2021 Dr. Felix L. Fernandez. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/15/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4005-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4026-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021920360

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 In the Smokies, January 2020

Chapter 2 Daddy Day Care, 2018–2019

Chapter 3 Cuba, 1959

Chapter 4 Poopies, Summer 1986

Chapter 5 Revolución, 1960

Chapter 6 Candidates, Fall 1986

Chapter 7 The Lottery, 1968

Chapter 8 The Boat, Summer 1987

Chapter 9 Hialeah, 1975

Chapter 10 In the Smokies II

Chapter 11 At the Pool, Summer 1985

Chapter 12 Graduation’s Beginning, 1986

Chapter 13 Anytime, Anywhere, 1993

Chapter 14 Awakening, December 2019

Chapter 15 In the Smokies III

To Ciso and Milva,

We are truly grateful you found your elusive freedom.

CHAPTER 1

In the Smokies, January 2020

Yes! Finally, success. Trying to light a fire with flint is for freaks! Nothing wrong with a match and a little lighter fluid, right? thought Quintin. As the flames grew slowly, the darkness receded, and the warmth of the fire was kind and comforting. I can’t believe those die-hard survival enthusiasts can light a bunch of twigs with a couple of rocks. Phooey! Then again, our ancestors did it routinely for thousands of years. Wow, something we take for granted, yet to them, it was vital. On the other hand, I did see my fifteen-year-old nephew do it. Ugh! In an apocalypse, I’m going to either freeze or starve to death.

As the fire slowly grew, Quintin took a deep breath and gently blew to nurture its presence. What is it about looking into those perpetually moving fingers of flame that stokes so many emotions, depending on one’s encounter with them? he asked aloud.

Surprisingly cool and pleasant for January, the night settled all around with an accompanying silence. As he looked around, he noted there was no wind that night to fill the pines and move their needles in sweet music. He did not even hear the sound of a cricket or the chirp of a straggling bird to accompany the background as if in a concert. Everything was still and quiet. That was all Quintin needed to put aside the past weeks’ work demands.

This is great! Love it. Yes indeed!

Camping in the Appalachian hills of East Tennessee was a delight. Quintin, a keen admirer of history and biology, looked around at the surrounding woods and studied the trees’ trunks, branches, and leaves. Even during winter and the dormancy of the season, Quintin couldn’t help but feel their presence as all the different varieties of plants seemed to grow out of an entanglement of chaos. Yet he understood there was order, and life abounded for great and small alike. He inhaled deeply and took in the surrounding scent. Such a contrast to urban living, he thought as his memory banks chimed in.

As he sat warming by the fire, Quintin’s thoughts wandered to the original inhabitants of that area, which De Soto had described in the sixteenth century. The Spanish explorer and his party had come ashore somewhere near Tampa, Florida, and slowly made their way to those ancient hills. They were credited as the first Europeans to discover the river now named the Mississippi. However, their lust for gold and riches had been matched by their cruelty.

The native inhabitants of the region must’ve been curious yet cautious at the appearance of the strange visitors. Wow, what an encounter that must have been. Two worlds colliding, and eventually, one would give way. We know some of the history of when East met West through biographers and historians. However, the writers were mostly one-sided since they were the ones who told the story. Who were these indigent peoples? How did they get here? Quintin wondered. We know relatively little of those native inhabitants. How would they view the world today? Would they even recognize their homeland? I think I was born in the wrong century. I would have loved to be present when these cultures met.

What an adventure it must’ve been! he thought. Those brave Europeans risked all they had and knew. Their own countries were becoming overcrowded and expensive, and persecution was growing. Many former soldiers serving the crown in distant lands as well as others turned their hopes and dreams to the West Indies in search of fortune and opportunity. They risked life and limb when they crossed the ocean on wooden vessels. Crazy nut jobs or courageous? Were they so desperate, or was it mostly greed?

The Europeans’ way of life had changed forever after the discovery of the Americas, but it had come at a terrible price. Once they’d discovered riches, especially gold, in the new land, an insatiable greed had been born. Native peoples would never recover from the onslaught that had befallen them over the next few centuries.

Quintin was always daydreaming of faraway places and would imagine himself in those eras long ago. He thought of those times and the impact people’s ancestors had had on the world around him, as evident in the present day. Momentous changes in history were often brutal, with no quarter given.

Us versus them, strong versus weak, rich versus poor. It was a cruel world then. Good grief, not much has really changed, he thought. Mankind is rotten to the core, with occasional flashes of wonder and beauty. Although the surroundings were different then, are we any different? In any case, to judge our ancestors is folly. Perhaps in four hundred years, our descendants may judge us just as critically. As we look back through history, have we learned anything today? Surely the technical tools of science, medicine, communication, and transportation have improved greatly. What about the heart, our humanity, and how we view ourselves and each other? Does the heart of man truly change, or are we predictable and repetitive in our foolishness? Are the technical advances and tools we’ve discovered along the way helping or hurting us when we try to answer these questions?

Quintin studied the surrounding foliage. It was thick with trees but not like the virgin forest that must’ve originally been there. The unspoiled, wild, and majestic oaks, hemlocks, spruces, firs, and maples that once had been there probably could have fit a small car in their trunks. They must’ve been so beautiful. Some of the large rock formations and nearby boulders were probably brought here by the last ice age, he thought, as they peeked out of the green and now mostly winter-brown surroundings.

His gaze fixed on a nearby stone the size of his cherished Jeep Wrangler. The ages have come and gone through storms and countless nights, yet this sentinel has stood and weathered it all. If rocks could speak, what a tale they would tell, he said aloud as he smiled casually at the large boulder near him. Good grief, I’m talking to rocks. What is wrong with me? He looked around, hoping other campers nearby had not noticed his odd conversation with a rock. Oh well. It’s all good, he said.

Quintin loved reading any available history before visiting such places. The original inhabitants had left virtually no written record of their way of life. Their hard lives must have been a delicate balance between everyday life and the dangers they encountered, such as weather, starvation, and unfriendly neighbors. Yet, he wondered, who had a better life? Perhaps they didn’t live as so many of us do today, with a frenzy of stress, severe anxiety, depression, arrogance, greed, and self-centeredness. Yet they too were not strangers to danger, such as starvation, natural disasters, accidents, illness, and threats from others on the other side of the world. Quintin’s mind raced with thoughts about how they had worshipped, traded, socially interacted, fought, loved, and died. Also, what about their migrations? Movement, yes. Did they move regularly like other cultures?

No doubt they had their challenges. Yet here we are in this time and this place. Who will be here next week, next year, and next century? Will mankind even be here at all? One thing is for sure: time is ruthless, unforgiving, and impartial. We are all trapped and at the mercy of time’s constant march, and there are no redos, he said aloud.

Moments later, he added another log onto the fire as he settled into the chair. His wife joined him after she had finished accommodating their mobile apartment, a silly yet applicable term for their recreational vehicle.

Are you in deep thought again? she asked. Do you have room for me wherever you’re off to?

Hi, sweetie. You always ask me that. It’s not the same without you. Sit down, and join me.

As she settled into the chair next to him, a sense of calm dominated the moment. It’s nice to go camping again and get away, she said. We don’t do this enough.

Quintin stared at the fire as if in an ancient trance.

Evenin’, said a voice in the early evening air.

Hello there, Quintin responded as he stood and turned to get a closer look at their visitor.

Got me wife cookin’ dinner, when she got madder than a wet hen, their camping neighbor said. The neighbor went on to explain he was staying just down the trail, in the next camping space. Was walkin’ me dog, when I thought I heard someone talkin’ over here. Didn’t see no other feller but you.

Yes, well, um … Quintin looked toward the ground and scratched the back of his head, hoping the neighbor would change the subject. His neighbor was wearing an old ball cap, a plaid shirt, and dark blue jeans and had an unkept gray beard. He was hospitable and friendly, yet Quintin thought his new friend needed an urgent bath.

Really? Quintin said finally. Not a good place to be with the wife. Say, would you like some coffee? he asked carefully, still trying to picture a mad, wet hen.

Don’t care for none. Say, young feller, that fire’s no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond. Gotta put some more logs on.

Yes, sir. My name is Quintin, he said, and he turned to introduce his wife only to find that she was gone. Probably went back into the camper, he thought.

As he started to converse with his neighbor, Quintin was interrupted by a loud, unintelligible voice coming from his neighbor’s camp. Don’t mind her, his neighbor said. That’s the wife. Supper must be on. Name’s Buckner. Say, you’re not from round here, are ya?

Well, no, not originally. Quintin had to concentrate in order to understand his neighbor’s speech. Buckner spoke in the usual southern Appalachian dialect but seemed to speak with his mouth almost closed, and his words sounded like mumbles. Do you guys live here in East Tennessee? Quintin asked.

Live over yonder. Buckner pointed toward the northeast, and Quintin was clueless as to where that could have been. Grenvo. Been der all me life.

Grenvo? asked Quintin.

Yep, Grenvo.

Then it dawned on Quintin: He must mean Greeneville. That was the only town he could think of that sounded remotely like what his camping neighbor described. We live there too, said Quintin. We’ve been there a couple of years. Still trying to fit in.

Heavens to Betsy. Ya don’ say,’’ responded Buckner, smiling widely, displaying most of his missing front teeth. Well, reckon gotta head on back. Wife gots beans and pulled pork on da fire by now. Mmm good! He turned and walked down the trail. Appreciate ya," he added without turning around.

Quintin watched him leave, noting a mild swagger and left lean to his walk. Interesting character. Well, he’s the current native representative of these hills, he thought.

Moments later, Quintin returned his gaze to the small but comforting flames of the fire. His thoughts turned from local history to his early personal memories. He pondered how much his father would have loved it there. He recalled many stories his father had shared about his own youth spent growing up on a farm in western Cuba. He often had spoken of the country way of life, the simplicity, and his love of nature and its surroundings. Quintin’s thoughts turned to his father and his beloved mother, Milva.

CHAPTER 2

Daddy Day Care, 2018–2019

How’s the old man?

Doing great, responded Quintin’s sister, Margret. Doesn’t he look good for eighty-four?

Frankly, no, he reminds me of where we are all heading and no one wants to go, Quintin responded.

He’d asked the question while