Into the Beautiful North(50)

“I was asking for a Coca-Cola,” he lied.

Wino sneered.

The man in the running suit said, “If Wino wasn’t my nephew, you’d be lying out in the street right now. We move product in the hole, not bodies!”

He threw back a trapdoor. He reached into the shadows and flicked on a light switch.

“Welcome,” he said.

Wino winked and started down the ladder.



The girls recognized it at once. They had seen this in the Cine Pedro Infante, during one of Garcí a-García’s endless Steve McQueen film festivals. It was the dirt tunnel from The Great Escape; it was strung with electric lights on drooping power lines, and the floor was flat and well trampled.

Atómiko whistled.

“Sweet!” he said. “I could make a million dollars with a tunnel like this!”

The man in the running suit came down behind them and said, “That’s all? A million?”

He laughed.

“It runs for over half a mile. Right across the border. Right under the noses of the migra. It comes up in a curtain-and-drapery-stitching company on the other side. The workers in there don’t even know. When night comes, my associates will slide two big sewing machines out of the way and open the door.”

Nayeli had never heard of such a thing. Vampi and Yolo had eyes as big as doughnuts. This was truly a thing of awe.

“What if you’re caught?” Nayeli asked. “What if they’re found out?”

“We have a burglar alarm.” The man in the running suit laughed. “And we blow the tunnel on this end and drive away.”

Atómiko whistled again.

“But, you know,” the man said, “it’s a lot of money. ?Me entiendes? There’s people who know about us over there. God willing, our little donations are enough for them to protect us.”

He wore a gold crucifix on a chain.

“… God willing,” Nayeli said, sounding skeptical.

The man smiled.

“God loves us all,” he said.

The girls looked at one another; Vampi was smiling sweetly, and Yolo was very serious. Nayeli set her jaw, hoping she looked fierce.

“Go,” the man said. “It’s straight. You can’t get lost.”

“Are there bats?” Vampi asked.

He laughed.

“No, no bats. Go.”

“Rats?”

“No! No rats! There’s nothing there but dirt. Go!”

“?Adios!” Wino said. “Good luck!”

They had to duck their heads as they entered the hole, but it was fairly comfortable. Nobody had to crawl. It was well lit, and hard to believe. Nayeli imagined the Border Patrol trucks driving above her head as she walked. Their feet raised dust as they shuffled: she sneezed.

Wino’s voice came down the tunnel behind them: “Send me a postcard,” he called.

“He turned out to be a good boy,” Yolo said.

Nayeli had to concede the point.

“He treated us well.”

The Warrior, bringing up the rear, reminded them: “But he is not me.”

Vampi said, “Thank God!” and the girls laughed at him.



They saw one vast brown spider in the hole, but the rest of the walk was a dullness of dirt walls and wooden support beams.

“I could use some of that cocaine,” Atómiko noted.

The girls had never known a real drug user, and they regarded him with new eyes. He was so gangster. The mota-heads in Camarones kept their marijuana to themselves.

They got to the end of the tunnel, and there it was, another ladder. Three small boxes stood in the tunnel, and the girls sat on them. Atómiko squatted in his baboon fashion.

“Hey, look at that!” said Vampi.

A clamshell was stuck in the tan soil of the tunnel wall.

“That came from Noah’s flood,” Atómiko said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yolo scolded.

They argued about evolution for a few minutes, then fell into a sullen silence.

“Now what?” Yolo said.

“We wait,” Nayeli replied.

After a long time, Vampi said, “I’m bored.”

Yolo stretched.

Nayeli said, “I want to go to Kankakee.”

“Ah,” said Yolo. “Your father.”

“Where is it?” asked Vampi.

“It’s around Chicago someplace,” Nayeli said.

“What about us?” Vampi asked.

“We,” said Yolo, “will visit Mateo.”

Atómiko amazed them by starting to snore.

They heard loud scraping above them, and the roof popped open and a gruff male voice said, “Hurry up.”

They came up into a storeroom full of carpet rolls and tables covered with bolts of material. The two sewing machines that covered the opening were slid aside on rollers, and the rug pulled up and laid over so the trapdoor could open. The room was muffled, insulated by all the curtains and rugs. The man pointed to an open door.

“In the garage,” he said.

They shuffled into the garage and found a delivery van standing there with its back door open. They were startled to see, through the one small window in the garage’s side door, that it was dark outside.