He thought vaguely of Susan, whom he met regularly in a Manhattan hotel as a prophylactic measure. They enjoyed each other’s company, and once they had sated their bodily appetites, they talked about everything apart from feelings. They had never spent the night together, but if they had enough time they would go out to eat in a very discreet Moroccan restaurant, and part afterward as good friends. If they happened to bump into each other in one of the university buildings they would say hello with a casual friendliness that was not a facade to conceal their clandestine relationship but a true reflection of what they both felt. They appreciated one another, but the temptation to fall in love had never arisen.
What he felt for Lucia could not compare to that: it was the opposite. With her, Richard felt as if decades had been ripped from the calendar and he was eighteen again. He had thought he was immune, and yet there he was, like a youngster prey to his hormones. If she so much as guessed this, she would mock him pitilessly. In those divine hours of the night he was accompanied for the first time in twenty-five years; he felt so close to her as they breathed in unison. It was very easy to sleep with her, and very complicated what was happening to him now, this mixture of happiness and terror, of anticipation and the wish to run away, the urgency of desire.
This is madness, he decided. He wanted to talk to her, clear things up, find out if she felt the same, but he was not going to rush into it; that might scare her off, ruin everything. Besides, with Evelyn present there was very little they could say, yet the wait was becoming impossible: by the next day they might no longer be together and the moment would have gone to say what he had to say. If he had the courage, he would have come straight out and told her he loved her, that last night he had wanted to hold her and never let her go. If only he had the slightest idea of how she felt, he would tell her. What did he have to offer? He was bringing a huge burden with him, and although at his age everyone brought baggage, his weighed as much as a slab of granite.
This was the second time he could observe Lucia sleeping. She looked like a child and had not even noticed he had gotten up, as if they were an old couple who had shared a bed for years. He wanted to wake her with kisses, ask her to give him a chance, beg her to take him over, move into his house, occupy every last inch of his life with her ironic, bossy affection. He had never been so sure of anything. He imagined that if Lucia were to love him it would be a miracle. He wondered how it had taken him so long before he became aware of this love that now overwhelmed him, filling every fiber of his being: What had he been thinking of? He had wasted four months by being such an idiot. This torrent of love could not have suddenly come into being, it must have been growing ever since she came to New York in September. His chest was aching with fear, like a delicious wound. Bless you, Evelyn Ortega, he thought, it was thanks to you this miracle happened. A miracle, there’s no other way to describe what I feel.
Richard opened the door to get some cold air and try to calm down: he was being swept away by this sudden, uncontrollable avalanche of feelings. But he had not even taken a step outside before he came face-to-face with a moose. He was so startled he fell backward with a yelp that woke Lucia and Evelyn. Apparently not as shocked as he was, the animal lowered its huge head to try to get inside the room, but the size of its flat antlers made this a difficult maneuver. Evelyn, who had never seen such a monster, curled up in terror; Lucia searched desperately for her cell phone to take a photo. The moose might have succeeded in getting in had it not been for Marcelo, who took charge of the situation with his gruff guard-dog bark. The moose retreated, shaking the foundations of the wooden building when its antlers collided with the doorway, and then trotted off, accompanied by a chorus of nervous laughter and furious barking.
Sweating from the discharge of adrenaline, Richard announced he was going for coffee while they dressed. He did not get very far. A few steps from the doorway, the moose had deposited a pile of fresh excrement: two mounds of soft brown balls into which his boot sank to the ankle. Cursing, Richard hobbled on one foot to the reception, which fortunately had a window that faced the parking lot, to ask for a hose to clean himself. He had been so careful about no one seeing or recalling them on this rash pilgrimage of theirs, and now this nosy animal had brought all his plans crashing to the ground. If there is one thing that’s memorable, it’s an idiot covered in crap, Richard concluded. This was a bad omen for the rest of their journey. Or would it be a good one? Nothing bad can happen, he decided, I’m protected by the ridiculousness of having fallen in love. He burst out laughing, because if it were not for the discovery of love, which painted the world in the brightest colors, he would have imagined there was a curse on him. As though the question of poor Kathryn Brown were not enough, he had come up against atrocious weather, fleas, food poisoning, his ulcer, and his own and the moose’s shit.
Evelyn
Mexico–US border, 2008
Faced with the boredom and suffocating heat of Nuevo Laredo, the days seemed endless to Evelyn Ortega. But no sooner had night brought cooler air than the camp was transformed into a den of clandestine activity and vice. Cabrera had warned her and the others not to mix with anyone and to be careful not to show any money, but that proved impossible. They were surrounded by migrants like themselves, but in much more desperate straits. Some of them had been there for months suffering hardships: they had tried to cross the river several times without success, or had been arrested on the other side and deported back to Mexico, since sending them to their countries of origin in Central America would have been more expensive. Most of them could not pay a coyote. The most pathetic were the children traveling on their own; not even the meanest person could refuse to help them. Evelyn’s group shared their provisions and fresh water with two of them who went everywhere hand in hand: a boy aged eight and his sister, a girl of six. A year earlier in El Salvador they had escaped from the house of an uncle and aunt who abused them, then wandered through Guatemala living off charity. They had been going from place to place in Mexico for months, joining with other migrants who adopted them for a while. They were hoping to find their mother in the United States but had no idea which city she lived in.
At night, to avoid being robbed of all they had, Cabrera’s group took turns to sleep. On the second day, a Saturday, there were rain showers that soaked their cardboard roof, so that they were left in the open like the rest of the wretched itinerant population. When the moonless night arrived, the camp seemed to waken out of its lethargy, as if this was what everyone had been waiting for. While many migrants prepared to confront the river, the criminals and police swung into action. Fortunately, Cabrera had negotiated a safe-conduct for his group with both the gangs and the men in uniform.
The next night, when the sky was cloudy and no stars were visible, Cabrera’s contact showed up. He was a short, bony man, with yellow skin and the vague gaze of a hardened addict, who introduced himself as the Expert. Cabrera assured them that despite his doubtful appearance no one was better qualified. He might have been a poor devil on land, but in the water he could be trusted completely: nobody knew the currents and whirlpools like him. When he wasn’t high he spent his time studying the movement of the patrols and their powerful searchlights. He knew when to enter the water, crossing between two sweeps of the beams, and how to reach a precise spot among the weeds so as to remain unseen. He charged in dollars and per person, a cost the coyote had to pay because without the man’s knowledge and confidence it would be almost impossible for them to reach the United States. “Can you swim?” asked the Expert. None of them could give a positive answer. He said that if they still had any possessions they could not take any of them, only their identity documents and money. He told them to take off their clothes and sneakers and put them in black plastic garbage bags, which he then tied to the inner tube of a truck tire, which was to be their raft. He showed them how to hold on with one arm and swim with the other, trying not to splash to avoid making any noise. “Anyone
who lets go is screwed,” he warned.
Berto said goodbye to his group with hugs and final recommendations. Two of the men were the first to enter the water, in their underpants. They clung to the tire and headed off, guided by the Expert. They were soon out of sight in the darkness of the river. Fifteen minutes later, the Expert reappeared on the bank pulling the inner tube behind him. He had left the two men hidden among the reeds on a small island in midriver to wait for the rest of the group. Berto Cabrera gave Evelyn one last regretful embrace: he doubted the poor girl would overcome all the obstacles she faced. “I can’t see you able to walk eighty-five miles across the desert, little one. Follow my associate’s instructions, he’ll know what to do with you.”
THE RIVER WAS MORE DANGEROUS than it looked from the bank, but none of them hesitated: they had only a few seconds to avoid the search beams. Evelyn tiptoed into the water in her panties and bra, with her male companions on either side of her and the Expert ready to help if she faltered. She was afraid she might drown but was even more worried they might all be discovered through her fault. Stifling a cry of alarm as she plunged into the cold water, she found that the riverbed was slimy, with branches, garbage, and perhaps even water snakes. The rubber tube was slippery, her good arm was barely long enough to stretch around it, and she kept her other arm tight against her chest. Within a few seconds she could no longer touch bottom and the current sent her tumbling. She went under, then resurfaced swallowing water and trying desperately to cling on. One of the men managed to grab hold of her waist before the current swept her away. He motioned for her to use both arms to hang on, but Evelyn felt a stabbing pain in her sore shoulder. Her companions lifted her and laid her facedown on the tire. She closed her eyes and let herself go, abandoning herself to her fate.
The crossing took very little time, and they soon found themselves on a small island, where they met up with the other two. Crouching among the bushes on sandy ground, they stared at the riverbank on the US side. It was so close they could hear the conversation between a pair of patrolmen standing guard next to a vehicle with a powerful light aimed directly at their hiding place. More than an hour went by without the Expert’s showing any sign of becoming impatient. In fact he seemed to have fallen asleep, while their teeth chattered with cold and they were only too aware of the insects and reptiles crawling over them. Around midnight, the Expert roused himself as if he had an internal alarm, and at that precise moment the patrol vehicle switched off its beam and they heard it move off. “We have less than five minutes before their replacement arrives. There is less current here, we’ll go together and splash our way across, but on the other bank you mustn’t make the slightest noise,” he instructed them. They plunged into the river again, clinging to the inner tube, which sank level with the water because of the weight of their six bodies, and propelled it straight ahead of them. Soon they could stand and used the reeds to pull themselves up the muddy bank, all of them giving Evelyn a helping hand. They had reached the United States.
Moments later they heard another vehicle engine, but by now they were protected by the undergrowth, beyond the reach of the searchlights. The Expert led them to dry land. They stumbled forward in single file, holding hands so as not to get lost in the darkness, pushing their way through the reeds until they came to a small clearing. Their guide switched on a flashlight. Pointing it at the ground, he gave them their plastic bags and indicated for them to get dressed. He took off his wet T-shirt and used it to bind Evelyn’s arm against her chest: she had lost the bandage in the river. It was then she realized she no longer had the plastic folder with the papers Father Benito had given her. She searched for it in the feeble gleam from the flashlight, hoping she might have dropped it there, but when she could not see it, she understood it must have been carried away by the current when her companion rescued her. The belt with the folder must have come loose when he grabbed her by the waist. She had lost the prayer card blessed by the pope but was still wearing around her neck the jaguar goddess amulet that was meant to keep her from harm.
They were just finishing getting dressed when out of nowhere Cabrera’s associate appeared, like a phantom of the night. He was a Mexican who had lived in the United States so many years he spoke Spanish with a strange accent. He offered them thermoses of coffee with added liquor, which they drank in grateful silence. The Expert slipped away without a word of goodbye.
The Mexican told the men to follow him in single file but said Evelyn should walk on her own in the opposite direction. Horrified, she tried to protest but could not make so much as a sound, rendered mute at having gotten this far and then being betrayed. “Berto told me your mother is in the States. Give yourself up to the first guard or patrol that comes across you. They won’t deport you, because you’re a minor,” the Mexican told her. He was sure no one would think she was more than twelve years old. Evelyn did not believe him, but her companions had heard this was the law in the United States. They embraced her briefly, then followed the Mexican, and were quickly swallowed up by the darkness.
WHEN EVELYN MANAGED TO REACT, all she could think of doing was to curl up shivering among the bushes. She tried to pray but could not remember any of her grandmother’s many prayers. One, two, maybe three hours went by; she had lost all sense of time and even the ability to move. Her body was stiff and she could feel a dull ache in her shoulder. Suddenly she sensed a furious beating in the air above her head and guessed it must be bats flying in search of food, as they did back in Guatemala. This made her shrink back still farther into the vegetation, because everyone knew bats sucked human blood. In order not to think about vampires, snakes, or scorpions, she concentrated on a plan to get out of there. Other groups of migrants must have been coming through; it was simply a question of staying awake so that she could join them. She invoked the mother jaguar and the mother of Jesus, as Concepcion had taught her, but neither came to her aid. These holy women must lose their powers in the United States, Evelyn thought, feeling utterly abandoned.
There were only a few hours of darkness left, but they stretched out interminably. Slowly, Evelyn’s eyes grew accustomed to the moonless night that at first had seemed to her impenetrable, and she began to make out the vegetation around her: tall, dry grasses. The night was one long torment for Evelyn, until finally the first light of day came. All this time she had been unaware of either migrants or border guards anywhere near her. As the sky lightened, she plucked up her courage to explore around her. She was so stiff she found it hard to get to her feet and walk a couple of steps. Although she felt hungry and thirsty, at least her shoulder no longer hurt. She got some idea of how hot the day would be from the mist rising from the ground like a bridal veil. The night had been silent, interrupted only by warnings from loudspeakers in the distance, but at dawn the land awoke in a buzzing of insects, the crackle of twigs beneath the tiny paws of rodents, the rustle of reeds in the breeze, and a constant coming and going of sparrows through the air. Here and there she saw splashes of color among the bushes: the vermilion of a flycatcher, a yellow warbler, or a jay with its bright blue feathers. All of these were modest compared with those of her Guatemalan village. She had grown up amidst a profusion of birds, plumages of a thousand colors, seven hundred species: according to Father Benito, it was a bird-watcher’s paradise. She listened for the severe warnings in Spanish from the loudspeakers and tried in vain to calculate the distance to the border posts, the watchtowers, and the road, if there was one. She had no idea where she was. One by one, her mind filled with the stories passed by word of mouth among migrants: the dangers of the north, the merciless desert, ranchers who shot randomly at anyone entering their properties in search of water, guards with heavy weapons, attack dogs trained to detect the smell of fear, prisons where years could go by without anyone hearing of you. If they were like the ones in Guatemala, Evelyn would rather be dead than end up in one of those cells.
The day crept by hour after hour, with awful slowness. Th
e sun climbed in the sky, burning the land with a dry heat like hot coals that was very different from what Evelyn was used to. She was so thirsty that she no longer felt hungry. As there were no trees to provide her with shade, she scraped a hole in the ground among some bushes, using a stick she found to scare off the snakes, and settled there as best she could. Then she drove the stick into the ground so that its moving shadow could show her the passage of time, as she had seen her grandmother do. She heard vehicles going by at regular intervals, as well as low-flying helicopters, but when she realized they always followed the same path she stopped paying attention to them. Confused, her head woozy, she could feel thoughts racing through her brain. Thanks to the stick she guessed it was midday, and that was when the first hallucinations began. They had the shapes and colors of the time she had been given the ayahuasca potion: armadillos, rats, jaguar cubs without their mother, Andres’s black dog that had died years earlier but now came to visit her in perfect health. She dozed off, exhausted by the brutal heat, dizzy from weariness and thirst.
The afternoon passed slowly by without any drop in temperature. A long, thick, black snake crawled over her leg in a ghastly caress. Petrified, she waited without drawing breath as she felt the reptile’s weight on her, the brush of its satiny skin, the undulation of every muscle of the hoselike body that slid lazily across her. It was unlike any snake she had seen back in her village. When the reptile finally moved on, Evelyn jumped to her feet and gulped down mouthfuls of air. Terror made her feel giddy; her heart was pounding. It took hours for her to recover and relax her guard; she no longer had the strength to stay on her feet scanning the ground. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, her tongue was a swollen mollusk in her mouth, her skin burned with fever.