Both Sides of the Border, page 22
“Wow, that’s too bad. I thought Matamoros had a ghost-town appearance when I went through there.”
“Yes. A lot of people have moved to other places in Mexico and here to get away from the violence. We should each take our own car to the restaurant because I’ll need to get to another meeting across campus after lunch.”
“Okay,” Eva replied.
“You can follow me over there. It’s a little hole in the wall but one of my favorite places to eat lunch.”
Eva walked to her car. Opening the car door, her bracelet glistened with the sunlight. Steven, she thought as she sat down in the car. She missed him already.
Eva followed Maria to the parking lot of the restaurant, and they walked in together. The menu was all in Spanish, and Eva easily ordered her meal.
“Nice job,” Maria said, noticing Eva’s ease of the language.
As they ate, Maria gave Eva some advice.
“Now, about tenure, I need to warn you about a few things. First, as an untenured faculty member, you can’t really voice your opinion about a lot of things. Try to always listen and observe to determine where people stand on any issues, or plans for the university, or even politics.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. I am not crazy about politics.”
“Good. But remember, this university is run by its politics. Be aware of everything you hear and don’t be tempted to disagree with others who are tenured. You just don’t want to make anyone mad that might end up on your tenure committee.”
“But that is six years from now,” Eva said.
“Yes, but they remember. You kind of have to walk on egg shells until you are tenured. And, of course, it’s even worse when you are talking with an administrator. You wouldn’t want to disagree with a department chair, dean, vice president, or any other administrator.”
“Wow. That is a long time to be silent about things.”
“Yes. But you can always talk to me. I can let you know where people stand.”
“Thank you—and you were right, this food is delicious.”
Maria smiled, then said, “Oh, I almost forgot. In my meeting this morning, I added your name to the committee for the grant. And the most exciting thing, we have a retreat on Saturday on the island.”
“What? Really? That is cool.”
“Yes. It’s just for the day. We will meet in a hotel meeting room and then go to lunch at the café on the beach, The Palms Café. It overlooks the water. And it is an open-air restaurant, so you can enjoy the beach while we talk.”
“Sounds wonderful. I am looking forward to it.”
“Oh, I gotta run. See you tomorrow? I’ll be in my office writing up my syllabi,” Maria said.
“I need to do that, too. Can you share the format with me?”
“Will do. I’ll be at the office tomorrow by ten o’clock, and I can show it to you then. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
DOLORES, ERNESTO, AND EMILIO WALKED toward the line of trees. The flat land of northern Mexico was beginning to heat up. Dolores could feel her skin burning again. She would like to jump in the river when they found it. It would cool her off. They walked through more dusty land covered with cacti and mesquite trees.
“Ernesto, how are your feet today?”
“Not as bad as my sunburn,” he said.
“Me, too,” Emilio said.
“Yes, I was thinking the river might feel pretty good,” Dolores said.
They moved closer to the river.
“Is that a person over there?” Ernesto asked.
“It looks like some kind of officer. He’s looking around like he is patrolling,” Emilio said.
“Let’s go over there to the trees and watch,” Dolores said.
On both sides of the river, extra patrol officers were walking through the trees and along the river bank. The Mexican side had local, state, and federal officials patrolling. On the United States side, there were Border Patrol agents, Texas State Troopers, local law enforcement agents, and the United States National Guard. They were talking loudly in both Spanish and English.
“They are everywhere,” Emilio said.
“It’s going to be more difficult than I thought it would be to cross the river,” Ernesto said.
“What are they saying?” Emilio asked.
They listened quietly.
“Look over here,” the officer yelled to another officer. “Stop anyone you see. They must show you their papers. Anyone could be traveling with the caravan.”
Dolores said, “Let’s think about this for a while. We’ll find a way.”
They watched the officers as they continued searching. Two men were captured on the other side of the river. They put plastic bands on their wrists and made the men get on the ground. The other officers continued looking for more people trying to enter without documentation.
“Well, one thing is clear—we have to find another way to get across. Let’s walk back to the road and then follow it in to Matamoros,” Dolores said.
“Oh, we are so close,” Emilio pleaded.
“Yes, and if they find us, they’ll send us back to Honduras. Let’s go to the road,” Ernesto said.
Discouraged but still determined, they walked back to the road. Their legs ached; their feet had blisters; the sun’s heat was relentless; and their hearts were discouraged.
“Here comes a van,” Emilio said.
“We should hide until we know it’s okay,” Dolores said. “It could be more patrol officers.”
They ran off the road several yards on the opposite side from the river. A clump of cacti and mesquite trees provided a little cover. They sat down quickly and followed the movement of the van as it slowed down. The windows were rolled down, and they could see inside the van.
“The men inside, they look like trouble. Look, tattoos on their faces,” Ernesto whispered.
“I see,” Dolores said. “Let’s remain here for a while until they are far away.”
They sat in the slim shadow of a mesquite tree and watched large ants in a long trail scurry past them. Lizards and horned toads ran around the cacti. It was several minutes that seemed like hours of sitting under that skinny mesquite tree.
“Okay. I think the van is gone,” Dolores said. “Let’s wait a moment longer to be certain they don’t circle back.”
After a while, they emerged from their hiding place and walked back to the road.
“Ernesto, any idea how far we are from Matamoros?” Emilio asked.
“No idea at all. But so far, we haven’t seen any buildings, and Matamoros is a large city. I think we have to walk all day,” Ernesto said.
“I have only one piece of fruit left,” Dolores said. “Do you have any?” she asked her brothers. They shook their heads no. “We can share this orange.” Each took sections of the orange. They looked for food and water as they walked along, but nothing was available.
A stranger burst out from behind a clump of trees by the road.
“Hey, amigos,” the man said. “You need a coyote? To get you across tonight?”
Dolores didn’t like the looks of this man. He didn’t look like he would be a trustworthy coyote. Why was he hiding in the trees? Would he just take their money and run like they heard others had? Was he pretending to be a coyote to rob them or lead them to a place where others would mug them? She didn’t like him.
Ernesto and Emilio looked to Dolores. They said nothing, but their expressions said, “No, not him.”
“No, we don’t need to go across. We’re meeting someone in Matamoros.” Dolores felt a twinge of guilt for lying.
“Oh, you look like Central American travelers,” the coyote said insistently, “like the caravan people.”
“No. We’re from Mexico,” Dolores said, feeling even guiltier about the lie.
“Where are you from?” he asked in an attempt to push the lie out into the open.
“San Luis Potosí,” quickly popped out of Dolores’ mouth. It was the only thing she could come up with quickly.
“Oh, is that a nice place?” he asked, still pushing the issue.
“Yes, if you like tall buildings and lots of highways and lots of traffic,” she responded convincingly.
“Oh,” he replied, giving up his interrogation. “Okay, if you know anyone in Matamoros who needs a coyote, send them to this road.”
“Okay,” she replied.
Dolores, Ernesto, and Emilio walked for nearly a mile without speaking. Finally, Emilio said, “That was a close call with that coyote. I think he was a crook.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Dolores said. “You both were very careful. You’ve learned about trust, how to tell if someone is trustworthy. It’s an important thing to learn.”
They continued in silence. The heat was increasing, and so were the size of the blisters on their feet. The road stretched out forever.
Two miles later, Ernesto asked, “Dolores, is that something on the side of the road?”
Emilio and Dolores stopped and focused ahead to see what Ernesto had seen.
“I think it’s a gas station,” Dolores said. “We must be getting closer to Matamoros.”
As they walked, buildings and houses were coming into view.
When they reached the gas station, Emilio turned to Dolores and asked, “Can we buy another taco?”
“Yes. We have had only a little orange all day.”
Inside the gas station, they walked straight to the counter and looked at the menu. There were many choices of tacos and other favorites. Part of the gas station was sectioned off by a wall with small tables and chairs. A few men were sitting at a table eating. Dolores and her brothers decided to purchase their food and water and sit inside out of the sun to eat. They walked around the wall, and Dolores noticed the men were the ones they had seen earlier in the van that passed by.
“This is a nice break,” Ernesto said, not noticing the men.
“This the first time to sit at a table and eat together since Father Francisco’s church,” Emilio said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Dolores smiled. “Father Francisco was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.” She glanced over to the men at the other table and continued to talk with her brothers.
“He helped me to get well,” Emilio said. “I’ll never forget him.”
“We’ve traveled far since then,” Ernesto said.
Dolores sensed the men at the other table were listening. She wanted to change the subject. She didn’t want the men to know they were from Honduras. She didn’t know who to trust.
One of the men said, “Good afternoon, Miss” when he noticed Dolores.
She spoke quietly to her brothers. “We need to leave. It’s getting late.” She pretended she had not heard the man speaking to her.
They took their paper napkins and cups to the trash can by the door. Without talking, each picked up the extra bottle of water they had purchased.
On the street, Ernesto asked Dolores, “What’s wrong? Did those men frighten you?”
“They didn’t look trustworthy. Two of those men had many tattoos on their arms, and another had a tattoo on his face. I didn’t want to take any chances. They may be the same men that passed us on the road earlier.”
“Should we be worried?” Emilio asked.
“No, I think we’re okay. I think we’re close to Matamoros. We should walk faster, though.”
They picked up their pace until they were well out of sight of the gas station.
“Ah, there is the sign that says Matamoros.” Ernesto gestured. “We’re by the city now.”
The street curved into another street, and then several intersections were in view. They stopped and looked at the choices.
“I don’t know which road we should follow, but the river should be that way,” Dolores said.
They turned on the street and continued walking. The streets became wider, and some streets were elevated above other streets on overpasses.
“Matamoros is a large place,” Emilio said.
They walked alongside one of the wide, busy streets. They approached a bridge where there was another street. It was elevated above the street they were walking on.
“Oh, no!” Dolores gasped and rapidly made the sign of the cross on her chest.
“What?” asked Ernesto.
She said nothing, only stared. Ernesto and Emilio followed her gaze to see a man hanging upside down from a bridge. His head was gone.
“Let us move quickly and cross this street,” she said, walking forward.
Down the street from the hanging man, they saw few people. Store fronts were empty. Others had windows boarded up. Some had broken glass.
“This town has a great deal of trouble,” Ernesto said.
“It looks that way. I don’t feel safe here,” Dolores said.
They walked in silence.
Wheels squealed as a van pulled up beside them. The men from the gas station were inside.
“See, I told you we could find them,” one man said.
Dolores, Ernesto, and Emilio ran. The van followed. The doors quickly opened, and the men jumped out. Dolores screamed. Her brothers yelled. Each of the men had a gun. They grabbed all three and shoved them inside the back of the van. The men forced the siblings’ hands behind their backs and tied plastic wristbands on them. Then the men covered their eyes with dark cloth. The van sped away.
Dolores was crying and asked, “Where are you taking us?”
“Shut up. Sit there and don’t talk,” yelled one of the men.
Dolores felt her heart pounding and her stomach churning. Did her brothers feel the same way? She wasn’t certain how long they had been in the van. She couldn’t determine which direction the van was going. She sensed bumps, potholes, and turns in the road. She heard the men talking in the front of the van. The music on the radio was playing so loudly, she couldn’t understand what the men were saying.
The van stopped, and one of the men got out and talked to another man near Dolores’ window. She could hear the conversation.
“Yes, two boys and a girl. I think they’re in good shape. Young. The girl is nice-looking. They’ll bring a good price,” said the man from the van.
“Good. You’re behind this week. Rico will be pleased with this catch. Go ahead. I will let them know you are coming. They’ll let you in.”
The man returned to the van and slammed the door. Dolores felt the van turn to the right. Based on their earlier route to the river, she tried to figure out which direction they were going. She thought they may have been going away from the river. She feared they were moving further from the United States.
The van traveled for such a long time, Dolores believed they were no longer in the city. She was hot, and her stomach was cramping. She wanted the van to stop moving. She leaned to the side in an attempt to see if her brother was next to her. She felt only a tire and some equipment.
The van slowed and turned. She heard the driver speaking into some kind of a radio, and then she heard a large gate or fence opening. The van moved forward.
The van stopped, and the men got out. They opened the doors and pulled Dolores, Ernesto, and Emilio out. The men didn’t take off the blindfolds. They led Dolores and her brothers for some distance on a concrete sidewalk or parking lot. She heard the men talking to other men. Large doors opened. The men led the three inside and sat them on concrete against a wall.
“You sit here. Don’t talk.”
Dolores waited until she heard the footsteps of the man walking away from her. She leaned over until she gently touched something with her shoulder on her right side. She whispered, “Emilio? Ernesto?”
“Me, Ernesto,” he whispered back.
“And I’m beside him,” Emilio said.
“Pray,” she whispered. “Pray hard.”
The echo that Dolores heard when they entered the room told her they were in a large room made of concrete. The room was hot and damp. At times, she sensed there might be other people in the room with her, but it was very quiet. She assumed the others in the room might be blindfolded and have their hands behind their backs, too. She thought there were probably more people in the room than the number of men who kidnapped them. But there was no way for the captured people to defend themselves or help each other. She didn’t remember a time in her life when she’d felt this helpless. Tears began to fall down her face and onto her shirt.
The concrete was uncomfortable. Dolores didn’t know how long she was sitting there. She couldn’t tell if it was still day or if it had turned to night. Once in a while, she would lean next to Ernesto, and he would lean back as if to say, “Yes, I’m still here.”
Eventually, Dolores heard the large door opening, and she heard footsteps.
“You sit here. Don’t talk,” the man said. “And you sit here.”
Dolores sensed that someone had been placed beside her and that at least two more people had been added to the collection of people held against their will. She hadn’t been touched by anyone, but she thought she could feel the heat from someone else sitting close. Dolores didn’t talk. She feared the kidnappers were still in the room.
Someone in the room was softly crying. Dolores prayed she and her brothers would be safe. She prayed for the safety of the others in the room.
The doors to the room opened again.
“Everybody, stand up!” a man’s voice yelled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ON WEDNESDAY, EVA’S PHONE RANG as she maneuvered her car into the university parking lot.
“Hello,” she said, not recognizing the long-distance number.
“Eva? It’s Steven.”
Her heart picked up the pace as she said, “Hello. Good to hear your voice.”
“Good to hear your voice, too. I’m going to be on the island for a meeting Saturday. I wondered if you could meet me for dinner?”
“That would be terrific. It will be wonderful to see you,” she replied.
“I want to see you, too. Can you meet between 5 and 5:30 at the Sea Ranch? The food is good, and I am anxious to spend time with you.”
“I can. Spending time together again sounds great. I’ll be in a meeting on the island that day, so I will head to the restaurant as soon as it’s over.”
