The Same Sky(31)

A few seconds later, she wrote: I’m OK. Thanks for caring haha.

I wondered what “haha” meant in this situation. I was still new to text messaging, baffled by winky emoticons and weird phonetic spellings of sounds. Did “haha” mean she was feeling happy, or was she commenting ironically on the fact that I wasn’t actually caring enough? Was she saying, Thanks for caring, then adding a giggle, or was she saying, Thanks for “caring,” and adding a derisive snort?

Jake was right: I wanted to love someone, but Evian wasn’t the one I should love. I was sorry for her, but couldn’t figure out how I fit into this messy mosaic. I went outside, lay on the lawn, and watched an enormous number of bugs swarming around a streetlamp. A siren wailed. I went back inside and finished reading the article about jalape?os.





23




Carla


ERNESTO FOUND US huddled on the boxcar and explained that we should move to a safer location. Boxcars are tall, he said, so we could see la migra coming, but they offered little to hold on to. As the train lurched from side to side, gaining speed, the cars sometimes smashed into each other, jarring my head back on my neck. I could see why we needed another perch. People cowered under cars, on ledges only a foot wide, between the axles, on top of round compressors. “Inside the boxcar seems smart,” said Ernesto, “but if they close the door, you die of heat. I’ve seen it.”

Weak and very tired, we followed Ernesto to the top of a hopper, clutching the thin bar along the edge as tightly as we were able with our numb fingers.

The train was moving quickly now. I shouted with fear and excitement, crammed next to men who smelled of sweat, looking out over a sea of treetops. We were on our way! Then, as quickly as the wave of exhilaration had come, it dissipated, leaving me limp. Still, I clasped the rail with one hand and the waistband of my brother’s pants with the other. I knew what would happen if I weakened my hold.

As the train rumbled through the night, some played cards and some talked. Some smoked, and some watched the wide sky. If you slept, you put yourself at risk. Ernesto showed us how to attach our belts to the edge so we would not fall. Through the hour, we rode, tree branches whistling overhead. We watched for police (they approached at many stations, raiding the trains), and we watched for gangs, who climbed aboard to rob us. The wind reached underneath my hair to touch my scalp. Junior fell asleep; I kept my hand on him.

I was half asleep when I heard the shouting. I sat up in the dark to see a group of robbers in hooded sweatshirts, showing guns. They yelled, “Give us money! Give us everything!” I heard an awful cry and saw a man fall, pushed off the top of the train. He hit the ground with his hands at his temples. The train kept moving.

I had no money; I bent down, hoping not to be seen. I felt Ernesto’s body on one side of me, immobile. When I cut my eyes to his face, his gaze locked with mine. I could see he was scared. I clasped my brother’s pants tightly.

The robbers came closer. I heard the sound of metal hitting bone as they slammed a gun into a man’s head. I heard sobbing. And then a robber’s legs were in front of me, filthy denim an inch from my nose. A hand grabbed my chin and lifted my face heavenward. I stared into the face of an evil man. His eyes were deep gray, ice: an animal’s eyes. “Beautiful,” he said. I tried to breathe slowly, quietly. Tears ran down my cheeks.

“Lie down,” the man said. I shook my head, pulled it from his grasp. He tore some of my hair from my scalp; his grip was that tight.

“Please,” I managed.

He pushed me flat and climbed on top of me. I sobbed, and he hit me with his fist, then with his gun. I tasted blood. I could not stop shuddering.

I was surrounded by people. A hundred men, some women, my brother, Ernesto. No one did anything as the man pulled my pants down. No one intervened—not even God—as the man freed himself and entered me, tearing a wound. I bit deep into the meat of my tongue. He raped me. When he was finished, he stood up and spit in my face, calling me a whore. He fired his gun into the sky, and when the train slowed, he jumped off and ran away.

No one said anything as the train rushed forward. Not even my brother touched me.

In this way, I understood I was alone.





24




Alice


VISITING LOCKHART—BBQ CAPITAL of Texas, Jake’s hometown, and site of our over-the-top wedding—was awkward under normal conditions, though I’d finally adjusted to the weird dynamics of holiday gatherings. But barreling into town with a Bon Appétit writer riding shotgun in my Bronco (Jake drove; Pete and I were crammed in the back) made my stomach ache. The taco I’d eaten for breakfast felt like a hot balloon in my gut.

Lainey, the reporter, had spent the night with my husband, watching him tend the fires at Conroe’s and recording his every word. She was sharp-eyed, younger than me, and dressed in flowing layers that would have made me look like a bag lady but on Lainey seemed fashionable.

Lainey smoked Marlboro Reds, which lent her voice a raspy quality. I felt as if we might have been friends had she not been interviewing Jake for an article, thus making it impossible for us to speak normally. Around Lainey, Jake had a bit more of a Texas twang than usual, pausing for a while between sentences as if practicing them first in his head. I tended to say things very quickly and in a high-pitched voice, concluding with “You know?”