The Only Road (15 page)

“He had the burn mark for months,” Ángela remembered.

“But he still kept jumping on the bed whenever he came over.” Jaime struggled to take a few deep breaths. The train car was getting stuffier. “I really miss him.”

“Me too.” Ángela sighed before wrapping an arm around Jaime's shoulders and planting a kiss on the back of his head, not knowing where his face was in the dark.

The smell really got bad when one of the older men
followed the little girl's example and used the space between the floor and door as a bathroom as well. It didn't help that the temperature was getting hotter, and soon everyone was sweating.

The side walls became too hot to lean against, and everyone was forced to huddle in the middle of the car, touching the people next to them, which in turn created more body heat. The man next to Jaime smelled particularly ripe. Jaime drank some water, aware that the more he drank, the less he'd have for later and the more likely he'd need to use the designated pee spot. Still, he drained half the bottle without realizing it. He'd never been so hot. He took off his shirt and wanted to remove his jeans, which stuck to his legs, but he didn't dare. Not when there was so much money sewed into them, not in such a dark car where he'd never be able to find them again.

“Keep your shoes on as well,” Ángela whispered in his ear so softly, the people next to him wouldn't have heard.

“¿
Por qué?
”

Ángela hesitated, as if she were looking around to see if anyone was watching and listening. Impossible to tell in the speckled darkness. “It's something César said at the church. If anything happens, and you need to run, it's the people without shoes who are more likely to get caught.”

Others on the train hadn't heard César's advice; foot
stench added to the bouquet of odors. Not that Jaime wanted to add to the bad smell, but it sure would feel nice to air out his feet. “We don't need to worry about that in here. No one's going anywhere.”

“Still doesn't mean we can trust them. We don't even know what most of them look like.”

Jaime glanced at the closed door. If . . .
when
someone finally opened it, there'd be no place to run, no way to escape. But he supposed Ángela had a point. It would take a few seconds to put his shoes back on and a few seconds could make all the difference. He couldn't risk losing his shoes anymore than he could risk losing his jeans.

He wished he could trust these people. They were all on the same journey—they should help each other, especially seeing as they were locked in the train car together. Sure, there was a moment of bonding with the tongue twisters and giving the kids scraps of food. But when it came down to it, they were only going to look after themselves. And anything that could help them get ahead could be used. Even shoes.

He used his shirt to mop the sweat from his face and then flapped it in front of him to shift the air. It didn't do any good. The temperature in the car kept rising.

“It's like an oven in here. We're being cooked alive!” The same voice that had complained last night started yelling and banging on the door. Once again the train had
made a stop, but there was no telling where they were.

Rattles and clanks came from outside. The boxcar shifted and bumped, making the screaming people yell louder. Jaime wondered whether anyone outside could even hear them.

Others joined in the banging, desperate to get anyone's attention. A few even put their mouths near the gap under the door that had become the urinal to shout. This time, the deep-voiced man didn't try to stop them. Jaime thought about joining the shouting party—more voices would make it louder—but he didn't have the energy to get up, and forget about shouting. Much easier to stay in the center of the car with his shirt pressed against his face. There was still the faintest smell of home from the soap his mamá used.

I wonder
, Jaime thought, though even that required more concentration than normal,
if we're in Medias Aguas
. That would explain the clangs and shrieks of metal against metal if their car was being detached and reattached. Or it could be monsters, he supposed. Monsters taking over the train.
I wonder what they look like
 . . .

With a lunge the train was back on its way and the yellers settled down, crying and whimpering that they couldn't stand it anymore and hoped death would come quickly.

“Mamá, are we going to die?” asked Eva.

Jaime expected her to say, “Of course not.” Instead the mamá took a deep breath.

“That's up to God to decide. He chooses who joins Him. But whatever happens, you're going to be in good hands, either mine or God's.” She began singing some hymns. Others joined her in jagged breaths—no one seemed to have enough oxygen to carry a proper melody.

Jaime reached for Ángela's hand, though both his and hers were hot and sticky. He wanted to ask her the same question the little girl had asked but didn't want to hear the answer. The heat was so intense, like being in a car left in the hot sun and not being able to open a window. His brain was growing fuzzy and pounding with a headache. The dark shapes shifted side to side like they were on a boat instead of a train.

“I feel sick,” he muttered to himself, but his cousin heard.

“Drink, eat.” Ángela handed him the water bottle and the last mango. “You're dehydrated.”

He did as he was told, finishing the water and biting into the skin of the mango to suck some of the juice. The world began to make sense again. It was still stifling hot, but at least now he didn't seem so loopy and out of it. He handed the remaining mango half to his cousin.

“No, you eat it,” she said.

Jaime shook his head before realizing she couldn't see him. “No, we both need it.”

She took it and finished it off but left the stone with the little juice that remained for Eva and Ivan. The hymns had stopped, the effort too much in the hot, poorly ventilated air. Maybe he should pull out the sketchbook again and have another blind attempt at drawing. Except with the heat, the pages would get moist and be prone to tearing. Besides, he didn't think he could focus well enough on the page without being able to see to make the drawing even remotely good. He would have to distract himself from the heat by thinking of other things.

“Are you scared to die?” he asked in a whisper. He didn't have the strength to be angry or upset that their parents' sacrifice to get them out of Guatemala had been for nothing.

“No.” Ángela spoke with the same tiredness. “More like disappointed. There's a lot I'd still like to do.”

“Like what?”

“Little things. Play the role of Julieta in front of an audience. Get old. Have children. See and eat snow. What about you?”

Jaime thought about that for a while. He knew he had future plans, something about art and museums and maybe university, but in the heat couldn't think of what they were. “I want to see and eat snow too, but I am scared to die.”

“You shouldn't be. Miguel wasn't. He can take care of you.”

Part of Jaime wanted to say he didn't need anyone to take care of him, but, oh, how great it would be to see Miguel again. “I wish Miguel were here. I wish we could have left before he was killed.”

“Me too.”

But then Miguel would be in the oven train, cooking along with them, and Jaime didn't want that. Not for his cousin who'd suffered enough anyway. He wondered how long it had taken for life to leave Miguel's body. How much pain he was in before he couldn't take it anymore. Jaime supposed if he had to choose between being beaten to death and being cooked alive, he'd rather go like this. At least on the train he wouldn't have to go through so much pain. He hoped.

“If I die,” Ángela rasped, but Jaime cut her off before she could continue.

“You won't.” If she died, they both died—he wouldn't be able to continue without her.

Ángela hugged him. Even though the body heat made the temperature more unbearable, breaking away from her grasp was the last thing on his mind. It was several minutes before she seemed to gain enough strength, or breath, to continue.

“If I die, at least I'm with family and not alone.”

Neither said anything else, but they both thought it. Miguel had died alone.

There were no more disco
lights dancing in the train car when Jaime opened his eyes again.
It must be nighttime.
He wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep or fainted from the heat. Had no way of knowing how long they'd been in this cage. The last thing he remembered was finding it hard to focus and wondering if he would ever stop sweating.

He wasn't sweating now. In fact, he felt a bit chilly, even in the boxcar's stuffy air. He found a shirt he hoped was his and put it on. The faint smell of Mamá's soap embraced him.

“Jaime?” Ángela got up next to him.

“
Sí, soy yo
.”

“Good.” She made stretching moans and scooted back to lean against the metal side, which had cooled down to the point it no longer burned to touch it. “Hungry?”

“How much longer are we in here for?”

“No clue, but the food won't last another day, if it hasn't rotted already.”

They didn't have much left. One tamale and a couple of Abuela's tortillas, which tasted a bit off. If he could see them, he wouldn't be surprised if they had green spots. But since he couldn't see the spots, he pretended he couldn't taste them. In terms of food, they had nothing else. If they got off the train, alive, how easy would it be to get? The safe-house in Lechería would probably provide them with something while they were there, but what about after?

Others in the boxcar began shuffling around, waking up from the heat-induced slumber. Plastic bags rumpled, zippers unzipped, and water bottles crackled as people dug into their limited food stores. But the noises didn't last long. Most people, it seemed, had little food left, if any.

“Mamá, I think this man is dead,” the little girl said.

A hush swept through the train, as if someone had turned off the sound to everyone's voices.

“Where is he?” the deep-voiced bandanna man grumbled.

“Aquí,”
Eva said, her voice high and squeaky in comparison.

Everyone kept quiet as the man went to the fallen body's side.

A slap across the face rang in the train car, and a few
seconds later the bandanna man grumbled again. “I can feel a pulse, but only barely. I think he got heat stroke. Anyone have some water left?”

Jaime shook his plastic water bottle. Nothing. Next to him he heard Ángela going through the same motions; hers was empty as well. Other people shuffled through their belongings and said no, but some said nothing. Jaime knew they were saving it for themselves.

When no one volunteered any water, the unconscious man was moved and everyone kept their distance. If the intense heat hadn't drained everyone's energy, Jaime might have worried about a fight breaking out, or at least someone stealing any remaining water. But just breathing seemed to be all everyone could manage. Every so often the deep-voiced man went over to the body and responded each time with the same phrase, “Still with us.”

•  •  •

Jaime opened his eyes again when the train rocked side to side as it switched tracks and slowed down.

Just another stop in this endless journey
, he told himself. He tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position—after all, there wasn't much else to do but sleep, and it did pass the time quicker. Instead he woke up completely. It was night again, or maybe still, and he found himself staring at the flickering exterior lights on the metal walls.

The sound of metal clanking against metal woke every
one up. Cars were being removed or added to the train. Faint voices yelled indistinguishable orders. Jaime refused to get his hopes up. Were they? Could they—

They had stopped for hours, it seemed, before the metal bar screeched and clanged as it slid across the train car door. A second later the bright light almost blinded them, and the freshest, sweetest air filled the dark and suffocating boxcar as the door opened several meters wide.

“
¡Sálganse!
” A voice ordered them to get out.

Everyone bumped into one another as they stood on weak legs, still blind from the sudden light.

Jaime blinked several times. With each bat of his eyes his vision cleared. Then he wished he were still blind.

The light came from a streetlamp, and it shined on an immigration officer standing outside the train. Ammunition crossed his chest like an X, and he pointed his automatic rifle into the car.

It was the first time Jaime got a look at the people who shared the car with him. Those who had ridden in the van with him from Padre Kevin's were all there, as well as twenty others he didn't recognize. The looks of surprise and confusion quickly changed to fear as they realized the nightmare of being captured was real. Ivan stared at the officer in awe, while Eva clung tightly to her mamá's hand and her pink blankie scrap. At least they weren't crying.