Into the Beautiful North(22)

A raven raced them.

Nayeli watched the cattle become more emaciated and spindly. They stood in the sun as if they’d already been slaughtered, as if they were being barbecued down to charcoal and just didn’t know it. They lost their color, went from the reds and creams she knew in Sinaloa to dull brown and dusty black. They hung their heads and nuzzled awful bony weeds and cacti. Their ribs showed—the farther north the bus drove, the more pronounced the cages. Soon the cows looked like old rugs thrown over woodpiles.

“That’s sad,” she finally said.

“What is?” said the driver over his shoulder.

“How they suffer.”

“Who?”

“The cows out here.”

“What cows?”

“Those cows.”

“Those there?”

“Yes, the cows. They hardly look like they have enough meat on them to eat. They must be too dry for milk.”

“What cows?” he said.

“Those cows,” she said.

“Where?”

Nayeli pointed.

“There! Everywhere!”

“Oh, those?” He laughed. “Those aren’t cows!” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Things must really be sad down south where you come from,” the driver said. “The animals must be midgets.”

“What?”

“Darling, those aren’t cows. Those are northern rabbits!”

He laughed and slapped the steering wheel and winked at her in the mirror and whistled the opening notes of “Cumbia Lunera.”



The aduana station outside of San Luis was squat and ugly in the setting sun. Chuy came back to them. He rubbed his eyes.

“Don’t say anything to these cabrones,” he told Nayeli. “Tell your girls to shut up. Be invisible. They usually hit people for bribes going south. But they’re watching for anything they can get. If you have marijuana, you’d better get rid of it.” He slapped the back of her seat twice and bounded down the steps, calling out to a uniformed Mexican customs official, “?Mi capitán!” He laughed too loud and slapped the captain on the back.

“Great,” Yolo said. “It’ll be a miracle if we survive traveling through our own country.”

Nayeli said, “Did you know it would be like this?”

Tacho completed her thought: “I’m not worried about the Yunaites anymore.”

They laughed nervously.

“When we get back,” Nayeli said, “we have to tell them what it’s like up here.”

Yolo was already secretly planning her memoir—perhaps García-García would finance a small first printing.

The aduana officers waved them all off the bus and pointed at the station.

“Single file,” the captain said.

Chuy and the relief driver were getting all the bags out from under the bus.

Young Federales in aviator shades and Members Only jackets lounged outside and laughed.

As Nayeli walked inside, one of them murmured, “Buenóta.” Its implication was Very good to have sex with. She kept her eyes cast down and stepped into the smelly room. It was painted in two faded tones—the bottoms of the walls were green, and the tops were dirty yellow. Desks sat in the corners, and scattered aluminum kitchen chairs lined one wall. A fan turned slowly over their heads.

Two long metal counters cut across the room, and bags stood open upon them.

“?Drogas?”

“No.”

Each traveler went through the same little charade.

“?Drogas?”

“No.”

“?Contrabando?”

“No, nunca.”

“Foreigner?”

“Mexican, se?or.”

A cop sat in a corner, eating a sandwich. He was laughing into a cell phone. “?Orale, pues, guey!” he said to his best friend, and snapped the phone shut. He watched Tacho. “Mira nomás,” he said. He pointed at Tacho, and several of his cohorts went to his desk and whispered. They laughed. They turned and stared at him.

Tacho could feel the tension in his jawbones. He started to grind his teeth. He didn’t mean to, but it just started to happen.

Nayeli dawdled, backing up to him.

He shoved her with his shoulder.

“Move on, m’ija,” he said. “I’m all right.”

But, of course, he wasn’t.

The cop stood, crumpled the wrapper of his sandwich, and tossed a long shot into a trash can. “Three points,” he noted. His cohorts laughed and patted him on the back.

“He’s the big star,” Nayeli whispered to Yolo. “You can tell. He’s the Jefe.”

“You,” the Jefe said.

He was staring right at Tacho.

“Me?” Tacho said.

“Me?” the Jefe repeated.

The other cops laughed.

“You’re a drug addict.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re on cocaine right now.”

“I am not!”

The cop walked over to him. Tacho could smell the Cholula hot sauce and ham on his breath. That and a liberal spritzing of Axe. Nayeli and the girls stood frozen, looking down but watching.

The cop walked around Tacho.