Chapter 9: Santa Rosa Plantation

The next morning at 7 a.m.

Lee Jun-hyuk was already awake and ready.

Wearing a white cotton shirt, khaki pants, and even a Panama hat.

Looking in the mirror, he actually looked quite like a local.

Breakfast was toast and fruit prepared by Maria.

Along with strong Cuban coffee.

“Señor, buena suerte.”

Maria wished him good luck.

“Gracias.”

At exactly 8 a.m., Carlos arrived.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, let’s go.”

They got into the carriage and headed to the train station.

***

Havana Central Station was bigger and more modern than expected.

The building, completed in 1912, showcased American-style architecture.

“The train to Matanzas runs every 30 minutes,”

Carlos explained while buying the tickets.

“The plantation is another 30 minutes by carriage from Matanzas.”

They boarded the train.

First class seats.

Comfortable seats, windows that opened.

Most passengers were white elites.

The train departed.

As they left Havana city behind, the scenery began to change.

Endless sugarcane fields stretched out.

Waves of green swayed in the wind.

“Magnificent view.”

“This is the true face of Cuba. The island of sugar.”

Carlos pointed outside the window.

“That’s a plantation owned by an American company—the United Fruit Company.”

It was a huge plantation.

Sugarcane fields stretched as far as the eye could see.

Buildings scattered here and there, smoke rising from chimneys.

“Overwhelming.”

“It’s over 50,000 acres. 500 times the size of Santa Rosa Plantation.”

Five hundred times.

The scale difference was staggering.

“But small plantations have their advantages.”

Carlos looked upward as he spoke.

“Management is easier, you can focus on quality. And they’re more agile.”

Two hours later, they arrived in Matanzas.

A smaller city than Havana, but bustling nonetheless.

As a port city, commerce thrived.

“You can procure whatever supplies you need here,”

Carlos explained.

“Farming tools, fertilizer, and labor as well.”

A carriage waited in front of the station.

“Jose is here to pick us up.”

A mixed-race man in his fifties stood by the carriage.

His face tanned by the sun, deep wrinkles marked his skin.

“This is the plantation manager, Jose Rodriguez.”

Jose took off his hat and greeted them.

“Buenos días, Señor.”

His voice was coarse.

“Nice to meet you, Jose.”

Lee Jun-hyuk replied in Spanish.

Surprise flashed in Jose’s eyes.

It was unexpected that an East Asian spoke Spanish.

They got into the carriage.

Leaving the city behind, the road became bumpy.

“How long to the plantation?”

“About 30 minutes.”

Jose answered shortly.

He seemed taciturn.

Sugarcane fields lined both sides of the road.

Occasionally, farmers could be seen working.

Most were black.

“That’s Fernandez Farm,”

Carlos pointed to the right.

It was the farm belonging to the man they met last night.

It looked much larger than Santa Rosa.

“How big is it?”

“About ten times larger.”

Santa Rosa was ten times smaller.

“And that over there…”

Carlos stopped speaking.

“That one?”

“That’s Sanchez Farm. Over 2,000 acres.”

It seemed to be the largest plantation in the area.

“Santa Rosa is the smallest farm in this neighborhood.”

Jose spoke suddenly.

His tone was somewhat self-deprecating.

“But the location is good.”

Carlos quickly added.

“Close to the port, and the soil isn’t bad.”

Finally, the entrance to Santa Rosa Plantation appeared.

A wooden sign read ‘Santa Rosa.’

The paint was peeling, making the letters hard to read.

The carriage entered the plantation.

The first impression was worse than expected.

The roads were poorly maintained, full of potholes.

Sugarcane on both sides grew wildly.

“What’s that?”

Lee Jun-hyuk pointed to the right.

Part of the sugarcane was fallen.

It looked like it had been knocked over by the wind and left unattended.

“That fell during last year’s hurricane,”

Jose said.

“We lacked labor to clean it up.”

Carlos gave Lee Jun-hyuk a concerned look.

Worry showed on his face.

After about ten more minutes, buildings came into view.

The plantation’s center.

A building that seemed to be the office, some warehouses, and workers’ quarters.

“Let’s get off.”

They stepped down from the carriage.

Up close, the condition was even worse.

The paint on the building’s exterior was peeling, parts of the roof had holes.

“Shall we look at the office first?”

Jose unlocked the door with a key.

Inside was dusty.

Papers were scattered messily on the desk, and the windows were broken, boarded up with wooden planks.

“This is…”

“Sorry, Señor. There’s no one to clean.”

Jose explained.

Lee Jun-hyuk silently examined the papers.

They were ledgers.

Last year’s harvest, wages, expenses.

Numbers were densely written, but the handwriting was blurry and hard to read.

“How much was last year’s harvest?”

“1,500 tons.”

“And the year before?”

“2,500 tons.”

A 40% decrease.

Just as Carlos had said.

“How many workers?”

“Currently eight.”

“Eight?”

Yesterday, it was ten.

“Two left yesterday because they hadn’t been paid.”

Jose’s voice grew softer.

“How long are the arrears?”

“Three months.”

Lee Jun-hyuk sighed.

He had anticipated it, but facing reality was overwhelming.

“Let’s go see the warehouse.”

They went outside.

There were three warehouses.

When the door of the first warehouse opened, a sweet scent filled the air.

“This is…”

“Sugarcane harvested last year. Still unsold.”

Sugar sacks were stacked inside.

Lee Jun-hyuk opened one sack.

Brown molasses.

The quality didn’t look bad.

“Wow, you couldn’t sell it?”

“No means of transport. And…”

Jose hesitated.

“And?”

“The other plantation owners nearby refuse to cooperate, even when we suggest joint transport…”

It was sabotage by people like Fernandez.

“How much is there?”

“About 200 tons.”

Two hundred tons.

At current market prices, it was worth at least twenty thousand dollars.

“We need to start selling this.”

“But transport…”

“I will handle that.”

Lee Jun-hyuk looked at Carlos.

Carlos nodded.

They moved on to the next warehouse.

It was empty.

A place for farming tools, but only a few shovels and broken wheelbarrows remained.

“Where are the farming tools?”

“They sold them. To cover wages…”

The third warehouse was even more shocking.

The roof had collapsed.

Rain must have poured right in.

“Since when?”

“Since last year’s hurricane.”

It had been abandoned for several months.

Lee Jun-hyuk walked around the plantation.

He went out to the sugarcane fields.

Up close, the condition was clearer.

Some parts were growing well, but others were diseased.

There were many weeds, too.

“How much is harvestable?”

“About thirty acres?”

Out of 100 acres, only 30 acres.

Only 30% could be harvested right away.

“I want to meet the workers.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said.

Jose nodded quietly.

“This way.”

The workers’ quarters were at the far end of the plantation.

Two wooden buildings stood side by side by the road.

As they approached, the laughter of children could be heard.

“Do the families live here, too?”

“Yes, most of them.”

Children played in the open space in front of the quarters.

They were barefoot black children dressed in loose clothing.

A few adults came out.

All black.

Five men and three women.

Ages ranged from twenties to fifties.

They looked wary.

“This is the new manager,”

Jose introduced in Spanish.

No one responded.

They just stared at Lee Jun-hyuk.

Lee Jun-hyuk stepped forward.

“Buenos días.”

He greeted them in Spanish.

Several looked surprised.

“My name is Lee Jun-hyuk. I will be managing this plantation from now on.”

Silence remained.

One man stepped forward.

He looked robust, around his forties.

“We haven’t been paid for three months.”

There was anger in his voice.

“I am aware.”

“So?”

“I will pay you soon.”

The man scoffed.

“The previous owner said that, every time.”

Other workers murmured.

“I’ll pay you within a week.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said firmly.

“With what money?”

“I will sell the sugar in the warehouse.”

“Do you think that’s possible? No one wants to buy our plantation’s sugar.”

Lee Jun-hyuk pulled a wallet from his pocket.

There was 500 pesos in cash.

The money Carlos had given him yesterday.

“This is an advance.”

He showed the money.

The workers’ expressions changed.

“There are eight of you, so 50 pesos each. The rest within a week.”

He handed the money to Jose.

“Please distribute it.”

Jose looked surprised.

“Really?”

“Yes. And…”

Lee Jun-hyuk looked around at the workers.

“I will pay wages every Friday from now on. That’s a promise.”

For the first time, murmurs rose among the workers.

Hopeful voices.

Jose began handing out the money.

The workers’ faces brightened after receiving their 50 pesos.

One woman stepped forward.

“Gracias, Señor.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“But will you really pay the rest within a week?”

“I promise.”

Lee Jun-hyuk said with conviction.

The workers watched him with curious eyes.

They must be seeing an East Asian for the first time.

“Let’s start work tomorrow.”

The robust man asked.

“Is one month enough?”

“First, we have to harvest the harvestable sugarcane. Then repair the warehouse…”

“We don’t have enough workers. Eight is nowhere near enough.”

“I will hire more.”

“Do you have the money?”

“It will come soon.”

The man looked at him suspiciously.

But holding the just-received 50 pesos, he couldn’t openly oppose.

They returned to the office.

Carlos quietly asked.

“Do you really think it’s possible within a week?”

“We have to.”

“What about transport?”

“Sign a contract with a shipping company under Morgan & Associates Trading Co.”

“But the cash…”

“We can get an advance using some sugar as collateral.”

Carlos smiled knowingly.

“Is that really possible?”

“We have to try.”

Lee Jun-hyuk looked outside.

Workers were returning to the quarters.

Their steps looked lighter than before.

***

By afternoon, the heat had reached its peak.

The office was like a steam bath.

The ceiling fan was broken, and even opening the windows brought no breeze.

Lee Jun-hyuk took off his jacket and rummaged through the ledgers.

“Are these numbers correct?”

He asked Jose.

“In 1917, labor wages were 500 pesos a month; last year it was 800 pesos.”

“We raised wages?”

“Other plantations pay more. If we don’t raise wages, workers leave.”

Still, most left.

Because wages were unpaid.

“What’s a fair wage at today’s prices?”

“About 2 pesos per day. Skilled workers get 3 pesos.”

That meant 60 to 90 pesos a month.

For eight workers, at least 500 pesos were needed.

“Is there electricity?”

“No. We use kerosene lamps.”

“Telephone?”

“None.”

It was completely isolated.

“How do you get to the village?”

“Thirty minutes by horse.”

Lee Jun-hyuk sighed.

The work ahead was monumental.

“Jose.”

“Yes?”

“Be honest with me. Do you think this plantation can be revived?”

Jose was silent for a moment.

Then looked outside and spoke slowly.

“The previous owner, Mr. Wilson, was a good man. But he was a poor manager.”

“So?”

“Plantations are like people. They need care and attention. Money alone isn’t enough.”

Jose looked at Lee Jun-hyuk.

“To be honest, Señor, you’re too young. And you’re East Asian. People might not accept you.”

It was an honest assessment.

“But…”

Jose added.

“If you keep the promises you’ve made today, maybe it’s possible.”

“Will you help me?”

“That’s my job.”

They shook hands.

Jose’s hands were rough and firm.

Hands that had worked on the plantation for over twenty years.

“What’s the schedule for tomorrow?”

“Starting at 6 a.m. We’ll first check the harvestable fields…”

At that moment, hoofbeats sounded outside.

Several horses.

Looking out the window, mounted men were entering the plantation.

Five of them.

All white, dressed sharply.

“Who are they?”

“Neighboring plantation owners.”

Jose’s expression hardened.

Fernandez, who they met yesterday, was at the front.

He dismounted in front of the office.

“They’re coming in.”

Carlos said nervously.

“It’s fine.”

Lee Jun-hyuk put his shirt back on.

Soon, a knock came at the door.

“Come in.”

Fernandez led the five men inside.

The cramped office filled instantly.

“Hello, Mr. Lee.”

Fernandez smiled skillfully.

“Have you surveyed the plantation well?”

“Thanks to you.”

“Oh, I should introduce you. These are local plantation owners.”

Introductions followed.

Sanchez, Gomez, Lopez, and Martinez.

All Spanish names.

“What brings you here?”

Lee Jun-hyuk asked directly.

“We came to welcome you.”

Sanchez replied.

He looked like a man in his sixties.

He was the eldest and probably the most influential.

“And to give you some advice.”

“Advice?”

“This plantation is finished. Anyone can see that.”

Sanchez looked around the office.

“To revive it, you’ll need a fortune. Even if you do…”

He looked at Lee Jun-hyuk.

“There’s no competitiveness. The scale is too small.”

“So?”

“Sell it.”

“What did you say?”

“I’ll buy it. At a fair price.”

Sanchez smiled.

“What’s a fair price?”

“One thousand dollars.”

An absurdly low price.

Morgan had offered $1,500, which was already a steal.

Considering potential value, even $10,000 would be a bargain.

“That’s just business talk.”

“It’s not. Given the state it’s in, that’s generous.”

The other plantation owners nodded.

It was a rigged game.

“I refuse.”

“Think it over.”

Fernandez interrupted.

“You can’t do anything here without our cooperation. No labor, no transport…”

“Morgan & Associates Trading Co. won’t stand by?”

Lee Jun-hyuk retorted.

“A big company from New York won’t be obstructed from conducting legitimate business.”

The atmosphere grew tense.