The Same Sky(29)

Miserably I wandered around the trailer. A cockroach scurried across the kitchen counter, and the master bedroom—the only bedroom—had a hamster in a cage, but there was no human in the place. Not in the bathroom that smelled of mildew and perfume, not in the backyard, not in the corner of the living room that looked like Evian’s sleeping quarters. (A blanket, empty Big Mac container, and radio with headphones marked her territory.) I even checked underneath the bed, but, mercifully, no one was there. So I walked back outside, closed the door behind me, got into my car, and drove away. At the stop sign on Oltorf, I texted Evian that her mom wasn’t home. I shut off my cell. Pete didn’t stop barking until we had reached Mildred Street.





21




Carla


I DO NOT NEED to elucidate for you the misery of hiking across a desert, so I will not do so. I will say that it was very hot, hotter than you can imagine, and that we ran out of water. I will say that when you are desperately thirsty, there is nothing else in your mind besides want—want of water, want of sleep. Your blood thickens; you grow weak. But enough: we did not lie down.

Eventually we came upon a small village and Ernesto went into a grocery, telling us to keep moving. He caught up with us minutes later, his pockets bulging with stolen items. Ernesto gave me water. He gave Junior water. I loved him.

Ernesto told us that this area—Chiapas—was full of bad people. (This from a boy with pants full of stolen mangoes!) “They are not all devils,” he said, “but many are evil.”

“What do you mean, evil?” I asked.

He merely shook his head. “You do not want to know what people can be like,” he said quietly. “Depraved. Please pray for God to watch over us at this point.”

I did as Ernesto had requested. As we walked through farms, small towns, then larger towns, I gripped my brother’s hand and prayed. I understand now that many never make it across Chiapas. At night, sometimes, I read their stories on the Internet, my eyes filled with tears—stories about trafficking, about human slavery, about children trading sex for one square meal. Murder, decapitation, prostitution, gang initiation. I was so lucky.

God was with us: we made it to the train station in Arriaga. If we had not had Ernesto showing us where to go and God keeping us safe, we would have been lost.

It was very late at night by the time we arrived. Ernesto told us to stay still and disappeared, telling us he would try to find out when the next train would be leaving. Junior and I huddled together, trying to make ourselves invisible. I touched the steel train tracks and my hand came away smelling like a burned pan.

Here, in a dark station filled with desperate immigrants, the mood was forbidding. I felt like a dying animal being watched by patient vultures. Everyone was either competing for a place on the train or trying to figure out how to take advantage of us travelers. I could not get enough air in my lungs, and my mouth tasted sour.

“Will he come back?” said Junior.

“Of course,” I said. “Mami sent him to watch over us.”

Junior buried his nose in his baby-food jar, but there were no fumes left for him to savor. “I want Mami,” he said. “What does she look like, Carla?” I felt hollow inside, realizing that Junior didn’t even have a memory of our mother’s face to sustain him. I knew the way she looked at me, and how her hands felt on my skin.

“She looks like you,” I said.

Junior bit his lip and nodded, wanting to believe me.

My stomach twisted, growling for food, but we had no more money. I was not sure that Ernesto would return: perhaps he had been running from something and now was on safer ground. I saw members of his gang around the station, smoking, speaking too loudly, looking for trouble or opportunity. A few hours passed.

“I want Resistol,” said my brother.

“Don’t be weak,” I spat.

“I don’t care,” said Junior. “I want it. I don’t care about the rest.”

I put my arms around him, my nose to the top of his head, which smelled like river water. “Please care,” I said, both to him and to God. “I’m taking you to a better place, Junior, to Mami.”

He stayed with me. I was thankful.

Finally I saw Ernesto’s scrawny figure loping toward us. He held his shoulders back and his chin was lifted. “Hello, my young friends!” he shouted.

He came closer, reeking of marijuana smoke. He handed us drinks and tortillas filled with meat. My mouth exploded with pleasure at the salty, rich taste of the stew. I almost choked, I ate so fast. As the food reached my stomach, warmth flooded my arms and legs.

“The train is leaving soon,” he promised. “When The Beast slows, you must do as I tell you.” We nodded. The tracks were swarming with men who would be looking for a place on the train. There were few women, and I could not see another girl. Making it to the top of a car was very important, Ernesto told us.

“Your friends are here?” I asked him.

“My friends are everywhere,” he said proudly. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

This was the appeal of the gangs—if you obeyed them, they were your family. It is easy to think that people like Ernesto joined gangs to get drugs or food, but in my experience, it was for love.

After about an hour, the train approached, belching smoke. Its brakes shrieked so loud it felt as if someone was plunging a pencil into my ears. “Go!” shouted Ernesto. Joining the flood of people, Junior and I rushed toward the train. It did not stop, just slowed as it passed through Arriaga, and we ran alongside, trying to get the courage to jump. Ernesto had told us that we should reach for a ladder toward the front of a car, so that if we missed and our feet fell on the rails, we would have an instant to lift them before the wheels ate them up or dragged us underneath.