Hieroglyph (18 page)

“Did you ever move anybody?”

Ulicez shook his head. “My dad didn't like me to do any of the real work. He just needed help with the engineering. You know, telling guys where and how to dig, how to shore it up, stuff like that.”

“It looks pretty solid.”

“It is. But you can't be too careful.” Ulicez put down his backpack and withdrew a shoebox from it. Carefully upending it on the ground, he waited until the spider bot had crawled out. Lights on each of its eight legs twinkled to life, and he watched as it skittered on ahead of them, forming tight spirals from the floor to the right wall to the ceiling, down the left wall and back again, over and over.

“I hate those things,” Elena said. “They're creepy.”

“They save lives. They work in pipelines all over the world.”

“And they do tunnels, too?”

Ulicez smiled. “Yes. They do tunnels, too.”

They followed the spider along the tunnel, pausing when it paused, waiting as it fired light from its joints at various sections of wall. Occasionally its green glow would shift into yellow, but it never turned red. That was good; Ulicez hadn't supervised the entire tunnel build, but he had confidence in the guys who did the job. The cartel had paid them good money, after all. And there were certain consequences for not doing the job right.

“I wish I could have spent more time with him,” Elena said. “Your father, I mean.”

“Me too.” Ulicez watched the spider appear to work something out before scrabbling on ahead. “He liked you. He liked us, together.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Mom said so, anyway. After.”

Elena took his hand. “I'm sorry. For everything.”

Ulicez pulled up short. He let his flashlight dangle from his hand. It was easier to say the words in the shadows. “Stop. It's like you said. Point six percent. You couldn't see that coming. Nobody could. I sure as hell didn't.”

“But—”

“Stop. Really. It's done. We're taking care of it. Together.” He pointed down the tunnel with his flashlight. “El Tejón is down there, waiting. It's all going to be fine.” He tilted his head. “Isn't it?”

“There's going to be a lot of blood. It'll hurt.”

“But I'll be there. And we can go to a doctor. We can say it's a miscarriage.”

Elena looked like she wanted to say something more, but instead she just launched herself at him and wrapped both her arms around him like she expected him to blow away somehow. He set his chin on her head after a minute.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.

She nodded.

“We have to get the drugs, Elena. Having some choice is better than having no choice at all. That's why we're here. Or there. In Mariposa, I mean. That's why we came.”

She sniffed. “I know.” She hugged him even harder, which he hadn't known was possible. The woman was a lot stronger than she looked. “It's just that you're being so nice. And so brave. And I'd like a little more of that in the world, you know?”

She pulled away and wiped her eyes. She smiled. “Fucking hormones. Sorry.”

He reached out and held her hand. “Let's just get the stuff. If you decide this isn't what you want, then—”

“No, it
is
what I want, I just—”

“Let's just keep it a decision, okay? You can't say it's a real decision if there aren't any other options.”

She appeared to gather herself. “Okay.”

They were still holding hands when El Tejón appeared at the end of the tunnel. He was in some sort of gentleman adventurer costume, down to the pith helmet and elegant riding boots.

“Why are you dressed as the Most Interesting Man in the World?” Ulicez asked.

“It was the only way they'd let me inspect the rapid transit system,” the old man said. He waved a fake badge at them. “Had to get underground somehow.”

Ulicez whistled. “Wow.”

Tejón brought Elena in for a hug and a kiss. Then he brought out a couple of boxes. “The directions are on the tape,” he said. “And this one is some Valium. For the pain.”

She beamed. “You think of everything!”

“Make sure to drink lots of water first. Maybe take this with a little food.”

“I will.”

“And you'll have to go to the hospital. Are you ready for that?”

Elena's lips pursed. “Yes,” she said after a long moment. “I think so.”

Tejón sighed heavily. “The sooner you use these, the better. The longer you wait, the less they work. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Tejón looked at Ulicez. “You take care of this one. She's going to need you.”

“I know.” Something occurred to him. “Have you spoken to my mother?”

Tejón shook his head. “There's no reason for her to know, I don't think.”

“Agreed.”

Tejón tried to smile. “I wish things could be different for you two. But they
will
be different, soon enough. Very different. You'll be Americans!”

“We're already Americans,” Elena said. “This whole continent is America.”

Tejón's laugh echoed down the tunnel. He gave them each hugs and kisses. Then he shooed them on their way. When Ulicez turned around, the old man was gone. He really was a badger.

“Should it be glowing red like that?” Elena tugged on his sleeve. “The spider? Isn't red bad?”

Ulicez aimed his flashlight down the tunnel. A cloud of dust was wafting their way. “Yes,” he said. “Red is bad. Very bad.” He pointed the flashlight at the ceiling. A fine crack had worked its way along under the cable. He thought he heard trucks. He watched root hairs trembling in the light. Then he was digging in his backpack.

“What's happening?”

“There's been a cave-in up ahead,” he said. “We have to dig. Come on.”

“But we're not on the other side yet! Are we?”

Ulicez checked the map. Shit. “No. We're not. We're . . . we're in the solar farm. We're on the American side, still.” He withdrew one shovel, then another. He held it out to Elena.

She refused to take it. “Ulicez. Think. They're going to find two Mexicans digging their way out of a tunnel. They'll see it. The solar people.
They'll see us trying to get back into America.
”

Ulicez looked back at the cloud of dirt.
Fuck.
As if on cue, the spider bounded back to him. It was covered in grit. One of its leg joints had a pebble stuck in it. Its antennae were broken. Whatever had happened up ahead, it was still happening.

“Elena,” he said. “We have to dig our way out. Now. Before we're buried alive.”

“And saying we make it out, what do we tell the people up there?” She pointed at the ceiling.

Ulicez started digging. “I'll think of something.”

“I have a feeling I won't like it.”

“Oh, I'm almost certain that you won't.”

“GET NAKED. NOW.”

“What?”

“I have an idea.”

Elena gave him a look that said this had better be good. But she kicked off her shoes and started stripping anyway. White and green light strobed across her increasing expanse of skin. Ulicez unbuckled his pants and shucked them down.

Then he tackled his wife.

“What the fuck? You asshole, my bra isn't even—”

“STOP! SHOW US YOUR HANDS!”

Ulicez grinned. He knelt down on the ground and held up his hands. Beneath him, Elena shot him a look that was pure death. Grudgingly, she got up on her knees and held her hands up. Behind them, keys jingled and flashlights bobbed. Ulicez had one moment to take a look around at the massive black lotuses open to the night around them, and how the stars were reflected in their gleaming surfaces, before his hands were forced down and back and enclosed in bread-tie cuffs. A very distant point was surprised and pleased at how well he was taking it. This was everything he'd ever feared, everything he'd worked his whole life to avoid: getting caught on the wrong side of the border, getting arrested. Flashlights and weapons and the desert cruel and quiet all around them.

“What the . . .” The voice was panting, winded. Whoever they were, they'd run.

“Ma'am, are you doing okay?” another voice asked. A woman. Stern.

“What?” Elena almost brought her hands down, then appeared to think better of it. “I mean, yes. No. I'm okay.”

“Was this man attacking you?”

Of course. He almost laughed. Then something wiser in him reminded him that he was in front of people holding Tasers, and he reined himself in. The border botflies had motion-activated computer vision programmed to recognize all sorts of motion: running, walking, jumping. It made sense that fucking would be on the list. It was pretty distinctive, after all. And to the cameras, what Ulicez had done probably looked a lot like an attempted rape.

“What? No! This man is my husband.”

“Marital rape is a serious problem, ma'am, you don't need to be afraid of telling—”

“He wasn't trying to rape me, you fucking idiots!”
Elena brought her hands down and turned around. “He was trying to
fuck
me. We live over there.” She pointed vaguely north, at the bright lights of Mariposa. “We . . .” She was panting, now. The adrenaline was clearly washing out of her, leaving her at a loss for words. “We were just . . .”

“We just wanted to get away from the cameras,” Ulicez said. His voice sounded remarkably steady in his ears. “From the observation. We're on probation, in Mariposa, and there's this points system, and it's basically to see if you love your wife enough, and . . .” He licked his lips. “It kinda . . . puts a damper on things? You know?”

“So we thought we'd go outside,” Elena said.

“Don't y'all have, like, a
yard
or something?” This was a kid. A rookie.

“There are cameras in the yard!” Elena was gesticulating, now, playing into the whole fiery-Latina-woman bullshit. “Seriously, they watch us all the time.”

“Is that even legal?” the woman asked. “Arizona has a Peeping Tom law, I know 'cause my ex—”

“Shut up about your ex, already.” There was warmth at Ulicez's back. “If I let you go, son, are you gonna run?”

“No, sir. I just want to go home.”

“All right, then. Shut your barn door and turn around.”

Ulicez did up his fly and stood up, slowly. They were rent-a-cops. Not border security, not BORSTAR, not a militia, just corporate night-shifters with orange cheese-worm dust on their shirts and dark rings under their eyes. Above them, botflies glowed green and hovered, perfectly still. Ulicez resisted the temptation to address them directly.

“We're sorry,” he said.

“Really sorry,” Elena added.

“Yeah. We just . . .” He heaved a very heavy sigh. “That place will drive you crazy, you know? Just knowing how much rides on it, on how you look and how you act and everything, and . . .”

“We haven't had sex in weeks,” Elena said. “Really.”

“You married?” the man asked.

“Yes,” they answered in unison.

As one, all three rent-a-cops laughed. “Well shit, son, welcome to the new normal,” the man said. “Get your lady her sweater. Y'all want a ride back to town? We'll help you straighten everything out.”

Ulicez almost choked, but Elena stepped forward. “That would be so great. Thank you.” She jerked her head at him. “Did I mention this was
his
idea?”

The woman rolled her eyes. She flipped her long gray braid to the other side of her head and helped Elena put her shirt back on. “My ex, he was like that,” she said. “One time he wanted to go under the bleachers at the high school. Naturally, after that, I found out he was running around with some freshman at the community college, and I had to end it.”

“Obviously,” Elena said.

“Would you shut up about that asshole?” the man said. “Honestly, Joanne, it's bad enough when you talk our ears off about it—”

“And it just means you're really not over it, yet,” the kid said. He jingled some keys. “Can I drive?”

“No, you cannot drive, I keep telling you, not at night. You let me drive, and you let me do the talking when we get up to . . .” He held up a key fob and in the distance, a massive truck started. “What's it called, again?”

“Mariposa,” Ulicez said. “We live in Mariposa.”

RedKoala/Shutterstock, Inc.

STORY NOTES
—Madeline Ashby

International borders are a work of fiction. They are a consensual hallucination that we all engage in to perpetuate the status quo. In that regard, they are much like currency in that they have value, but the value itself is a fragile social construct vulnerable to the whims of history.

Trust me. I'm an immigrant.