Read Online Tropical Secrets by Margarita Engle - Free Book Online

 
    Â 
    Â 
JUNE 1939
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    Last year in Berlin,
on the Night of Crystal,
my grandfather was killed
while I held his hand.
    Â 
    The shattered glass
of a thousand windows
turned into the salty liquid
of tears.
    Â 
    How can hatred have
such a beautiful name?
Crystal should be clear,
but on that dark night
the glass of broken windows
did not glitter.
    Â 
    Nothing could be seen
through the haze
of pain.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    My parents are musicians—
poor people, not rich.
    Â 
    They had only enough money
for one ticket to flee Germany,
where Jewish families like ours
are disappearing
during nights
of crushed glass.
    Â 
    My parents chose to save me
instead of saving themselves,
so now, here I am, alone
on a German ship
stranded in Havana Harbor,
halfway around
the huge world.
    Â 
    Thousands of other Jewish refugees
stand all around me
on the deck of the ship,
waiting for refuge.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    First, the ship sailed
to New York,
and then Canada,
but we were turned away
at every harbor.
    Â 
    If Cuba does not
allow us to land,
will we be sent back
to Germany’s
shattered nights?
    Â 
    With blurry eyes
and an aching head,
I force myself to believe
that Cuba will help us
and that someday
I will find my parents
and we will be a family
once again.

    Â 
PALOMA
    Â 
    One more ship
waits in the harbor,
one ship among so many,
all filled with sad strangers
waiting for permission to land
here in Cuba.
    Â 
    Our island must seem
like such a peaceful resting place
on the way to safety.
    Â 
    I stand in a crowd
on the docks, wondering why
all these ships
have been turned away
from the United States
and Canada.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    One of the German sailors
sees me gazing
over the ship’s railing
at the sunny island
with its crowded docks
where strangers stand
gazing back at us.
    Â 
    The sailor calls me
an evil name—
then he spits in my face—
but I am too frightened
to wipe away
the thick, liquid hatred.
    Â 
    So I cling to the railing
in silence,
with spit on my forehead.
I am thirteen, a young man,
but today I feel
like a baby seagull
with a broken beak.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    This tropical heat
is a weight in the sky
crushing my breath,
but I will not remove
my winter coat or my fur hat
or the itchy wool scarf
my mother knitted
or the gloves my father gave me
to keep my hands warm
so that we could all
play music together
someday, in the Golden Land
called New York.
    Â 
    If I remove
my warm clothes,
someone might steal them,
along with my fading
stubborn dream
of somehow reaching the city
where my parents promised
to find me
beside a glowing door
at the base of a statue
called Liberty,
in a city
with seasons of snow
just like home.

    Â 
PALOMA
    Â 
    My father’s secrets
torment me.
    Â 
    Almost every evening
I hear him whispering plans
as he dines and drinks
with other officials,
the ones who decide
what will happen
to all the sad people
on their patient boats.
    Â 
    Last night
I heard my father say
that all these refugees
from faraway places
are making him rich.
    Â 
    I heard him bickering
with his friends
about the price they will charge
for permission to come ashore
and find refuge
in Cuba.

    Â 
DANIEL
    Â 
    The only riches I have ever known
are the sounds of pianos, flutes, and violins,
so when the German sailors on this ship
keep telling me that I am rich
and that I should pay them
to stop spitting in my face,
I feel like laughing and crying
at the same time.
    Â 
    I have only a few coins
sewn into a secret place
inside my heavy, itchy coat,
but my parents warned me
that I will need
that little bit of money
no matter where I end up,
so I must let the sailors spit.
    Â 
    I keep telling myself
that if I ever reach New York
or any other safe place
    Â 
    I will look back on this day
of heat and humiliation
and none of it will matter
as long as I am free
to play music
and to believe
that I still have a