There was one day to go back to Cuba. I wasn't (going), but Americans mostly came back alive. In the huge sand-covered arena mothers were crying. Their children were tortured and killed and you could never tell when your number was up. I went back to USA and my friend from Cuba had to go. She borrowed my car to get there and was worried about how the girl's mother packed her lunch. Since chances were she wouldn't come back, we were worried about finding her--or finding the car floating in the river. Bad things were happening. ??? My friend made it back from the torture with her hair dyed blonde and she was looking extra perky. She looked so American. You would never guess her for one of them. I was working in advertising. That very day I was going in to Cliff Freeman's group. And one guy was extra flashy. He was telling me to lock doors and go back and check them. The Cuban girl got back just in time for the train ride. Doctor Allen was sick and he was in a hotel so he could get some rest . He wanted me to reserve a room for Mrs. Allen so she could rest, but that was OK cause Mrs. Allen didn't feel like looking after him. On the train we took the last 2 seats. We went right by an amusement park and I later we could see it in the distance--on the horizon over a mountain. Pieces of paper were on the floor at angles. They were soaking with paint, green paint. We were in a speed boat. Rudy was holding a fishing line in his hand, no pole or rod and reel, and we were slicing through the waves. He kept latching on to a tiny baby fish. This is what he wanted.