Into the Beautiful North(51)

“In,” the man said.

They climbed up.

They made themselves comfortable among rolls of carpet. He reached up, grabbed a leather strap, and slid the door down with a loud crash. They were thrown into darkness. The girls reached for one another. Atómiko clutched his staff firmly, though it didn’t seem likely that he could break the van’s cargo doors open with it. They heard the door latch click into place. The driver got in the front—the springs squeaked. He started the engine. They heard an electric door opener lift the garage’s big door, and they rolled. Down the slope of the driveway, then settling onto a smooth flat street. They made several turns, fell over when he stopped at red lights. They could hear traffic sounds from outside. He was listening to Mexican radio in the cab. Suddenly, they could feel acceleration, and they were on a freeway. They drove and drove, and they merged to the right and swooped.

None of them could tell how long they’d been driving when the van rolled down a ramp and made an abrupt stop. The driver honked his horn, shouted something rude, made a left turn and a right turn, drove for a few minutes, and made another, more abrupt, right. They heard gravel crunching. He stopped but left the engine running. The door latch rattled and the door shot up. Cold night air rushed in.

“Out,” he said.

They jumped down from the back of the van, and before they could say anything to the driver, he was back in the cab and driving out of the big dirt lot.

They stood in the darkness, looking around. They could see, at a distance, a lit Spanish mission on a hillside on their right. Before them, a wall of oleanders and scraggly trees, and on the other side of that, rushing traffic. If they craned to the left, they could see some hills. One of them had a lit cross on the top. Behind them, they sensed a void—it was pitch-black and smelly. But that seemed to be the way out of the lot, so they walked in that direction. A street cut across their path; they turned right, toward the hill with the cross and away from the old church on the other hill. San Diego seemed to be offering them lit beacons, each one promising that Jesus was watching over them.

They came to a small low bridge, and as they crossed it, they saw the turgid dark water of a slough beneath them, and they smelled the heavy odor of old seawater. On their left, they saw an expanse of lawn and water—they were walking along a great bay. It was lit by streetlamps on tall poles. When Vampi saw a playground across the street, she ran to it and jumped on the swings and started to push herself back and forth. Yolo and Nayeli felt old and serious—far too old to play on swings. But Atómiko surprised them by joining Vampi. He actually put down his staff so he could swing.

Nayeli followed.

“Children,” she muttered.

Yolo walked beside her.

“Look,” she said. “The United States has grass.”

When the sprinklers came on with a loud PFFFT and began their automated spit-spit-spit-glide, spit-spit-spit-gliiide, they ran.



Giddy with the Good Old USA, everybody laughed. The air smelled great, smelled of salt water and jacaranda trees. The air was cool—too cool for the girls, but running had heated them a bit.

Clean little sidewalks wandered among small green hills with strange little barbecue stands and even more playgrounds. Vampi had to swing at every one. Atómiko climbed a monkey bar igloo and stood atop it, holding his staff over his head and bellowing.

“Es King Kong,” Yolo noted.

They were delighted to find well-lit public bathrooms. Clean, too. The girls took up three stalls and chattered as they did their business. Atómiko entered his bathroom with his staff extended before him, ready to smite muggers. But there was no one there. He availed himself of the urinal, then surprised himself by washing his hands. He could not believe he could wash his hands in steaming-hot water. He had some trouble managing the blow-dryer, and finally simply wiped his hands on his pants and stood guard outside the girls’ door. Their laughter and gossip echoed inside. They could be heard all over the bay. He felt it was a terrible security problem, but you couldn’t dampen high spirits at a moment like this. Their happiness would get them far on their journey before despair slowed them again. So he planted his staff and struck an ominous pose.

The notorious girlfriends exited the bathroom and set off at a brisk pace. They looked at the stars. They watched the bright white cross atop the hill. They looked around them at the many house lights on the slopes of Clairemont.

A man walking three pugs on leashes came along and said, “Good evening.”

“?Adios!” Vampi chirped.

Nayeli nudged her.

At the visitors’ center, they gathered and stared into the soda machines. More lights. Moths battered themselves on the neon tubes. Two policemen in shorts and bike helmets pedaled by on their mountain bikes. One waved. Vampi waved back.

“?Adios!” she called.

“Shh!” Yolo scolded. “You want to be deported again?”

Atómiko laughed.

“Those are city cops!” he said. “?La Placa, esa! They don’t care if you have papers or not!”

Vampi crossed her arms and said, “See?”

“I love America,” Nayeli sighed. “The policemen ride bikes and wear shorts.”

“This was a good idea,” Yolo said. “I didn’t think so, but now I do. It is so clean!”

“It’s too damned clean,” Atómiko complained. “Where are the bonfires? How can you party with no bonfires?”