The Only Road (25 page)

The father, who spoke decent Spanish, turned to Jaime. “My children love your dog. How much for her?”

“She's not for sale,” Ángela said with a needle in her mouth.

“A thousand pesos?” The father raised his eyebrows as if daring them to refuse. Jaime wasn't sure of the conversion rate, but he knew it was a good amount toward their crossing fee.

“Absolutely not,” Ángela confirmed, her eyes never leaving her job.

The father looked at Jaime to see if he would try to convince the stubborn seamstress. Jaime lifted his shoulders in a shrug as if there was nothing he could do. Secretly, though, he was glad. If Vida hadn't found them under the car in Lechería, they might have never made it this far. If she hadn't caught the rabbit, Señora Pérez might not have driven them here. No, Vida stayed.

The father sighed but slipped Jaime a fifty-peso note for letting his children take doggie selfies. A bit confused, Jaime thanked the family anyway. He couldn't get over how generous all these
gringos
were, especially when the news always said how they didn't like immigrants. True, he wasn't in their country (yet), but it was weird how they expected to pay for everything. He would have never thought of charging people just to take a picture of their dog. The customs were so different from what they were back home. He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to them.

It took them two days
to earn the money they needed to cross and have enough to buy a couple tacos at mealtimes; the migrant camp offered nothing more than keeping
la migra
out. The skirt that Ángela had altered had ended up looking weird, but the lady loved it, saying it was exactly what she wanted, and came back the next day with shopping bags of clothes she'd bought that didn't fit right. When a security officer came by to inquire why a seamstress had set up shop in the middle of the public park, Ángela's client waved him away with a few dollars. The lady complained a lot, but seemed to think she was getting a good deal, so paid well.

“I never want to sew for money again.” Ángela showed him her fingers, which were red and cramped from holding
the needle. She had had to buy more thread, but thankfully, it didn't cost very much.

Jaime's portrait business went well, and Vida's cuteness raked in a couple extra dollars too. He was down to his last sheet of paper when they packed up for the second day. He debated whether to buy a new sketchbook. They had a little extra just in case, and he always liked having a backup. But it would be one more thing to carry while they made the crossing.

•  •  •

Without the money sewed into the waistband, Jaime's jeans felt strange. Ángela had repaired the stitches to perfection, but the pants were loose; he'd lost a lot of weight during the trip. Maybe the jeans felt strange because this was it, their final hurdle. If they failed now, they'd have to start all over again, but with no money in the seams.

“Remember, if we're caught, we're Mexican, from Chihuahua. We describe Señora Pérez's house as our home. That way, they only send us back here instead of all the way to Guatemala,” Ángela said as she smoothed out her own jeans. They also hung low on her hips.

They met Conejo at his cantina at nightfall and hung around until ten o'clock that night. Gunshots and screams echoed through the streets. Ciudad Juárez had the reputation of being the most dangerous city in the world. Walking the streets at night with all the cash in their pockets was
asking for trouble. Several times a growl rumbled in Vida's stomach as she heard one danger or smelled another. Jaime and Ángela made sure to keep her near.

There were five of them crossing with Conejo. The other three were young men, from México and El Salvador. True to his word, Conejo didn't charge extra for Vida's passage. One of the Salvadoran men only wanted to pay him half now and the other half when they were on the other side, safe.

“What if I get shot while crossing? I'm paying you to get me across safely.”

Conejo's mouth scrunched in a grimace, showing off his large teeth. “If you want to come, you pay all of it now. But if you get killed, I'll return you half of your money.”

With a moan the man forked over the full amount along with the rest of them. Conejo stashed the money in a plastic wallet attached to his waist.

The five of them squashed together in a tiny car and were taken a few hours away from the border city with the concrete river and the cardboard houses. City lights disappeared and there was nothing to see out the window. When they got out of the car, the river had muddy banks and looked relatively calm and unthreatening in the dark night. The other side held nothing but darkness. Jaime reminded himself that looks could be deceiving.

They crouched behind some bushes by the river while
the coyote's eyes shifted from one direction to the other to detect any lurking danger hidden in the dark. “I have two rules. Whatever happens, you listen to me. If you disobey, you're dead. If you don't listen but live and we're all dead because of it, we'll haunt you until you wish you were too. Second rule, you do what I tell you to do.”

He pulled out some plastic grocery bags from his pockets and passed them around. “Take off your clothes and shoes and put them in the bags. Wet clothes will drag you down and be a dead giveaway if we meet an officer on the other side. Anyone who goes across in their clothes will be left behind.” He said this to Ángela, the only girl, as he set the example and started removing his clothes.

Jaime stripped to his underwear and felt strangely self-conscious and nervous. A shiver went through him and his legs shook, more from nerves than the brisk night air. Without his clothes protecting him, he felt exposed and vulnerable. Getting caught didn't seem so bad now. Getting caught in his underwear would be a million times worse.

It could only be worse for Ángela to be mostly naked around these strange men. His vulnerability turned to chivalry when he noticed the Salvadoran who didn't want to pay the full amount ogling his cousin.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, pervert,” Jaime said in a voice that came out like a growl. Vida pricked her one ear and strolled to Jaime's side with her hackles raised and
teeth gleaming in the night. The man turned away and shoved his clothes in the plastic bag. The other two men didn't even glance their way.

Jaime hesitated for a second before placing his sketchbook and remaining pencil stub between his clothes. He tied the bag extra tight with a double knot. If water splashed on the bag, hopefully his sketchbook would remain safe.

Conejo crouched in the water and waved them to join him. Ángela picked up her plastic bag and tucked Vida under her other arm.

Jaime took a huge breath and let it out slowly. This was it. They were really going to cross. Into a new country, into the unknown. Everything that had happened in their journey, good and not so good, had led to this moment. He sent a prayer of thanks to Miguel for all his help and hoped there was no going back.

Rocks under the cold water hurt his feet, and he felt the slight tug of the current around his ankles. His legs continued to shake as his heart pounded. The river reached his chest when he stepped on a large rock, slipped, and the plastic bag tumbled into the water, sinking to the bottom.

“My sketchbook!” He lunged into the dark water after it.

“
¡Jaime, no!
” Ángela whisper exclaimed. Vida saw her chance and wiggled out of Ángela's grasp into the water herself.

“Leave it,” Conejo hissed.

But Jaime ignored them, diving into the cold river, waving his arms in front of him in search of the bag. The water stung his eyes, and the dark night made it impossible to see. The coldness rattled his bones. He was almost out of breath when his fingers brushed against the lumpy plastic bag. He surfaced with a gasp and hugged the wet bundle to his face like a baby blanket. Conejo had secured a long arm around Ángela's waist to restrain her from going in after him. Vida stood already on the north bank, gave herself a good shake, and waited for them. Conejo glared at Jaime and shook his head.

“
¡Idiota!
” Ángela whispered. She freed herself from Conejo's clutches and said with another of her low-tone exclamations, “Four thousand kilometers and you almost die for a book.” She kissed him on the top of his wet head and grabbed him so tight he could have popped.

Jaime wiped the water from his eyes and shook his head, sending droplets of water all over her. “It's not just a book. It's my life.”

“But this life”—she poked him in the chest, hard—“is the one that matters.”

“Enough,” Conejo said, low and angry, as he jerked his gaze around them. “Another word from anyone, and I leave you all here.”

Jaime and Ángela nodded. They knew he meant it. One hand holding the dripping plastic bag over his head
and the other gripping Ángela's hand, he continued wading across the Río Bravo.

When they were almost at the north bank, a helicopter engine roared above them like a giant mosquito. A spotlight flicked on, swooping over the river. The Mexican man dove into the water with his white plastic bag clutched to his chest. The rest of them froze, watching the beam like a paralyzed mouse watches a stalking cat. If it landed on them, they were as good as caught.

Vida on dry land began going crazy, growling and barking at the “mosquito” droning over her head. A couple times she jumped in the air to try to catch it. In one of its sweeps the beam landed right on her and stayed there.

Ángela buried her face in Jaime's shoulder as if she couldn't bear to watch.

The rescued mutt twisted and turned, snapped her jaws in the air. Any second Jaime expected a gun to fire and Vida to be no more. Instead the helicopter turned its spotlight away and flew off farther down the river. The man who had been hiding underwater surfaced with heaving gasps of air.

Conejo watched as the helicopter faded into the distance, then waved an arm for them to continue wading across. But not before he gave Vida a nod of approval—the chopper had assumed she was what the radar had picked up.

Less than a minute later they were on dry land. Jaime and Ángela shivered as they looked at each other and let out a simultaneous breath they had been holding since they were first loaded into Pancho's truck. From leaving their family and everything they'd ever known, to escaping gangsters and drug cartels, extreme heat and dehydration, they'd done it. They were finally here. In the United States of America. The land of the free, where they would make their new home. But they weren't safe yet.

There was no wall on this stretch of the river like Jaime had seen from Ciudad Juárez, and no sign of armed guards, but there was a chain-link fence two or three times the height of a grown man. By a bush between the bank and the fence, Conejo had them put their clothes back on. Jaime's were only damp in a few patches, a surprise after his bag's swim. And while he couldn't tell for sure in the dark night, his sketchbook didn't seem damaged either as he tucked that into his waist. The plastic bags went back into Conejo's pocket.

“The fence is easy to climb, but it has sharp points at the top, so watch out.” Conejo crouched low to the ground. His eyes twitched from one direction to the other as if he could see in the dark. “There are hidden surveillance cameras and infrared detectors scattered around this area. They send data back to the patrol offices, who can have that chopper back here in less than a minute. Once over the fence,
you follow me and run or you're left behind.”

Jaime glanced at Ángela. She rotated her ankle. If it still hurt her, she didn't let it show. They hadn't been told they'd need to run. Had they known, they could have waited a few more days before crossing.

“Remember my rules and pray to whatever god you believe in the detectors pick up nothing more than the dog like they did before. Go!” Conejo sprinted to the fence, jumped on it, and continued to scurry up and over in seconds.

The fence wasn't as easy to climb as Conejo said, but it wasn't impossible, either. Their toes fit in the grooves, and with a bit of scrambling they made it to the top. One of the sharp metal points snagged Jaime's jeans and cut his thigh as he swung a leg over. He winced but held on tight. Conejo had jumped from the top, but Jaime wasn't that brave. He lowered himself down some more before letting go. He landed on a graded dirt road running alongside the fence. Ángela climbed all the way down like the fence was one of the ladders on the train. Vida was small enough to slip between a post and a locked gate.

Once they were all clear of the fence, Conejo took off at a mad dash through the dry grass, dodging bushes and scrubs. This was it. Their last flight to freedom.

He gripped Ángela's hand and ran after their guide. If Ángela's ankle didn't hold up, he'd drag her one way or
another. He wasn't losing her again, and he wasn't going to let them get left behind.