Delia's Crossing

  Pancho drove as far as he could with his lights off and then bragged about it.

  “I have saved you a day’s walking. No other coyote knows the way I know. When you are back in Mexico and others want to come to the United States, you tell them about me,” he said.

  “We will,” Ignacio said.

  “I will park here,” Pancho said. “We will begin our walk now and we will walk all night until we reach a cave, where we will sleep most of the day before continuing. We must keep up the pace, but when I tell you to stop, you stop, and you must do very little talking. The border patrol will be out there, and there are bandits just waiting for fools. You were told how much water to bring. You have enough for both of you? Because I don’t have any extra.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t gulp it away the first hour. I have turned back fools that quickly,” he said.

  “You won’t turn us back,” Ignacio told him.

  “We’ll see,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  He got out, and we got out. He stood for a moment listening, and then he started to walk straight into the darkness, not looking back to see if we were following. Ignacio took my hand, and we caught up with him. It amazed me that Pancho knew exactly where to put his feet in the darkness, but he did.

  We walked for hours without talking. My feet began to ache. I stumbled many times, but I did not complain. I was positive I heard a rattlesnake very close on our right, but either Ignacio and Pancho didn’t hear it, or they didn’t want to admit to hearing it. Nevertheless, Pancho warned us not to wander too far to the right or the left, and I wasn’t about to disagree.

  Once he paused and held up his hand, and we waited and listened. I could hear voices off to our left. They were speaking in Spanish. Pancho whispered that this close to the end of the trail, pollos—chickens, as the aliens were called—would be stupid to be talking. He said that meant they were police. We stood absolutely still until the voices drifted off, and then we walked on.

  The ache in my feet and my legs grew worse, and even though it was cooler, being night, I was growing very thirsty. I was afraid to ask for a drink. I had no idea how long we had been walking. Except for the occasional sound of an owl or the howl of a coyote off in the distance, it was deathly quiet. Above us, the stars were bright and dazzling, with no artificial light to drown out their wonderful glory and promise. The heavens knew no boundaries. There were no borders to cross. The world should be the same way, I thought.

  Pancho paused to look at his watch. I was surprised when he said we had been walking for four and a half hours and, by his estimate, at least twelve miles. Neither Ignacio nor I knew enough about it to agree or disagree.

  “There is still a good four to five hours of night,” Pancho said. “If we keep up our pace, we’ll reach my cave before daybreak. Take your first drink of water,” he ordered, and we did. He told us to go to the bathroom now if we had to, because we would stop only to avoid bandits or patrols, although he thought we were far enough from the border of the United States now. I was very frightened about going into the bushes. I could think only about upsetting a sleeping rattlesnake, but there was little choice. I knew if I didn’t go, I’d suffer for hours.

  As soon as we were all done, we marched on. Most of the time, I was able to hold on to Ignacio’s hand, but there were narrow passages between rocks and down steep inclines that made it easier and safer for us to go separately, usually with me right behind him, keeping my hand on his waist for balance. Pancho spoke very little and only when it was necessary to give us warnings and directions. I couldn’t help but wonder about such a man who made his living sneaking people through the night. In the van, when I had asked Ignacio about it, he told me smuggling illegal aliens had become a very big business. He said his father told him it was all controlled by syndicates and that the coyotes actually worked for someone bigger and more powerful. That was why he was confident that Pancho would take my bracelet. He wouldn’t have to report it.

  It did frighten me to hear about this. I knew something about the people who suffocated in vans and trucks, who died of dehydration trying to cross the desert. There were always stories about this relative or that, but here I was diving into a sea of sharks myself. How angry Abuela Anabela would be, I thought, but the promise of what would come afterward was too strong to let anything dissuade me. I would go on. I would go home.

  Because we were young and strong, perhaps, we arrived at Pancho’s cave faster than he said he had anticipated. He complimented us on keeping up with him. The cave itself was not large, but it was an opening in a hill of rocks well hidden by bushes. He said that because it faced north, it would be cool even during the unusually hot spring day. He went in first to be sure no rattlesnakes had decided the same thing.

  “It’s okay,” he said, coming out.

  We crawled into the flattest places and fixed the ground the best we could with some brush to make ourselves comfortable. We drank some more water, and Ignacio and I ate one of our energy bars. Then we cuddled. Pancho curled up across from us.

  “Usually, you would see and hear many pollos tonight,” he said. “It’s a good time to cross in from Mexico, but as I told you, my route, my way, is my secret, and most don’t know how to zigzag about as I do. You are lucky. You are getting across cheaply.”

  “I don’t feel lucky,” I muttered.

  He heard me. “I don’t ask people why they want to go here or there. Usually, I don’t want to know too much, but why are you returning? You are not into the drugs, or you wouldn’t need me.”

  “We are both unhappy away from home,” Ignacio told him.

  He laughed. “I don’t care. I was only passing the time. I have learned many things from the desert, one of the most important being that survival makes liars of us all. Remember this, mis pollos, the desert doesn’t care if you are good or bad. It will eat you up no matter what.”

  He closed his eyes and squirmed a bit to get comfortable. I was so tired I was sure I would fall asleep quickly, even on the hard ground.

  “How are you?” Ignacio whispered, his lips close to my ear.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You are much braver than any girl I have known.”

  “My grandmother used to say, ‘Solamente los valientes tienen miedo.’ Only the brave have fear. She told me that often when I had nightmares and cried. Fear makes you cautious, and caution keeps you alive, she said. Don’t be afraid to be afraid.”

  “No wonder you want so much to return. She is a wise woman. She taught you well.”

  “And I have more to learn from her,” I said.

  “Yes.” I saw him smile in the budding light of dawn. We kissed, and he held me tighter for a moment. “I was without hope until you forced yourself on me, Delia Yebarra.”

  “Forced myself?”

  “Well, maybe I was a little bit easier to convince than I pretended.”

  I almost laughed aloud but remembered Pancho’s warnings about keeping as quiet as possible. So, instead, I smiled and kissed him again. I am not afraid anymore, I thought. Soon after, safe in each other’s arms, we fell asleep.

  It was the sound of laughter that woke me. I looked up at the grinning faces of two bearded men, both with teeth missing, one holding a machete, crouching to stand in the cave entrance.

  Their bodies blocked most of the sunlight, which made them seem even bigger than they were.

  I nudged Ignacio to wake him. Maybe he would not see what I was seeing.

  Maybe I was only having a nightmare.

  22

  Nightmare

  Unfortunately, it was real. The man on the left was stocky, with long arms that dangled like the arms of an ape. His companion was taller and as thin as Pancho. They were both so dirty-looking I thought they had been formed from mud. When I looked closer at them, I saw that the man on the right had a piece of his left ear missing. His right eye looked swollen and bruised.

  “Stand up slowly,” Ignacio whispered.


  I didn’t think my legs would obey, but I rose with him. Pancho remained in a sitting position. The stocky man nodded at us and then looked at Pancho.

  “So, mi coyote, how much did you take from them to bring them to the United States?”

  “They are not going to the United States. They want to go home,” Pancho said. “So it was not as much.”

  “And where is this not as much?”

  “You know it’s not here, amigo.”

  “Something is here,” the stocky man replied, widening his smile and turning toward us. “What do you bring home, muchacho?” he asked Ignacio.

  “Nothing for you,” Ignacio said.

  The stocky man’s smile flew off his face like a frightened bird.

  “That’s not friendly. I let you use my home,” he said, indicating the cave, and his friend laughed. “Now you must pay me my rent.” He lifted his machete a little and pointed it at us. “I know you have dollars.”

  “Give them what you have,” Pancho told Ignacio.

  “See, su coyote is smart and friendly,” the stocky man said.

  Pancho stood up, and they turned sharply toward him. He raised his arms. Then he opened his knapsack to show that it contained only water and some food.

  “You’re welcome to any of this.”

  The stocky man spit. “What else do you have?”

  Pancho pulled out his pockets to show they were empty.

  “Keep going, mi coyote,” the stocky man said, waving the machete at him. “Show us you have nothing.”

  Pancho took off his shirt and dropped his pants. I was shocked to see him lower his underwear, too, but they wanted him naked to be sure he was not hiding anything. The disappointed bandit turned to us, and Pancho put his clothes on quickly. He picked up his sack of water and food and edged toward the entrance. The stocky man turned with him.

  “You don’t want my poor life,” Pancho said. He looked at us. “I’ll be outside waiting to take you on your way after you pay the rent,” he said.

  The two bandits smiled and permitted Pancho to slip past them and out.

  “Sí, listen to your coyote,” the stocky man said.

  “The bastard,” Ignacio whispered. He turned himself so the two wouldn’t see or hear him speak to me. “You can’t run with the water, Delia. It will slow you down. When I say, you rush out as fast and as hard as you can, and just keep running.” I started to shake my head, and he said, “They won’t just take our money. They will rape you.”

  A chill shot through my heart and nearly took my breath away.

  “Throw your sacks this way,” the stocky man ordered.

  Ignacio nodded at me. He reached down and then tossed the sacks so they fell to the stocky man’s left. His companion crossed and knelt down to go through them. Ignacio took my hand behind his back and moved slowly toward the stocky man.

  “We have very little,” he began. “We will give it to you,” he added. “Please don’t hurt us,” he said, sounding weaker now.

  The stocky man smiled and relaxed, and just at that moment, Ignacio charged at him, head down like a bull, and shouted, “Run, Delia, run!”

  With his shoulder, he hit the stocky man just below his chest and sent him flying into the jagged walls of the cave. When his companion turned, Ignacio kicked him sharply under his chin, and he fell back. I ran through the opening and then off to my right and down the slope, barely keeping myself from toppling. As soon as I reached the bottom, I stopped and looked back at the cave hopefully, expecting to see Ignacio running out after me. Instead, the stocky man emerged, and I slipped quickly behind a large rock and fell to my stomach. I peered around it and looked again. His companion joined him. They spoke for a few moments, looked around, and then went back into the cave.

  “Delia,” I heard, and turned to see Pancho, also on his stomach. He was behind a thick bush. “Crawl this way. Quickly.”

  I looked back at the cave. Where was Ignacio?

  “Delia, crawl now, before they come out again.”

  I did as he said.

  He looked back at the cave and seized my hand.

  “Quickly,” he repeated, and started to run, pulling me along.

  “Ignacio!” I cried.

  “You can’t go back to see. It won’t be pleasant, anyway. Run. They won’t chase us if we get far enough away.”

  I tried to stop, but he tugged harder.

  “Why did you leave us?” I screamed.

  “We would all be dead,” he told me. He paused and looked back. “I am sorry for your friend, but he got you out. I have enough to get us through. I will redeem my cowardice by saving your life.”

  “No,” I said. “We must go back for Ignacio.”

  “And throw away the chance he gave you? That would be a worse sin. It’s too late for him. Do you want to die out here? It’s a terrible death. You’ll get delirious. You’ll eat sand. The buzzards and the coyotes will pull your body apart, and no one will ever know you died.”

  “Oh, Dios mío,” I cried, and started to sob.

  “Don’t waste the water and salt in your body, Delia. The desert has no mercy. Come. We’ll find a safe, shady place to wait for nightfall. I think we can get to Sasabe after one night and part of the morning. Come,” he said, tugging me along.

  I looked back as I went.

  Ignacio, I thought. I was your hope, your angel, and I’m leaving you behind. I am the coward.

  We walked so long in the rising heat that I felt my body softening, my throat parching until it felt as if it was made of sandpaper. It wasn’t until Pancho found a place under a jutting rock that he offered me some of his water.

  “Drink slowly,” he said, and then he handed me some dried sardines to eat.

  “What did they do to Ignacio?” I asked.

  “There’s no way of telling, and it is of no value to think about it. Just think about getting across the border and home.”

  “Are you going to come back this way?”

  “Of course. I will be taking a group of pollos into America.”

  “Will you stop to see about Ignacio? If you do, I’ll tell you where to send me word. Please,” I begged.

  “I might not be going the same way.”

  “But you said this way was your private way. You said it was the best and fastest way. You said…”

  “Sleep now, and stop talking. It wastes too much strength,” he said, curled up in as much of the shadow as he could, and closed his eyes.

  I sat staring out at the hot desert. It looked blurry in the noon sunlight, but I prayed that I would soon see Ignacio hurrying to catch up to us.

  “If you don’t sleep,” I heard Pancho say, “you will not have the strength to walk all night, Delia. I cannot wait. I will have to leave you for the real coyotes.” His tone was very matter-of-fact. “Live or die,” he added. “It’s your choice to make. There is no mercy here.”

  I tried to ignore what he said, but I was tired. We were supposed to be sleeping during the morning and the hot daylight hours. Our flight from the bandits cut that time short. I knew he was right. I would not have the strength to walk ten hours on this rough terrain.

  Forgive me, Ignacio, I thought, as I looked in the direction from where we had come. Maybe you will see us here, I rationalized, and lowered myself to the dirt floor. At least it was cool.

  Despite myself, in moments, I was asleep. I slept right into twilight and woke when I heard Pancho say, “Don’t move. Don’t move a muscle.”

  I stared at him. He hovered over me, and then, with a quick sweep of his hand, he swept a scorpion off my upper arm and crushed it with his foot.

  “I have had pollos get bitten, get too sick to walk, and have to be left behind.”

  “Did they die?”

  “Only the desert knows, and she does not tell,” he said. “Have some water.”

  He offered me the jug. It was very warm, almost nauseating, but I knew I had to have it. He gave me some beef jerky and a piece of bread. We ate, dran
k some more water, and prepared to leave.

  “Maybe Ignacio will catch up with us,” I muttered. “Or maybe he’s just ahead of us.”

  Pancho started away.

  “Stop thinking about Ignacio, and keep up with me,” he ordered. “We have to make the distance to our next rest stop before the sun begins to rise.”

  We walked over rocky ground, through long patches of sand, down and up small gullies. Everything in my body ached, especially around the back of my neck. I kept praying he would stop to rest, but whenever he looked as if he was slowing down, he sped up. At one point, I was some distance behind him. I thought he would look back, see, and wait, but he never looked back. I knew if I tripped and fell or stopped to rest, he would just go on. He wasn’t just a guide through the desert; he was the desert, just as unmerciful, as hard and unforgiving. He must have been hatched out there, I thought. What had happened to that redemption he had sworn back at the cave? Was his conscience that short-lived?

  It turned out to be my anger that kept me going more than anything. I would not permit him to leave me. I planned to get to someone when we reached Mexico, someone I could tell about Ignacio, someone who might go back to find him.

  When Pancho finally stopped to rest, my feet were singing with the pain. I knew I had blisters in places I had never had a scratch or a blemish.

  “Drink,” he told me, handing me another jug. I seized it as if it were gold and drank. “Slowly, slowly.”

  He gave me some sardines and another piece of bread. I was still standing. I was afraid that if I sat or sprawled out on the ground, I would not be able to rise again.

  “You’ve done much better than I thought you would,” he told me. “We will make it to Sasabe tomorrow night. Tell me where your village is.”

  I did.

  “You will need to take a bus to Mexico City and from there another bus or maybe two. Do you have any money?”

  Ignacio had told me to put my dollars in my bra, but I was suddenly afraid to tell Pancho. What if he was asking so he could take it from me?

  “I am not a bandit,” he said, when I hesitated. “I do not rob from my pollos. I make a very good living without being a thief. Do you know how many pollos I have brought across just this year alone?”