The Same Sky(53)

At the Western Union, two thousand American dollars was waiting in my name. I stowed the money in my underwear, went with the priest back to the church for dinner, then brought the money to the encampment. When I found the Snake, he was not well. I understood his state: he looked like Junior after the Resistol. I asked him if my friends had made it over the border, and he said yes. For all I knew he had killed them all—who would ever discover his crimes? Still, I pulled the Western Union envelope from my pants and handed it to the Snake. “Can you get me to Austin, Texas?” I asked. I told him my mother’s address, which I had committed to memory.

He put the money in his back pocket and nodded lazily. “We will leave soon,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable, girl, and I will make arrangements.”

I was overcome. I did not believe him, yet I had no choice but to believe him. Though I knew vultures were watching, I lay on the soiled blanket, feeling sick but trying not to vomit. Finally it became dark. I heard the Snake departing, saying goodbye to those around the fire. I prayed, my eyes shut tight. I could not close my ears, however. I heard splashing and cries as the Rio Bravo ate those who tried to swim. I listened to the bullhorns as Bruce Willis and Arnold Schwarzenegger shouted, “Go back! Go back!”

But I could not go back.

In the dead of night, the Snake shook me awake. Soundlessly we headed along a dirt path to a secluded place by the water. Night-blind, I could not see any American SUVs across the river. “Climb on, quickly,” said the Snake, indicating a black inner tube he held still with his hand. Uncertainly, I mounted the tube. The Snake put a plastic bag with dry clothes in my lap. Then he launched us into the fierce river, trying to paddle forward, keeping the tube level so I would not tumble into the water. If I drowned, I realized, no one would tell my mother. I would just never arrive, and after a while she would understand.

I did as the Snake ordered, frozen with fear. We reached the island in the middle of the river and slid to safety. Mercifully, I did not see any agents on the American side. “Don’t make a sound,” said the Snake. “Nothing.” I bit my tongue as he pushed us from the island back into the river. I was so close to America. Finally we reached the bank. The Snake hurried me along the land to a tributary. We followed it, the Snake watching our surroundings carefully. In the distance, a spotlight illuminated the island in the middle of the river. It was empty.

“Put on the dry clothes,” said the Snake, and I changed out of the pants and shirt I had worn for so long. The new pants were too tight, but the sweatshirt was large enough to cover where the zipper would not reach. There were shoes, too, and I tied them tightly. Shoes were of great value.

“Now,” whispered the Snake, “we run.”

He began to sprint, and I fell in beside him. We ran for a long time, up from the river onto dirt trails behind a housing development. We crossed a paved road and saw a car ahead. The headlights blinked on and off. “There,” said the Snake. We reached the car, and the Snake opened the trunk. “Get in,” he said.

My mind reeled back in time, to the day I watched my baby brother being set in a trunk. Now, at last, it was me. But the space was small, and when the Snake slammed it shut, I did not have enough air. What if Marcos was wrong? What if I died here, in America, in a car trunk? The car started to move, stopping briefly at what I imagined were border checkpoints. I fell in and out of slumber.

By the time the trunk was opened, it was very hot. I gasped the fresh air and saw the sun. A stranger’s face came into focus. He was a white man, an American, with gray hair and the stubble of a gray beard.

The strange man said, “Get out.”

My legs were weak. I had vomited on myself, and the man wrinkled his nose. We were parked in front of a motel called the Ace. Faded cars shone under a brilliant sky. “Room Sixteen?” said the man, reading to himself off a piece of paper. The Snake was gone.

I nodded.

The man dragged me to a red door that had the number sixteen spray-painted on its metal surface. Outside the door was a folding chair, an ashtray, and three empty cans of American beer. The man knocked sharply. The door was yanked open, and I saw her.

“Mami!” I said, falling toward her.

“Carla!” cried my mother, catching me.





42




Alice


EARLY IN THE morning, Jane shook me awake. “Come on,” she said. “I want to do Bridge of Heaven.”

“It’s dark out,” I said. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Please,” said Jane. “I’m feeling strong. I … I need to do this.” The hike was at least a seven-hour round-trip, so I gritted my teeth and climbed from her cozy bed. “I have coffee,” said Jane. “Meet me in the Land Cruiser.” I nodded, half asleep. I changed into hiking clothes, shoved my hair under a hat, and brushed my teeth. None of the children were awake. Dennis lay on the couch, snoring loudly. I tiptoed out the back door, where the ’76 Land Cruiser, which had been my parents’ and which Jane and Dennis paid a fortune to keep running, was warming up. I climbed into the passenger seat and Jane handed me a thermos.

“Jesus, it’s cold,” I said. “Fucking Christ.”

“Please don’t take the Lord’s name, et cetera,” said Jane.

“Since when are you religious?” I asked.