CHAPTER ONE
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It was all noise and chaos in the harbor. To the sailors on the rusted shrimp boats, it looked like the start if another revolution. They lay anchor for three days running, unable to maneuver in the crowded waters. Two days' catch rotted on the docks, ravaged by the shrieking seagulls, because the fish carts couldn't get through the mass of officials and huddling families. Yet none of the fishermen dared complain, for this was a government operation. They prowled the decks and drank rum in the waterfront bars, waiting. Normal life would start up again. It always did. People had to have fish no matter who was in power. All across Mariel Harbor, the sleek American fleet nuzzled among the tugs and scows. These were all private craft, customizes yachts and blue hulled sailboats, gaudy with teak and chrome, manned by overfed weekend captains dressed in polyester whites. The customs officials veered among them in soviet-made gunboats, barking orders and assigning numbers, but it was no use. The Americans pushed and clamored. fistfuls of bribe money lobbed through the air. the rich men's boats plowed through and hugged the docks. They were used to being served first. The Cuban officials could not keep order. They had no army to back them up, because Castro didnt want a military profile. the exiles themselves were no problem. they stayed with their families and their meager luggage, glazed from the long wait into the hot spring sun.
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chapter 1 to be continued tomorrow.