Both Sides of the Border, page 12
“Let’s walk parallel to the tracks. We’ll end up on the other side of the railyard, on the other side of the city.”
Dolores and her brothers walked tightly together, as they pressed on their route between the concrete, brick, and stucco buildings. There was no sea breeze. The dank, damp darkness in the alleyways trapped the pungent smells of the city. With no breeze, the mosquitoes traveled in large swarms around their arms, legs, and faces. Any exposed area of the skin was a target for the pests. Dolores and her brothers swatted continuously at the pesky insects.
When Dolores and her brothers left the concealment provided by each alleyway to cross a street, they scrutinized the intersection. They checked each corner, fearing local criminals or gang members might view them as easy targets.
They slowly made progress through the city, block after block.
Emilio stopped and said, “Listen. Music.”
“Lots of people, too,” Ernesto said.
“Shhh!” Dolores said. “We must stay hidden.”
The alleyways and streets were cracked, water puddled up in every crevasse, and the mosquitoes were relentless. Dolores and her brothers continued walking, until she saw men sleeping against a building in the next block. She took Emilio’s arm and pulled him back. Ernesto stopped.
“What?” he whispered.
“We need to go over one block,” she said and pointed. “There are men sleeping there. We must be careful.”
Dolores, Ernesto, and Emilio walked over another block and saw more people were sleeping in the alleyway. They went over still another block. It was clear.
“Let’s go,” Dolores said.
At last, the railyard was in view. There was a field on the other side of the railyard. Many people sat against the buildings. A few were asleep under the train cars.
“We can go over there,” she said as she gestured, “past this section, by the field, and wait.”
Dolores led the way to a clump of bushes. There, Dolores saw the mother dressed in the pink and red flower blouse, who was quieting the crying baby earlier on the train. The mother looked at Dolores. She was crying, but the infant was quiet.
“My baby. She is sick,” the mother said as tears flowed down her face. She wiped her face with her blouse.
Dolores looked carefully at the baby. The baby wasn’t moving at all. As the mother pulled the baby to her, the baby was completely limp. Her tiny arms flailed as the mother rocked her. Dolores feared the baby was dead.
Chapter Twelve
EVA’S FIRST THOUGHT WHEN HER alarm startled her awake was to get packed up quickly. The bus would be leaving early. She was anxious to spend more time with Steven and to see the island in the lake. She knew it would be another amazing place in Mexico. She gathered her things and went to the lobby.
Steven arrived from the other hallway. He pulled his suitcase behind him. Others on the tour followed pulling their suitcases and carrying travel bags as well. .
“Good morning,” he said and smiled. “You’re early, too. Shall we see if we can load our luggage before breakfast?”
“Sure.” Eva followed Steven to the bus.
The bus driver was standing beside the bus having a cup of coffee.
“Excuse me, sir,” Steven said to the bus driver. “Can we go ahead and—”
“Oh, yes, yes,” the driver said and quickly opened the hatch underneath the bus.
“Thank you, sir.” Eva smiled.
They placed their luggage under the bus and then walked to the designated café for breakfast.
“Do you know about this lake?” Eva asked as Steven opened the café door for her.
“I’ve read about it, but this will be my first visit,” he said.
They walked past a large breakfast buffet table and took their seats in the café. A waiter immediately appeared at the table. He said, “You may help yourself to the buffet or order from our breakfast menu. But I can get your drinks now.”
“I think two coffees, correct?” Steven asked.
“Yes, coffee would be great.”
Steven thanked the waiter, then turned to Eva and said, “Since we are in a hurry, we might want to get something from the buffet.”
“I agree. It looks delicious.”
They selected their breakfast items and returned to their table.
“What have you read about the lake and the island?” Eva asked.
“Let’s see, uh, the ride over by boat is a short ride. A village covers the entire island, and there is a statue right in the middle of the island.”
“Okay. Anything else interesting?”
“It’s the place where there is one of the most famous Day of the Dead celebrations in November.”
“Day of the Dead?”
“It is very well-known all over Mexico.”
“And the statue? Is it something for the Day of the Dead as well?”
Steven laughed. “No, it’s of José Maria Morelos. He was a famous fighter for the independence of Mexico.”
“I see,” she said.
“And now, let’s hear you speaking some Spanish today. After all, that was your goal for the trip, right?”
“Sí, sí.” She laughed.
After their breakfast, they hurried to the bus. Eva and Steven were among the last to board but were able to find seats together. The bus driver closed the doors, and the bus rolled forward.
“That was close,” Steven said laughing.
“Yes, it was.” She smiled.
Adrián took his position in the front to make his morning announcements. “Good morning. Are you ready for another terrific day?”
Several of the tourists loudly said, “Yes!”
“Ah, good! That’s what I like to hear—some enthusiasm at eight a.m. Yes, yes. Okay, we will be on the bus a little over an hour to Lake Pátzeuaro. We’ll park in a lot at the edge of the lake. From there, we’ll walk to get on the boat, and that ride over to the island will take us, oh, just about thirty minutes. You’ll have the rest of the day on the island. The last boat back to shore leaves at six p.m. I recommend you don’t wait for that one; it’s always very full, and you will not be as comfortable coming back across. In fact, any boat that leaves between four o’clock and 5:30 would be good. There’s a restaurant near the boat dock. When you return from the island, let’s meet in there for dinner before we get on the bus for our overnight trip. Any questions?”
There was silence.
“Okay, good. We’ll be there soon.”
“Here we go,” said Steven.
Eva smiled and asked, “What exactly is the Day of the Dead anyway? I mean, is it like our Halloween?”
“Not exactly,” Steven replied. “It’s about the same time of the year as Halloween. But it is not so much about kids dressing up and asking people for candy.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a time of year when deceased loved ones are honored. It’s a time of celebration, rather than a time to scare people.”
“And how do they celebrate and honor their loved ones?”
“There are many customs. I know we’ll see evidence of those on the island. It’ll be better to explain all the details when you can see the art and the other decorations used.”
“I’m intrigued.”
Eva and Steven peered out the window as the bus traveled down Mexico Highway 14 toward Lake Pátzeuaro. The scenery was a mix of farmland, and distant, dormant volcanic mountains, and mountain ridges miles away. They passed a large area that was thick with growth as the highway wove around to the location of the small village of Revolucíon Pátzeuaro. The streets were fairly narrow, and the bus negotiated each turn carefully until they reached the area where they would depart the bus and walk to the boat launch.
“We are here,” said Adrián. “If you look out this side of the bus, you’ll see the place we’ll meet for dinner. And if you look out this way,” he said and pointed in the opposite direction, “you’ll see the boat loading area. Is everyone ready? If you need a quick break, go into the restaurant, and they’ll allow you to use their facilities. Let’s go.”
The bus door opened, and the passengers poured out in to the street. They had arrived near the boat dock.
“Look. In the distance,” Steven said. “That’s the statue in the center of the island. You can just make it out.”
“I see it. It looks pretty far out there.”
Steven and Eva stepped off the concrete walkway and onto the dock. They filed in to the covered, colorful boat along with the others in their tour group.
As the boat leisurely sputtered away from the dock through a marshy channel, Eva relaxed. She had never been a fan of boat rides; but sitting here next to Steven, she felt more at ease. She felt safe.
The boat made a smooth crossing over to the island. A small boy on the other side assisted the passengers off the boat. The landing area, a dock with a covered building, had a vendor inside selling snacks. The passengers meandered out to a walkway. They explored the uphill sidewalk. A series of steps led them to a higher level.
“Look out there,” Eva said. “You can see across the lake. And the rows of houses built on these hillsides . . . quite something to see.”
“It is. I didn’t know the island was so steep. Looks like we will be walking up for some time just to see the statue,” Stephen said.
“And what are those men doing out on the lake? What are they holding?” Eva asked. She watched several men in shallow flat-bottom boats waving large, oblong nets over the water and then into the water.
“Oh, those are butterfly fishing nets. Famous way to fish in Mexico,” he replied.
They continued upward on a walkway that had white-painted rock walls on each side, trimmed with red, lining the top of the walls. They reached a section of multiple vendor booths. Blue tarps were strung across the sidewalk for shade. Beneath many of the tarps, multicolored banners were hanging. The banners were small, rectangular, colored paper flags strung together above the walkway.
“What are these flags?” Eva asked.
“They’re called papel picado. It’s a paper cutout and a common Mexican decoration,” Steven said.
“Papel picado,” she repeated. “I’ve seen them in restaurants, but never this many. It provides a vibrant atmosphere.”
A slight breeze off the lake blew the rows of papel picado gently, but the breeze was not enough to cool the air. Eva looked at the trinkets, clothing, and jewelry, and noted the prevalent theme of skulls and dancing skeletons in colorful attire.
“So, these are the Day of the Dead decorations?”
“Yes, and you see these? These, on this shelf, are actually candy. During the festival, there are many sugar skulls.”
“Fascinating,” Eva said. “And these?” She pointed to small, decorated tin boxes with candle holders on the bottom of some of them.
“Those are nichos.”
“They look a little like shadow boxes,” Eva remarked.
“But these are like an altar or a little shrine to honor and remember your loved one. These are made to put a picture of your loved one right here, see? And over here, there are some decorated nichos with women or catrinas inside. On this table, there are bride and groom skeletons, skeletons riding motorcycles, a skeleton walking a skeleton dog—”
“A skeleton for every possible scenario,” she said and smiled. “So, exactly what is the ceremony like?”
“It’s believed during the end of October and the first of November, the dead come back to visit the living. The end of October is when children who’ve died come back and visit with relatives. Others come in November. During that time, the whole island will be celebrating.”
“And what happens when the deceased return?”
“Oh, that’s where the food and family reunions happen. The people in the family work for days to get ready. They’ll have an altar—not just the nicho, but often a larger altar—in honor of the loved one. These altars, or ofrendas, are elaborate. They decorate the altars with candles, the loved one’s favorite foods and drinks, and always pictures of the loved one. When those who have died come and visit the family, their spirits are believed to eat and drink to restore their spirits and to enjoy spending time with the family. The family also decorate their graves to get ready for the celebration. And on the night of November first, the family members can spend the night in the cemetery where they believe their loved ones will visit. Of course, the graveside is decorated for that night, too.”
“It sounds like quite an event.”
“It’s a big ceremony all over Mexico and especially here.”
“But from what I understand about the Catholic faith, this doesn’t seem to fit in with that religion,” Eva said.
“It started out as an Aztec celebration, and since the Catholic church came to Mexico after the Aztec customs were in place, the two just kind of melded together.”
“I see,” Eva said.
“Let’s walk down the sidewalk and look at other shops. Maybe you’ll find a souvenir for your mother or sisters,” Steven said.
Eva surveyed the walkway ahead. The steep walkway turned into a long stairway with houses and vendors encroaching on the path all the way to the top. The long, ascending walkway with twists and turns was lined with vendor after vendor. The colorful tarps and papel picado flags waved in the slight wind off the lake. Vendors had tarps covering the walkway in front of their shops and tables full of merchandise, hoping tourists would stop under their tarp to cool off and purchase their wares. For each vendor, at least one large section was dedicated to the Day of the Dead.
“This is amazing,” Eva said as she looked down at the steps descending with tarps and colorful papel picado banners at each flight of steps.
They followed a pathway to a cemetery with an open wrought iron gate. Above the gate, a bell was suspended from a stone archway. Stone steps led down to the graves, tombstones, and monuments.
“Let’s go down,” Steven said without hesitation.
Eva followed, noticing his broad shoulders as he walked ahead.
Steven read the names on some of the tombstones and pointed out some of the decorations that remained from the last Day of the Dead celebration.
“The family will come back and clean all of this up before the next celebration.”
Some of the grave sites had altars and flowers on them. Most had a cross of some type. They continued walking on the steep sidewalk.
Eva asked, “What is that smell? Someone is cooking something that smells very tasty.”
“Let’s go over there and have a look.”
A vendor was cooking very small fish and dishing them out into cups.
Steven asked, “What are those?”
“Charales y salsa,” replied the woman.
“And that’s a fish?” Steven asked.
“Sí, sí. You try.” She offered him a cup.
Steven gave the woman some pesos and got two cups full of the slender, fried delicacies. He handed one to Eva.
“They’re, well, good. Kind of like a French fry. Crunchy. Like a fish French fry,” Eva said laughing.
Steven ate a couple, then added the salsa. “The salsa is good, also. Try it.” He placed one near to Eva’s lips.
“Umm . . . ” She took a small bite. “Yeah, that’s good.”
They strolled slowly, munching on their charales, and continued their climb to the statue. Reaching the top, they walked around the base of the statue. Up close, it looked as if it was covered with tiles, which could not be seen from a distance. Further inspection revealed the squares were not tiles but bricks that gave the statue its unusual appearance. They walked to the doorway and entered the statue.
“This is pretty cool,” Eva said. “I didn’t know it had an inside.”
“It said in the brochure that if we climb the steps to the top, we can look out.”
Eva groaned, rolled her eyes, and smiled as she said, “More steps. But I wouldn’t want to miss it.”
Spiraling balconies with murals on the walls engulfed the inside of the statue. Eva and Steven studied the paintings. Eventually, they arrived at the top and were able to peek through the openings out across the lake and the surrounding countryside.
“This was worth the climb,” Eva said.
“I wonder how many miles out we can see from here. So many mountains over there, and the edge of the lake and beyond in that direction.”
“The fishermen look tiny from up here.”
They descended the towering steps slowly. Steven steadied Eva’s arm as they walked. She was feeling tired and hungry, but Steven’s reassuring hand made her smile.
“You know,” Steven remarked, “I could go for a meal. It must be past time for lunch.”
Eva smiled and said, “That’s what I was thinking, too.”
“We can find a restaurant down closer to the lower level where we board the boat.”
Eva added, “So we don’t have far to walk after we eat?”
Steven said, “Now that’s what I was thinking.”
They both laughed.
Over a late lunch of white fish, they talked about their home life, their jobs, and their countries.
“Tell me, Eva, what do you think about what is happening at the border?” he said gazing into her eyes.
“Well, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask. I just moved to the border last week.” She laughed, feeling embarrassed that she did not have a better answer.
“In your country, it seems the politicians don’t want to allow any more Mexicans in,” Steven said, trying to sound as if it did not concern him too much.
“We have many Hispanics in the area where I live. I can tell you this much—I’m one of the few Anglos in my apartment complex. In fact, I’m the minority anywhere along the border,” she replied, thinking that was all she could offer for a response.
“I suppose that’s true.”
“I guess I’ll learn more about how that all works when I get back and get settled into my new job at the university.” Eva didn’t know what to think about the immigration issues. She had been busy concentrating on her own studies for such a long time that she didn’t pay much attention to current events.
