Wake of the Perdido Star Read Free

friend, Dolores, she told me how well the surrounding farms in Matanzas had been doing.”
    Pilar then said with a determination Jack had not heard before, “Our son has learned his Spanish well. We will be accepted in Cuba. I want to see the finca again.”
    It was always a mystery to Jack why his mother had been taken away from her homeland. She never talked about what happened between her parents, saying only that “God forgives all.” But she had adored her father, who never wanted her to go to England with her mother. Pilar’s eyes would shine at his memory, and she would often say, “Jackson, in your grandfather, kindness met strength.” Though Jack never met him, he had become proud of this man of strength and kindness whom his mother cherished, and who had ensured that the finca would become her inheritance, even though he himself had failed as a farmer, landowner, and husband. The land was officially hers upon his death five years earlier, but it was still in no condition to provide a living for his daughter and her family. Pilar allowed her father’s friend and neighbor, Count de Silva, to recultivate the barren fields for a share of the profits, but Jack knew his mother never gave up hope that one day they would manage the land themselves.
    Jack thought more about the land called Cuba. His mother had told him stories of her happy childhood there, sometimes in English, more often in her native tongue—of hot days filled with endless play in the fields, running from morning until dusk with friends from the other farms.
    Jack watched his father pace the floor in the small sitting room, half-listening to his mother, obviously buried deep in thought. “I
know nothing of farming, and I’m of an age where I’m too old to learn,” he finally said, although he spoke without conviction. The prospect of owning land, being for once part of the “privileged” rather than the “struggling” class, must have a powerful appeal for him, Jack thought. A proud man, Ethan had once been a young firebrand in Ireland and, with great hopes for the new American republic, had fought as a soldier in the Continental Army. But he was tired now; his disappointments and setbacks in the new land had confused him. He wanted it so badly to be what Paine and Jefferson promised, but he seemed to realize, when he was calm, that he wished for too much.
    Jack watched his father intently; his faraway look of resignation eventually seemed to be replaced with what might be hope. Land. Land could mean everything to a man who had none. Ethan was a fine gunsmith, but Jack questioned for the first time that perhaps his father’s spirit was too strong for his flesh. A radical change to a new land would be difficult for him, but maybe not as hard as continuing life in America.
    After a long hard look around the meager room at their few possessions, a look that seemed to last an eternity, Ethan said in a voice so faint even Jack could barely hear, “All right. We’ll gather our wares and travel to this so-called paradise so sweetly rich in sugar.”

    Jack felt as if he had been dipped in tar. He was lethargic, unable to help his parents in any meaningful way. The farewell words to his schoolmates had seemed false. He found himself staring at the ground, pawing at the dirt; part of him resented his father for deciding to go and part of him was strangely attracted to it.
    Yet here they were, three humble souls with their earthly belongings piled high on a creaking wagon, slipping thieflike into the night.
    â€œJackson, did you say good-bye to your friends?”

    Jack, sitting on the tailgate, was silent as he watched the disappearing lamps from the town while his father drove the team along a rutted track.
    â€œJackson? I know you hear me.”
    His mother sat resolute on the hard wagon seat.
    â€œYour son has suddenly developed ear problems,” Ethan