La Linea (2 page)

Ten minutes later, Elena dragged herself out of bed and into the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. She looked like she was three years old instead of thirteen.

I couldn't tell her. The words I needed to say felt like mud in my mouth. Abuelita let out a deep sigh, turned her back to me, and stirred the
frijoles
bubbling in the pot on the stove.

I walked out, barefoot, and stood at the edge of our
ranchito.
I dug my toes into the soft, dusty dirt and stared out at the cornfield. The stalks were dry, the cobs stunted and diseased. Every year, the drought got worse. We tried diverting the springwater. We'd carried water by hand. Nothing worked.

And even if our corn didn't die because of the drought, even if the corn grew tall and green with silky golden tassels, we couldn't sell it for more than a few
pesos.
Mexico was flooded with cheap foreign corn. Our market had dried up, along with
el maíz.

If Papá and Mamá didn't send a little money every month, we would starve. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't help here anymore.

CHAPTER 3

Every year on my birthday, Chuy, Lalo, and I went up to the waterfall to swim.
Gracias a Dios
for my friends. I had to wait days for Don Clemente, and I'd go crazy if I stayed at home.

Halfway up the path that led into the hills, Chuy and Lalo sat lounging under the shade of the big tree.
“¡Apúrate!”
said Chuy.

He jumped up, pocketing the carving he was working on. “You're late.”

Most of the springs had dried up, but we knew one secret place, far back in the hills and higher up. We climbed and climbed until we came to the narrow crevice in the cliff we'd discovered years before. We squeezed our bodies through and into the small gorge.

Our little waterfall had dwindled to a trickle, but the pool was there. It wasn't deep enough to dive into, so we stripped down to our underwear and floated in the clear blue water.

“Remember that time up here when we practiced farting?” Chuy asked. He stood up and demonstrated once, just to show he could still do it.

I laughed. “Yeah, we tortured Moreno real good. He never caught us, either. Our farts were quiet, but deadly.”

Señor Moreno was our fifth-grade teacher. We'd hated him because he smelled like old onions and picked on Chuy for no good reason. We figured the
pedos
were at least self-defense against Moreno's bad breath.

“¿Y el año pasado?”
I pointed at
mi amigo.
“
Tú,
Lalo. You got all that tequila and beer and dared us to drink it. Man, I thought I'd never quit throwing up.”

Lalo didn't say anything, just smiled. He knew I wasn't mad. Up here, we felt hidden from the world. Here, we tried everything first, just to be able to say we'd done it.

I pulled myself out of the water and retrieved the three cigarettes I had sneaked from Tío Esteban's stash. We lit up. Chuy and I coughed. Lalo inhaled once or twice and blew the smoke out expertly, like he smoked a pack a day, and then ground the cigarette out on a flat gray rock.

Lalo dipped his head into the water. When he came up for air, he shook his dark, thick hair like a dog, spraying water all over the three of us.

“Me voy,”
he said matter-of-factly. “I'm going to
la capital.
My aunt knows the director of a good
preparatoria
there. I can get in and live with her.”

I wasn't surprised Lalo was finally getting out. He wanted to be a doctor, and he couldn't do that in San Jacinto. He always said he would go. Lalo didn't belong in San Jacinto any more than I did. If he was really leaving, maybe that meant I'd really go, too.

We let the sun dry us for a long time, taking in Lalo's news. “Good,” Chuy said finally. “Good.
Y no seas burro.
Don't quit.”

He didn't say anything else. We all knew Chuy wasn't going anywhere. All of a sudden, he leaped to his feet. He pulled his wiry frame up the toeholds in the rock at the side of the gorge until he reached the top, then motioned for us to follow.

The three of us sat cross-legged, gazing down at the valley below. The roofs of San Jacinto glinted in the sun. Smoke curled up from the ranchos. Chuy pointed to the East, to two figures in an empty field, one atop a small tractor, the other walking behind.

It was Chuy's father and his older brother, Everardo. They'd vowed not to give up on San Jacinto. Chuy's father had formed a group to try to attract tourists. His mother even had some crazy idea about selling her
indígena
weaving to the
norteamericanos
who came. I didn't know why anyone would want to visit San Jacinto. Chuy knew he was part of his father's big scheme. He seemed resigned to the plan.

“Mira.”
Chuy pulled his carving out of his pocket. It was one of his fantastical, mythical animal creations. This one had horns, claws, fangs, and wings, painted in a dozen brilliant colors. Despite its scary looks, the creature seemed good and kind. Like a little boy playing with a toy, Chuy lifted the figure up and made it fly through the air.

I imagined it life-size, carrying me through the sky to the north, across
la línea,
to California.

“I'm going, too,” I said suddenly. “I got a letter from Papá. I'm going soon.”

Twice before, Papá had announced it was time for me to follow him north. Both times, I'd told Chuy and Lalo that I was going for sure. In the end, there wasn't enough money. Both times, I'd had to admit Papá's failure to make good on his promises.

Chuy and Lalo looked at each other, not at me. Chuy started laughing. Lalo punched my arm playfully. He shook his head in disbelief, scrambled to his feet, and pointed down toward San Jacinto.

“
Ay,
Miguel,” Lalo teased. “
No te engañes.
You'll grow old and die here, along with all the other
viejitos.
”

I couldn't say anything back to Lalo. Maybe he was right. Papá had let me down before. It could happen again. Half the time, I wasn't even sure if he wanted me with him in California. Wouldn't a father sacrifice whatever it took to bring his only son to his side? If he missed me, really missed me, wouldn't he have come for me himself, a long time ago?

CHAPTER 4

Elena was like the weather vane on top of Señor Mendoza's house. She picked up on every change in the wind, no matter how slight. The day after my birthday, she seemed more alert than ever. She followed me everywhere I went, a silent little shadow. I ignored her. I didn't talk to her, or look her in the eye. I tried to hide it, but she sensed my excitement about Papá's note.

I had to tell Elena about my trip across
la línea.
I couldn't put it off any longer. The sooner she knew the truth, the sooner she could get used to the idea. Late Friday afternoon, I dug out my last few
pesos.
I'd take Elena to San Jacinto. I'd buy her mango ice cream, her favorite, and tell her in public. Maybe she'd behave if we were around other people.

“Let's go to town, Elena,” I said. “We'll get some ice cream and hang out.”

She squinted her eyes and frowned slightly. I never asked her to have fun with me. She didn't trust my invitation.

“Okay.” She was too glad to go to refuse my offer.

On the edge of San Jacinto, Elena stopped. She pulled up her special pink T-shirt, the one Mamá sent from California, so her belly button showed, for the whole world to see.

“You look trashy. Cover up.” I reached over with both hands and jerked her T-shirt back down.
“Mensa. Así deshonras nuestro nombre.”

Elena backed up and tugged at her jeans. They moved lower on her hips. She hooked her thumbs in her belt loops, and stuck her chin out defiantly.

“Tú no eres nadie para juzgar,”
she said. “Who are you to judge?”

I looked her up and down. My sister was pretty. She really didn't need to show skin for boys to notice her. I could scold her about dishonoring the family, but I wasn't her parent, and she knew it. She wasn't about to let me tell her how she could dress.

Elena reached deep into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out an envelope. She'd chewed each fingernail off, way down, a sure sign she was worried about something. Her slender fingers fumbled with the letter.

“Abuelita got this the other day,” she confessed. “It's from Mamá. I'm sorry I didn't show it to you before. Don't be mad at me.”

I grabbed the paper roughly, jerking it out of Elena's grasp. It was Mamá's usual letter, full of news. There was even a new photo of the twin sisters we'd never seen, three-year-old Maria and Liliana. They sat almost as if they were one, hands clasped. Their lips turned up in identical grins, deep dimples on each cheek. Their noses crinkled up the same way and their faces were framed by curly black hair.

I held the picture by one corner and stared. How was it possible to have sisters I'd never even seen?

“Did you read the last paragraph, Miguel?” Elena asked nervously. “Do you think Mamá means it? Do you think we'll go soon?”

I read it aloud, Elena mouthing each word with me: “We've all been working hard, overtime. We almost have enough money for you, Elena. It won't be long,
te prometo.
Please take good care of Abuelita. You're all she has now.”

Elena was ignoring the truth of Mamá's words. I gave her an exasperated look. She knew the way it worked. She knew Papá's plan. Papá went first. Mamá followed. I was next. Elena would be the last. Papá sent for us one by one, waiting until he had money in hand.

“Come on, Elena.” I steered her toward the plaza.

Elena got mango, I got chocolate, and we sat side by side on one of the splintered benches at the edge of
la plaza.
Two
señoras,
the ancient Dominguez
cuates,
sat on the far side, string bags at their feet. They folded their arms and gossiped in small voices, their chins on their chests.

El alcalde
Don Ramiro sat dozing in a chair, and two men played a slow game of checkers under the tree. Three little boys kicked a soccer ball into and out of the empty wading pool at the edge of the plaza. The blue concrete was cracked and stained with rust from the drain.

“This place is dead,” Elena said, licking her cone. She gestured at me, then
la plaza,
and then beyond, to include the whole town.

“Thanks a lot,” I said.
“¿Y qué?”

“You know what I mean.” She looked out at the deserted town. There should have been lots of people out, that time of day.

She was right. San Jacinto had been emptied of young men. A few left because they wanted to. Most left because they had to. There was no work, nothing worth doing, just odd jobs here and there that paid a few
pesos,
not enough to feed a family.

“Who'd want to stay anymore?” Elena continued. “Even the girls are leaving now, if they can. Just last month Jesusita left, with that new boyfriend of hers.”

“She's sixteen, Elena.” I made sixteen sound like sixty—old, really old.

“
¿Tú, qué sabes?
You're barely fifteen, Miguel. You're hardly even older than me,” Elena said angrily.

It was the biggest insult she could think of. It was also how she saw the world. In her mind, the eighteen months that separated us were nothing. If I was old enough to do something, then she was, too.

She stood up and threw the last third of her ice cream cone on the dried-up grass beneath my feet. That was Elena's way of telling me she knew I'd be going. It was her way of telling me what a chicken I was for keeping it a secret.

“It's not fair, Miguel. It's just not fair.”

Elena turned and started running down Avenida Principal, out of town. She went right down the center of the road. There weren't any cars to worry about, or boys to impress, so she ran fast, kicking up the red dirt. It mixed with the sweat running down her face, ruining her pretty pink shirt.

CHAPTER 5

By Sunday noon, everyone knew Don Clemente had returned from
la capital.
You couldn't miss his new black Mercedes among the thirty-year-old beat-up, patched-together VW Beetles and Chevy Novas. Most of us didn't have cars at all.

I walked to Don Clemente's compound. It was no longer a house. He'd added two stories, a fancy tiled courtyard, a three-car garage, gates all around, a security system. They said there was even a swimming pool inside. Don Clemente made his money off people like us who needed him.

Juanito stood at Don Clemente's front gate. He slouched against the wrought iron, his hands stuck in his pockets. Juanito was Don Clemente's
bueno para nada
nephew, spoiled by money and too much time on his hands. He screened his uncle's visitors.

I'd hated him ever since we'd both tried out for goalie on the best regional soccer team. It'd been my last shot to make it, and Juanito had beat me out. Everyone believed Don Clemente had bribed the coach. Then Juanito had squandered his chance by drinking and partying, and missing practice. Within two months, he'd been kicked off the team.

Juanito was a jerk, yet I envied him even more than I hated him. Sometimes they felt like the same things, hate and envy. I was jealous of Juanito's easy money. I hated him for his freedom to do what he wanted. The worst thing was that Juanito knew how I felt. I couldn't hide it. He'd take advantage of me if he could.

“Hey, Juanito,” I said. “
¿Está tu tío?
I have to see him.”

I moved closer. His eyes were red. He covered them quickly with his sunglasses. I smiled to let him know what a loser he was.