Veronica Jorge was our Writers Mentorship Program's 2024 Adult Fiction Mentee.
The Latinx in Publishing Writers Mentorship Showcase Series features excerpts by our Class of 2024 mentees from the projects they’ve developed with the guidance of their mentors.
The LxP Writers Mentorship Program is an annual volunteer-based initiative that offers the opportunity for unpublished and/or unagented writers who identify as Latinx (mentees) to strengthen their craft, gain first-hand industry knowledge, and expand their professional connections through work with experienced published authors (mentors).
Below is an excerpt from one of our 2024 mentees, Veronica Jorge, from her project, Crushed Like Sugarcane, based on her Chinese ancestor, Zhou Zhijian, who left China to work in the sugarcane fields of Cuba where he was enslaved. In this portion, newly arrived and unwilling to accept the situation, he decides to escape:
Zhijian sat in the slave barracoon.
His bunk mate, Gong Mang, nudged him, “What’s eating away at you?
“My family’s waiting to hear from me.”
Gong Mang broke the news to him. “We are not allowed to write home.”
Incredulous, Zhijian asked why.
Gong Mang enlightened him. “To prevent us from writing about our imprisonment.
If the reality of our condition reaches China, the lies of the foreigners will be exposed.”
Zhijian bolted up, eyes open wide. “What about the pay promised in our contracts? When do we receive it? How can I send my family the money if I cannot write to them?”
Gong Mang rested a hand on Zhijian’s shoulder. “Easy brother.” He waited a moment, then whispered, “You won’t see any money.”
Zhijian stared back blankly while Gong Mang explained.
“The mighty man pays, but that crook of an overseer keeps most of it. Although sometimes Diego does give us a little to buy clothing or smokes, we have to buy from his cronies. They make us pay through the nose.”
A-Hing joined the conversation. “It’s impossible to save enough money to get back home. As if they would allow us to leave.”
“True,” added Mang Gi, once your contract is up they force you to renew it.”
Zhijian swallowed hard, afraid to even ask the next question. “How long have you been here?” He searched each man’s face. No one answered. Zhijian’s blood froze. He choked out his next words. “Haven’t any of you tried to escape?”
The men hung their heads.
“Sure,” answered Gong Mang. “Usually the Africans. We seem to prefer suicide.” He pointed to three men sitting in a corner. “Or indulging in yen shee su and smoking ourselves into opie heaven. When you die, they just toss your bones into a pit and burn them together with those of horses and oxen. They need the charred mixture to make their sugar.”
Aghast, Zhijian shuddered. “We have to get out of here! We have to warn our brothers back home. Tell the emperor what is happening.”
The other men in the compound who had been listening laughed.
“Sure. We’ll just stroll right out of here whenever you say.”
Zhijian shouted at them. “Don’t any of you want to get out?”
“We’re polite, so please, after you.” They cackled.
“Ignore them,” urged Gong Mang. “Besides, where would we go? Even if we somehow did make it back to China, do you really think that after all the time we’ve been gone our wives will still be waiting for us?
The reply left Zhijian dumbfounded.
Gong Mang and Mang Gi moved away and joined the smokers and gamblers.
Only A-Hing remained. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “I know the lay of the land.”
Huddled together, they whispered their escape plan.
“Tomorrow, after dinner,” said Zhijian. “We’ll need our strength.”
“Remember, count thirty seconds,” said A-Hing, “then follow close behind me. We’ll go toward the railway shunting yard, cross the tracks, then head for the Yumuri River. There are many caves there where we can easily hide.”
Sleep fled from Zhijian. All night he wondered if escape was futile and questioned why no one had ever tried. Was there something they were not telling him?
When the meal trough came, the food stuck in Zhijian’s throat. Doubt strangled his hope of success, and pulverized last night’s eagerness. “I don’t think I can go through with this,” he whispered to A-Hing.
“Like you said, Zhijian, we have to try. It’s our one chance to get home.”
Zhijian reached the building that housed the grinding machine. He heard voices approaching and ran back. Turning the corner of the building, he flattened his body against the wall.
His breath came in gasps.
His mouth dried up.
His ears pounded.
The voices faded.
Then silence.
Inch by inch, he edged his body along the wall, turned the corner, and found himself face to face with the overseer. Zhijian froze.
Diego’s arm rolled back forming a V-shape from hand to shoulder like a sling shot. His fist flew out like a rock and smashed into Zhijian’s face.
Falling backward, it seemed like a long time before he hit the ground. He was oblivious to the beating that followed.
Zhijian awoke; Diego looming over him.
Diego pointed to Zhijian on the floor of the slave compound where all could see the bloody mess. “This is what happens to those who try to escape.” His eyes bored into each man. Then, he kicked Zhijian and stomped out.
Gong Mang rushed forward to help his friend. Zhijian tried to speak; his slurred words unintelligible through his swollen mouth. Gong Mang leaned in close and made out the raspy question, “Did he get away?”
Gong Mang thought he must be delirious then he realized the question referred to A-Hing. “Yes,” answered Gong Mang.
Zhijian exhaled. “Then it is possible.” Next time I will make it, he said to himself. Next time I’ll get home to my wife and child.
Veronica Jorge is now represented by Charlotte Sheedy of Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency, having met during one of our Writers Mentorship Program events exclusive to the mentees. Congratulations, Veronica!
Veronica Jorge
Manager, Educator, and former High School Social Studies teacher, Veronica Jorge credits her love of history and books to the potpourri of cultures that make up her life, and to her upbringing in diverse Brooklyn, New York. Her genres of choice are historical fiction where she always makes new discoveries; literary works because she loves beautiful writing; and children’s picture books because there are so many wonderful worlds yet to be imagined and visited. Veronica currently resides in Macungie, PA., but she’s still a Brooklyn girl at heart. How sweet it is!
Connect with her on Facebook @VeronicaJorgeauthor.
