felt a light spring in his steps as he finally exited the confines of the White House. Immediately, he spotted the love of his life awaiting him.
Juanita Castro, dressed in an austere brown coat, stood in front of him, holding the hand of a little girl. Dario crouched down, staring into her wide hazel eyes.
The girl sucked her thumb, swaying her body from side to side. Dimples appeared below her puffy cheeks as she smiled. Dario ruffled her hair, before carrying her, placing her on his shoulder in one swift motion.
"Maria," he called out. "How have you been?"
He felt a soothing sensation as the girl's warmth emanated onto his shoulder. Maria giggled, smiling ever so innocently at Dario.
She was the daughter of his dear friend who gave his life at the Bay of Pigs, Rodrigo Casillas. She resembled him in a vague manner, with the same luscious bronze skin and brown eyes. He remembered his comrade's last words, beseeching him to take care of his daughter.
Juanita reached her arms out, taking little Maria into an embrace. She swaddled the child in a bundle, tickling her cheeks as she responded with another fit of high-pitched laughter. Juanita chuckled. Dario smiled, musing at the joy Maria had brought into their lives.
They strolled down the street, enjoying the cool afternoon in Washington. He wrapped an arm around his lover's shoulder, and they walked on in silence. Juanita rocked the child in her arms, cooing and singing, while Dario took his time to inhale the fresh breeze.
It had been a long time since he was able to stop and enjoy life like this. The last few years had indeed taken a toll on his body and soul. He exhaled a heavy breath, and his mind turned its attention to his parents. He imagined them gazing down at him from wherever they were. His hand instinctively went to the cross necklace around his neck, the exact one he still wore from the day his parents died.
What a journey. Through countless hardships and triumphs, heartwarming companionship and desolate loneliness. He now stood at its end. Or was it?
He turned to face Juanita cuddling the little girl, and felt his body shiver in a purging of all the pain and agony within him. This was what he wanted, he realised, after everything in these last years. Not some high position in the army, or basking in the crowd's glory. He wanted love, and companionship to tide him through the hardest of times, and to celebrate the greatest of joys.
They reached a square, populated by statues of old American greats standing on pristine white columns. Benches lined the sides of the foot paths, littered with dead leaves. People strode back and forth in a whirring blur.
Pigeons flocked about the square, pecking up anything on the ground.
They sat down on a bench, watching the pigeons waddle about. Maria, seeing the birds, squealed in excitement. She sat up on Juanita's lap, and jumped off. Juanita chuckled, watching Maria's eyes glow in excitement as she sprinted about, chasing after the pigeons.
Dario leaned back onto the bench, taking in the hilarious sight. There was something innately fascinating in observing a little girl learn about the world around her. It was like reliving life again, watching the whole world with a renewed childlike curiosity.
Juanita leaned her head onto his shoulder, sighing contently, caressing his arm.
"It's nice, isn't it, having a child around."
"Yes," Dario replied.
"How was the event in the White House?"
"It was a stuffy affair. You were right not to come."
"I see he gave you a medal."
It was then Dario realised he was still wearing the medal Kennedy had hung around his neck. He took it off, and stuffed it into his suit's pocket.
"Doesn't matter. I don't want to have anything to do with it again."
Juanita sensed a tension within him, and did not press further. The couple remained in the same position in comfortable silence. A sense of peace washed over Dario, like churning waves crashing upon a sea of sand.
Maria shrieked as the pigeons escaped her grasp everywhere she ran, her whole face lighting up with wonder. It just seemed so... innocent. So pure. Dario felt his heart shudder with his every breath. It was as if at that very moment, he caught a faint glimpse of an unknown colour, far beyond the realms of his imagination, a colour that symbolised the essence of life.
Perhaps the journey was not over. Perhaps it had only just begun. A new life awaited him. Another world, distanced from the old.
But he knew who he would walk this journey with. He grabbed Juanita's arm, realising that there was one matter he needed to attend to. He was wholly unprepared, but it did not matter. This moment would be special, as he willed it.
He clasped her shoulders, taking in the sight of her beautiful face, which never failed to stir a primal desire within him. Her cheeks were flushed pink.
He placed a light fluttering kiss on her lips before breaking away swiftly.
"Juanita, you are the love of my life. I cannot imagine a future without you."
A tense second of silence separated that from his next words.
"Will you marry me?"
Juanita's face twisted for a second, before lighting up in joy. She beamed, her radiant smile sparking Dario's heart into a frenzy of elation.
"Dario," she gasped. Her fingers lingered over her lover's cheeks, feeling his smooth skin. As she gazed into his tearing eyes, she let the word out, "Yes."
She moved in for a deep kiss, her tongue mingling with his in even deeper longing. The world, once again, seemed to melt down around Dario.
He remembered the last time he felt this way when the white noise of the cicadas played in the background. This time it was the squealing of a little child, and the dulled flapping of the pigeons' wings.
Dario felt a oneness with his emotions, a semblance of the inner peace he had for so long sought for, like a man staring over a cliff leading into an unspeakable dark abyss without a worry in the world. No matter what, he had something to fight for, something to live for, and that was all that mattered.
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Dear Readers,
And here comes the end! The END of Freedom Fighters. YAY! Let us rejoice! It has been a long and fruitful journey.
I don't think I have much more to say. The emotions within me at this point compel me to speechlessness.
Yours sincerely,
SyllabusPearl