The Price of Treason

CHAPTER 1 CAMAGUEY, CUBA 1959 Celia had always been an early bird. Every morning, she rose at five to savor her usual cup of coffee and listen to the early morning news. This New Year's Day was no different. She turned on the radio and listened to a voice shouting: "The Revolution has triumphed, the dictator fled at midnight and Cuba is now a free country. Long live the Revolution!” Celia’s heart jumped; she could not believe her ears. She knew that the end of the dictatorship was near, but not so soon. In the last months of 1958, the rebels fighting the ruling dictatorship in the mountains of Oriente had captured cities and towns in the eastern provinces of the country. Just yesterday, the news over the radio announced that the rebels had advanced to the central provinces and had captured the important city of Santa Clara. And now this unbelievable news! She finished her coffee and hurried to her room to give the news to her husband. "Julio, wake up, quick; the dictator is gone," she said, shaking him vigorously. Julio stirred on the bed. “What is it, Celia? What are you talking about? "He mumbled. “The dictator fled the country, and the rebels have taken over.” Celia's voice awakened her daughter Alma, who slept in the adjoining room. She leaped from the bed, already wide awake, and knocked at the door of her parents' room. "Are you sure, Mom? How do you know this?" she asked. “It's all over the radio, honey." Alma stood at the door in silence, watching her parents. They made a handsome couple. Her father, a tall, plain-looking man with big, coarse hands who spoke of hard work. Her mother... Well, her mother was different. Besides being a beautiful woman with luminous black eyes and ivory skin, to Alma she was the best of mothers, the embodiment of kindness and strength. "Then you must feel very happy, Celia," Julio said in a sarcastic tone, putting on his shoes. "More than happy, Julio, I’m elated." She turned to her daughter. "Alma, wake up your sister. Breakfast will be ready shortly.” “But, Mom, it’s not even six yet! she protested. “You’re right, child,” she said, slapping her forehead. “It’s just that I’m still shocked about this news. Breakfast will be ready by eight.” Alma went back to her room. She lay on the bed, but sleep eluded her. She tried to assimilate the magnitude of what was happening, but she couldn’t. A new government! She wondered what would be in store for her country. A little before eight, she dressed up and called her sister, who slept in the same room. “Allie, Allie, wake up," she said in a loud voice. Allie turned on the bed. "Go away, Alma! Why did you wake me up? Don't you know that today is New Year's Day and we have no school?” Allie replied, covering her head with a pillow. “Come on, sleepyhead. Wait till you hear the news. The Revolution has triumphed.” "Bah, who cares about the Revolution?" The sisters were as different as day and night. Three years Alma's junior, at fourteen, Allie was a beauty. She had inherited her mother's big, expressive eyes, but instead of black, Allie's eyes were crystal blue. Her blonde hair was long and rich, and her body was perfectly proportioned. Although Alma could not compete with Allie's physical beauty, she was an attractive girl with curly hair and a shapely figure. Her eyes were a mixture of blue and gray and had a dreamy quality that betrayed her romantic nature. The girls also had different personalities. While Alma was a bookish, introverted girl who had few friends, Allie had a friendly and carefree personality. Despite being so different, the sisters had one feature in common: a deep fraternal love for each other. Sitting at the breakfast table, Celia did nothing else but talk about the Revolution. This morning, she exuded happiness and confidence in the destiny of her country. She had always been an idealist, a naive, confident human being, unable to see or hear evil around her. To Celia, all men and women were unselfish and intrinsically good. In stark contrast with Celia's inborn nature, Julio was a practical man. He was not prone to sentimentality, and for him, idealism was plain silliness. "This is what I always dreamed of for my country," Celia said, "a government by the people and for the people." Julio heaved a sigh of annoyance. “Don’t be so enthusiastic about the revolution, Celia. The talk on the streets is that these rebels are communists, and if they are, the future only holds bad things for our country.” “Who said these rebels are communist?” Celia snapped back, her black eyes flashing. “This is a humanist revolution. This is what our country needed—a new order of things to put an end to corruption and social injustices.” “I warn you, Celia. Just let these people take full control of the country, and I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”