Prologue

HALCYON DAYS, HAPPY DAYS, DAYS ALWAYS TO BE remembered. Endless miles of cane golden in the sun, the waters, cool and clear, of the tree‑shaded Chorrillo River, the childhood friendships that would last a lifetime‑these were preserved in that corner of the heart where political affairs do not intrude.

I, Orlando Castro Hidalgo, a young campesino from La Pedrera, near Puerto Padre, Oriente Province, Cuba, would see many things and have many adventures once I left this tiny spot which appears on no map, but La Pedrera would remain ever a part of me. Twists of fate would one day enable me to travel to the wonders of the world, and I would gaze upon the Eiffel Tower, the Nile and the Pyramids, Mont Blanc in Switzerland, ancient Athens, and the majestic structures of the city of Washington. Always, however, there was La Pedrera in the background, well and fondly remembered. And when there came those days that a big decision had to be made, it was the basic, earthy human being that made that decision, not the political creature which a Communist state had sought to contrive.

The youths of La Pedrera played baseball, the girls as well as the boys, for this was and has remained Cuba's favorite sport, verging on a national addiction. It was great fun to play, and wonderful fun also to watch local teams compete at the town stadium. I made pitcher on a juvenile team, and when the team won, I was always the hero, for I was the only pitcher. There wasn't much available in the way of transportation, and when travel to a nearby town was necessary, the team simply got on horses and rode there, sometimes arriving too worn out to play up to their usual standards.

From juvenile I graduated to the "amateur" team. As a substitute player I had the responsibility, in addition to playing, of also tending a stand which dispensed soft drinks, beer, and Bacardi rum. Raffles were held among the spectators ‑ the prizes were bottles of Bacardi but somehow no one ever won and the rum was then enjoyed by the players.

There were dances at the Salon de Cesareo. The young men deposited nickels in the juke box and selected their partners. On one occasion I approached my friend Norma, took her hand, and asked her to dance. She pulled back her hand and reprimanded me, "You don't have to take my hand in order to dance with me." I desisted and replied that without holding her hand I could not dance with her. I could be independent: there were other willing girls about. It may be noted, however, that the small contretemps did not prevent me from marrying Norma years later.

One year I was selected as the best student at the rural school I was attending. This won me a trip to the capital city of Havana at the expense of the government. That was the first time I had ever been to Havana. Together with other prize students from around the country, I was taken on extensive sightseeing tours. The climax of the trip was a grand dinner hosted by President Fulgencio Batista and his wife, Marta. The day would come when I would be deeply involved in the struggle against Batista.

In the summertime of Cuba, the sun is bright, the skies are light blue and cloudless, and then a few clouds appear, and more, and by two in the afternoon the earth is being drenched in a torrential thunderstorm. The early fifties were the summer of the century; the first clouds had appeared, and they multiplied when Batista returned to power through a coup one cold night in March of 1952. He seized the government by force and he had to rule by force, and force engenders force.