“Our people have looked forward to this anniversary with love, enthusiasm, joy, and fervor. For me and for those comrades who are still alive, it’s a very special experience to meet here with the people of Santiago de Cuba all these years later. To celebrate the action in which our generation opened the path toward the final liberation of our fatherland. None of the predecessors in our people's long struggle for independence, freedom, and justice have had such a privilege.” Emilio paused, taking a breath. Allowing his words to once again sink into the depths of our souls.
“It is proper that we pay respectful tribute to those who have shown us the way. To those who from 1868 to today have shown our people the paths of the revolution, who made it possible with the cost of their sacrifice and heroism. Often experiencing only the bitterness of failure and feeling unable to overcome the seemingly infinite, unattainable gap between their efforts and their goals. We needed to go through these primitive years of enriching, unimaginable experiences to acquire the knowledge and maturity in which only the school of the revolution can teach. Everything was like a dream then. Many of our contemporaries, still completely unconvinced that the fate of our nation could and must inevitably change, went as far as to call us dreamers, but I knew better. I led us to this day. I led us to this freedom!” he shouted, raising his right arm up in the air. Making the crowd go wild as Salazar’s words drowned out through the speakers, echoing off the concrete walls. Seeping into the pores of every man, woman, and child in attendance.
I watched and listened, feeling as though he was only talking to me. He entranced me in a way that only Emilio Salazar always had.
I wanted it more.
I wanted it all.
Armed military men raised their rifles up in the air, while I continued to wait. Soon it would be my time to prove that I could fill our leader’s shoes. He personally chose me for one reason and one reason alone; he knew I could make him fucking proud. As Salazar continued his speech and spoke about the historical events of that day, his words that stuck out to me the most were of how a true man did not look first on which side he can live better, but on which side his duties lie and that was what shaped the laws of tomorrow.
I was that man.
I was trained to be that solider. That warrior. The one who bled for my fatherland.
Died for my fucking leader.
My duty was to my country.
Serving Emilio Salazar in any way I could. Exactly like my father and the Montero men before him.
“Fatherland or death, we shall win!” Salazar shouted into the microphone for all to relish, but it felt like he was only truly speaking to me. His last words were my cue to spring into action.
My feet moved on their own accord, hauling ass toward the Moncada building, firing off my rifle. Shot after shot rang out with my convoy steady behind me, following my lead. We aimed our rifles toward the barracks, lacing the structure with our bullets, mimicking the shots of 1953 that were still embedded deep into the concrete walls. All I could hear were the sounds of open fire echoing off the building as the crowd continued to go wild. My brothers from the armed forces joined in on the reenactment, setting off their rifles. Only adding to the momentum encased all around me. My adrenaline hammered so fucking hard while my boots pounded into the pavement, one step right after the other. I couldn’t get up the stairs and inside the barracks fast enough.
My heart was beating rapidly, I found it almost hard to breathe. My mind raced and my chest heaved with each passing movement, escalating with every gunshot that fell from my rifle. I was a possessed man on a mission, and no one would fucking stop me. To most this was only a reenactment, but to me it was so much more.
It was the first time in my life I ever felt…
Fucking important.
Come hell or high water, no one could ever take that away from me. It was mine. Along with the future of what I’d become.
El Santo…
“You did good, son,” my father acknowledged, gripping my shoulder after the parade and festivities had begun. We were standing beside the stage, watching the fireworks go off.
I nodded, trying to hide the smile of satisfaction on my face. My father was a military man, through and through. I could only recall a handful of times I’d ever seen him smile or laugh. He held back his emotions like a shield, saying it was easier for enemies to identify your weaknesses if you wore them on your sleeve. You’d become a target the moment they caught a whiff of feelings, catching yourself a fucking bullet and earning you a place six feet under.
To this day, I didn’t know if I would be considered one of his weaknesses or just his son. Physical affection was also a lost concept in my home. When I was a boy, I once asked him why there were never any hugs or love in our home. His response was “Because I’m not raising a goddamn pussy. I’m raising a man.”
It was the first and last time I ever asked that question.
The only women in my life were the ones who worked for us. I had great respect for all of them, especially our housekeeper, Rosarío. She was the closest thing to a mother that I ever had. When I was younger, she used to be around all the time, but as the years passed, she wasn’t needed in our home as often.
It didn’t affect our relationship though, I checked in with her every chance I got. Her home always felt more like my own than the one I lived in with my father. It was my favorite part of the week, catching up with her over a cup of coffee and her homemade torticas de moron. Rosarío’s husband died at a really young age, and she never remarried. She didn’t have any children of her own, but she always told me even though God didn’t bless her with her own kids, he gave her me. The affection I lacked from my father, Rosarío made up for tenfold. She’d known me all my life.
As far as girls were concerned, I didn’t have time to waste on them. Nor did I give a fuck about the bullshit that came along with dating and pussy. Women were unnecessary complications. A soldier didn’t waste time on love or what it entailed.
Nonetheless, I was grateful for and appreciated the life I was given. The world I was born into. There was no other way of life for me. This was all I’d ever known. I had attended the best schools, received the finest education, and knew more about the world than most men my age. I was fluent in five languages, including English, the language of the Yankees.
I never wanted for anything.
My heart was hardened to hide any emotion, like it never existed in my body. I was already conditioned for battle. Taught how to shoot a gun by the time I was five, trained how to fight and kill with my bare hands before I even entered high school. But despite all that, I never witnessed any real acts of violence.
Although it was just my father and I, we had come across hundreds of men in my eighteen years of life. Partially being raised in Salazar’s homes, due to the fact my father barely ever left his side. It was the norm to see Emilio Salazar behind closed doors, the power and control he held were things that needed to be admired. When he walked into a room, everyone stopped what they were doing and waited. When he spoke, they listened. When he moved, they watched his every step.
When he…
When he…
When he…
It didn’t fucking matter.