“I can make it,” confirmed Kelly. “What then?”
“Then we will travel in deluxe transport to a village to the north of Guantanamo which will be our final drop off point. From there we will have the delight of a six-mile march through the forest to the river to pick up our cruise liner.”
“Why do I get the feeling it won’t be exactly as you describe it?” said Kelly with mock cynicism. Sybilla laughed.
“Right!” said Kelly decisively. “If you provide me with some clothes and then vamoose, I will meet you outside, up and ready to go.”
Sybilla picked up a set of green fatigues from a chair and dropped them on the bed, then turned to leave the room. “I love a man with modesty,” she said. “Oh! And the boots are under the bed, but watch for cockroaches!”
The deluxe transport turned out to be a flat cart pulled by two weary-looking, underfed horses. A wide, but shallow, false bottom had been engineered on the cart which was then covered by sugar canes. The cart was already loaded when they reached it, apart from a small ‘entrance’ through the canes.
“After you,” said Kelly, theatrically waving his hand.
Sybilla looked at him askance, “No chance! You first to check for tarantulas!”
“What makes you think I’m any less afraid of tarantulas then you are?” he asked.
“Irrelevant!” she answered. “It’s a chivalry thing. You first!”
Kelly climbed in and once Sybilla joined him, the remainder of the canes were stacked onboard by Prieto. He informed them that he was also their driver. Kelly assumed this was probably his role in ‘real life’ when he wasn’t working with the movement.
The journey was long and incredibly uncomfortable. Of necessity they spoke little in case of being overheard. Air holes had been drilled in the floor at various places, but it was still unbearably hot. Under other circumstances, mused Kelly, being in close confinement with this attractive woman and taking a gentle horse ride across the south of Cuba would be considered romantic, but the reality was that it was damned unpleasant.
They were stopped once. They heard the sounds of questions being asked, papers being rustled and a few of the canes being rattled in what must have been a cursory inspection, then they were on the move again. They stopped twice more and were freed from their cell for a brief period, during which they took refreshments and stretched themselves. At the first of their breaks, without a word and without warning, Sybilla walked over to Kelly and lifted his green tee shirt, then pulled it over his head. She examined his wounds and applied more of her witch’s brew.
“You’ll live,” she said.
“If I have to go back in that hole, I’m not sure I want to!” he observed laconically.
“But you’ve got me for company.” She coquettishly linked her arm through his.
“Good point!” he said, with just a trace of condescension. He was rewarded for this with a dig in his already painful ribs.
It was late afternoon when they reached the village. Prieto explained that this was regarded as a safe area by the movement so there was no need for subterfuge, within reason. They were able to stroll in the area, and take in the grandeur of the region. They were entertained in a small tavern by guitars and dancers as they drank Cuban light rum cocktails and ate a highly seasoned and delicious chicken and rice dish which Sybilla identified as arroz con pollo. Later they strolled by the river. Sybilla slipped her arm into Kelly’s as if was the most natural thing in the world. By and by they came to a small inlet, complete with its own sandy beach.
“Let’s rest awhile,” she suggested. Kelly readily agreed and they sat on the sand watching the dying sun play on the rippling water while listening to the sounds of the forest.
“Is now the time and place?” asked Kelly.
“Yes,” said Sybilla quietly. Her voice sounded resigned, her smile wan and her face drained.
She looked tired, very tired.
Escape from Grense
“The problems started a few months after you left,” said Sybilla. “I told Jürgen that I wouldn’t sleep with him anymore. He was hurt, but he accepted it. He assumed that it was a problem between Gunnar and me, and I allowed him to think that. He told me that he loved me and told me it wasn’t just the sex, but I was firm.
“I had fallen in love with you. I had no idea how or if we would ever meet again, but I had your word that you would find me, and I trusted you. I had no idea it would be in Besques and under those circumstances.
“For a while I was floating. All I ever thought about was you. I was so naive in those days. I think I was still basically a child. One day I was called to see Inga. This time she really was sick. I stayed a few days then on the third night, there was a heavy knock on the door.
“Before I could answer, Jürgen burst in, he was frantic. Eric had given up the underground group. Hans, Thomas, and Gunnar had been killed. Inga, her husband and I were implicated, and he also would be arrested. No one would believe that he had been sleeping with me without knowing I was part of the underground. He implored me to get away with him. My first reaction was to return to Grense, but I was hopelessly torn between leaving Inga to her fate and going back to check for myself what was happening.
“The decision was effectively taken out of my hands by the arrival of Otto Amundsen an hour
