Both Sides of the Border, page 3
“Goodbye,” she whispered as she buzzed by the Virginia-North Carolina state line. Goodbye to the bad memories.
The Tejano music she discovered when she interviewed at the university played loudly as she moved along the highway. Listening to this music every day was a good way to learn casual Spanish, even if the songs mostly dealt with love and loss. “Mi amor, no quiero que me dejes . . . ” Nevertheless, the rhythms and the melodies were adequate company for the ride.
Eva followed her GPS to the hotel, marking the end of the first day’s drive.
“Good evening. How can I help you?” The welcoming hotel clerk smiled.
“I have a reservation for Jordan.”
“Let’s see. Ah, here it is. Eva?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Very good. Here you go. Your room number is 208, but it’s also marked on the inside of the key holder.”
“Thank you. Oh, where can I get some dinner?”
“You can walk about a half-block south, and you will have a couple of options there,” he replied. “You can choose between a steak house or a diner.”
“Great, thanks,” she replied, feeling a sense of self-reliance having driven one-third of the way.
Eva opted for the diner. Not as good as her mother’s cooking, but walking to and from the diner gave her the opportunity to stretch her legs before bed. When she finally got back to her room and into her bed, she was asleep in no time.
Eva awoke too early. Forty-five minutes until my phone was set to go off, she thought. She popped out of bed, eager to get on the highway. By the end of the day, she would be just inside the Texas state line. She smiled. Texas, my new home state. She delighted thinking about being completely on her own. Gathering her makeup kit, overnight bag, and other necessities, she checked out.
Deep blue morning skies with bright streaks of gold shooting out from the sun and no traffic to speak of presented a perfect day for driving. Eva turned up the music and headed southwest. As her car rambled down the highway, so did her thoughts. Music did not serve as a distraction today. Regrettably, Eva intensely focused on self-analysis. For a moment, anxiety intruded into her happiness. Unexpectedly she found herself questioning her move.
Seriously? One thousand six hundred and two miles away from the life I have known? Was this a good thing? Will I find the happiness that has eluded me all my life? Will I make enough money to afford a social life? And the finer things in life? Or will this be another phase of unfulfilled dreams, false promises, and shallow relationships? She interrogated herself.
This is nonsense, she thought. She pushed her thoughts aside. Her achievements so far were accomplished by her own ability and effort. She would do the same in Texas. She slowed her breathing rate and focused her thoughts on the road ahead and her future. The location would be perfect. Semi-tropical weather, Gulf Coast beach nearby, and Mexico even closer. She would be the minority there. Being absorbed into a new life would be exciting. She would master Spanish and be on her way to traveling around Mexico whenever she wanted. She dreamed of an untroubled life full of joy, excitement, challenges, and someday, maybe love.
There, that’s better. She turned the volume up and attempted to sing the few Spanish words that she knew. Gazing out the window, she noticed the mountains of yesterday had given way to rolling hills, trees, and, subsequently, flat land. She was making good progress. A short stop for lunch would be great.
Eva turned into a small café in Georgia for an early lunch. The slow-moving waitress’s dialect was as thick and sultry as the Georgia air.
“Our specials today are fried catfish, barbecue sandwich, and a slice of buttermilk pie,” the waitress said.
Eva listened to the list of daily specials and was especially interested in the way the waitress elongated the word pie, “Puh-eye” into two syllables. How could she do that? Eva wondered.
“Uh, I’ll have the Cobb salad and a cup of coffee.” She would forgo the pie. Maintaining her appearance was one of the battles she had won.
“Outta coffee. I can make some if you wait, or how about sweet tea?” the waitress asked.
“Unsweet please,” she replied.
The waitress gave her a look that clearly said, “This is Georgia. Who drinks unsweet tea?”
Eva finished her lunch and filled the car with gas. Cruising down Highway 10, the increasing number of oil rigs and refineries in southern Louisiana signaled she would soon be in Texas. She skipped dinner, hoping to cross the state line before her appetite caught up with her.
Without warning, there it was. A large sign on the side of the highway: “Welcome to Texas.”
Home, she thought. Now, she could call it a day and check into the hotel.
The next morning, Eva woke earlier than the day before. With a full tank of gas and a biscuit to go, she was off. An hour and a half outside of the city of Houston, a proliferation of mesquite trees, cactus, and oil rigs lined the road. Eva sped by Corpus Christi Bay and followed the GPS to Highway 77 to the Rio Grande Valley. Not long now, she thought.
The fields south of Kingsville were dotted with Border Patrol cars, vans, and trucks among the mesquite trees and brush. State trooper vehicles were abundant as well. Wonder if there is something going on today? She didn’t know this was just a typical day in this part of south Texas.
The King Ranch sprawled along both sides of the highway. This region had few gas stations. The sparse gas stations doubled as cafés. Eva stopped to fill up her car and went inside for something to eat. The menu, all in Spanish, listed ten different breakfast tacos and twenty additional kinds of tacos. “Hmm . . . well . . . ” She studied the pictures of tacos.
“I guess I’ll have a taco,” she said to the clerk. And with uncertainty in her voice, she studied the menu and said, “I guess just a beef one?”
The clerk shot her a look, indicating her choice was not specific enough.
She randomly chose one of the options. “Uh, a beef fajita taco?” she asked in a timid voice.
The clerk asked, “De maíz o de harina?”
Eva was not sure what the clerk said.
The clerk repeated in English, “Corn or flour tortilla?”
“Uh, I guess corn? Is that good?”
The clerk quickly slapped the beef onto the tortilla and whispered, “Gringa,” as she smiled and wrapped the taco up in paper.
Several miles from the cafe, she saw a building with lines of cars stacked up and Border Patrol agents inspecting cars. Trained canines were walking with the Border Patrol agents around the stopped vehicles on the lanes driving north. Must be some kind of a checkpoint. There was no checkpoint on her side of the highway going south. She drove past the check point and saw dozens of cameras and other types of surveillance equipment.
Within forty-five minutes, the number of palm trees increased. The palm trees multiplied and lined the highway on both sides. Getting closer, she thought. She checked the GPS. “Only sixty-one more miles,” she whispered with a smile as she ventured on.
The GPS guided her to the apartment parking lot. She stepped out of her car and felt like she had opened an oven door. “Good grief, it’s hot,” she murmured. She walked past the swimming pool landscaped with palms and oleanders to the manager’s office and obtained the keys to her new home.
Stepping inside her new apartment, she glanced around the room. She smiled and said, “Nice. Very nice!”
The furnished apartment was more charming than she remembered from the online photos. Saltillo tile, stucco walls, a nice sized kitchen with a large window. It was more like a two-story townhouse. She quickly arranged her few belongings, then drove two blocks down the street to the grocery store. Just get enough for a few days to get started, she thought. She had been frugal over the last year and stashed away all the money she could in a savings account. She needed to stretch her funds over the first month or two if possible.
Eva surveyed the supersized grocery store. It was different than any she had experienced. The produce section was enormous and had more types of peppers and beans than she knew existed. And the fruit . . . it was beautiful. Papayas, mangos, all kinds of citrus, Asian pears, and a host of fruits she could not identify. She loaded up more than she had planned to buy; but it looked so delicious, she couldn’t help herself. As she rounded the produce section, she found fresh tortillas, fresh tamales, and a multitude of salsas. Can’t wait to try these, she thought.
Checking out, she heard no English whatsoever. She was struck by how little Spanish she understood. Oh, my goodness! They talk fast, she thought. I’m gonna have to pick Spanish up quickly. She’d find a way to learn the language as soon as possible.
She took her grocery bags and walked to the exit door. Her eyes were drawn to a display of travel brochures in a rack. She skimmed across the titles. One brochure had colorful pictures of a tour of Mexico’s historic sites. Without a second thought, she picked it up and tossed it into her grocery bag.
Back at the apartment, she unpacked the groceries, made a fruit plate, and sat down with the brochure. Eva read the travel details from front to back. The name of a travel agency office was stamped on the back. “Open Monday-Saturday 9:00-6:00,” she read aloud. I’ll be at the agency door at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.
Chapter Three
DOLORES WOKE FROM HER AFTERNOON sleep energized. Today, they would reach the river. The coyote gave the group specific instructions that were to be followed exactly. At dusk, they would leave the parked truck and follow the coyote toward the river. Once they approached the riverside, the coyote would determine the safety of crossing. If the river was busy, they could sneak across undetected. They were to watch for the signal for the group to come forward in smaller groups of five or six. Although there was no danger from the Guatemalan side of the river, Mexican officials watched the river crossings for undocumented travelers. Mexico didn’t allow people to enter the country illegally. If caught, they risked being sent back across the river—or worse.
The group gathered together and listened to the coyote.
“I’ll go ahead of you. Watch for the signal. Then move up closer to the river until I tell you to stop.”
The group followed the coyote’s instructions. He went further and signaled them to move up to another spot closer to the river and behind a few trees. This routine was repeated several times.
The coyote didn’t want anyone—Mexican authorities or criminals—to see the group approaching. The coyote knew exactly where the group was to wait to move across. When the group was close to the river, he said, “I know a balsero who will ferry you over on a raft. If you want to wade out and then swim across, you can. But wait for the balsero to get the raft about halfway across, and then you swim out.”
The region was a popular crossing spot for Hondurans, Guatemalans, Salvadorians, and anyone else who happened to be traveling to the United States from Central America. It was easier to cross here than other spots. Crossing the river was on the route of travel for entrepreneurs who wanted to sell their goods in Mexico. For undocumented people, the trick was to cross when the river was busy so that the small groups of travelers would go undetected. The merchants used rafts and small, shallow boats to cross. Many people swam across with little difficulty unless the river was up. Today, the river was up.
“Are you ready?” Dolores asked her brothers.
“I am,” replied Ernesto.
Emilio nodded his head zealously.
Dolores took a moment to pray with her brothers for a safe journey and thanked God for helping them to reach the border of Mexico. They hugged each other and smiled.
“Soon, we’ll be together in the United States,” Emilio said.
“Yes. Soon,” Dolores agreed, yet she knew the journey would be long and dangerous. She knew they would be safe once they reached their destination.
The coyote climbed up a spindly tree to have a better view of the other side of the river. He shimmied down quickly and said, “We must wait for a while. Sit over there.” He pointed. “In the shadows. Some Mexican authorities are checking papers.”
Dolores and her brothers rested in the darkness. She knew they were all hungry and wished they could’ve eaten before they crossed the river. But she believed that God would provide food for them on the other side.
Ernesto and Emilio anxiously stood up every few minutes to look for the coyote. No sign of him.
Ernesto asked, “What if he left us here? What if he took our money and left us to cross alone?”
“Yeah,” Emilio chimed in. “What would we do? Would we still try to cross on our own?”
The brothers turned to their older sister with worried looks and waited for a response. “Yes, we’ll still cross. But I’m not giving up on the coyote. He could’ve left us many times. He has had our money for days and stayed with us.”
“She has a good point,” Ernesto said.
“Okay,” Emilio said, allowing himself to smile again. “I believe he’ll come back, too.”
Sweltering, hot, humid air encouraged the mosquitoes to swarm the group. All of the travelers were tired and hungry. Their exhaustion couldn’t be missed, but neither could their optimism. As a group, each day they traveled closer to the river, their spirits lifted a little more.
“You know,” Olivia said to the group, “I feel good about this trip. I believe this time I will make it to the United States.”
“Me, too,” Lola said.
Without warning, the coyote reappeared.
“We go now,” he whispered. “But no talking!” he warned. “If you want to cross with a raft, come with me. If you want to go on foot and swim across on your own, go over there by the largest tree and watch. When the raft is in the middle of the water, you start out. And stay quiet. The Mexican authorities left, but they may return any time.”
Unsure of her swimming abilities in deep, rapidly moving water, Dolores opted to cross the river in a raft. Her two brothers were both strong swimmers and believed they could swim across. She didn’t want to be separated from them but felt this was the quickest way for the three of them to get across and stay out of sight.
The coyote addressed the group by the river. “Too many want to cross by raft, so we’ll take turns. You, on this side, will go first,” he said, pointing to his right. “I’ll come back for the rest of you.”
Dolores was in the second group. She watched as the first group climbed onto the raft. The balsero slowly steered the raft across, keeping it beside a larger raft carrying goods to Mexico from Guatemala. The moonlight beamed down like a spotlight on the water. Dolores could see the group gently slide across the river in the raft. Ernesto and Emilio swam unnoticed behind the raft. What would be waiting for them on the other side? Dolores wondered.
Ernesto and Emilio swam with a group of several boys and young men. The water was warm and fairly shallow, except in the very middle of the river. As they neared the other side, they felt large tree roots, stones, and plants along the bank. Emilio grabbed a slippery root and pulled himself up ever so quietly. With his younger brother securely on the bank, Ernesto grabbed another root and was on the shore in no time. They crawled up on to the firm ground and stayed low.
Both of the intact families opted to go the short distance across the river in the raft and would have a turn with Dolores. It was more time-consuming, loading up the toddlers and children with the parents. Dolores boarded the raft, and a mother asked, “Please, can you help watch my three children? I’m afraid the toddlers might try to crawl out.”
“Yes, I’ll watch them with you,” Dolores agreed.
The raft left the bank, and Dolores strained to see her brothers on the other side of the river. The bank was completely dark. Were they safely across? Would she be able to find them right away?
The raft teetered a bit as it set out to cross the river beside a larger trade raft. About midway, the larger raft with commercial goods bumped Dolores’ raft. Before she knew what happened, the mother screamed, “My baby! My baby!”
“Be quiet! Stay still!” the coyote said.
Others in the raft said,” Shhh! Be quiet! We’ll be caught!”
The mother hysterically waved her hands above the water off the side of the raft, causing the raft to bounce up and down in the water. Water seeped into the raft.
“Stop! Stop!” the others in the raft screamed to the mother.
“We’ll sink!” another screamed.
Dolores reached down into the black, warm water and grabbed the baby’s shirt, pulling the baby back onto the raft. The baby was not breathing. The frantic mother was crying; the coyote was trying to quiet everyone. The balsero was nervous and scolded the coyote. The other children on the raft cried and screamed with fear.
“Shh, shh!” the parents said to their children. “Quiet.”
Dolores feared the Mexican officers would hear them and stop them on the other side. After a minute or so, the baby coughed, and water spewed out of his mouth. He cried. The mother took the baby in her arms and quieted him.
Dolores was uneasy as she looked across the river. Did the authorities hear the commotion? Did my brothers? Had they come out to see what was wrong? she wondered. She prayed they were safe and would remain out of sight from the authorities.
Minutes later, the raft ebbed to the bank. The coyote helped everyone off one by one and told them to disappear into the wooded area. “Hurry, go!” he said. Then he wished them luck in their travels.
“Wait, sir,” Dolores said in a panic. “Where do we go now?” She didn’t know where to go. She only knew that Guatemala and Honduras were behind her.
The coyote pointed and said, “There. Follow the road, but don’t travel on the road; you’ll be caught.”
She nodded and ran toward the other part of the riverbank looking for her brothers.
“Dolores,” she heard someone whisper. “Over here.”
Dolores walked quietly in the direction of the voice that she recognized as Emilio’s. In the shadows next to a tree, she thought she made out a figure in the darkness.
