The Only Road Page 9

  “Obviously.” Rafa looked at him with mock disbelief, as if there could be another answer.

  Joaquín stared at Xavi with scared eyes as he shifted from one foot to another. Then he blinked in agreement.

  “Do you have any money?” Jaime asked. It’d be much better if they went with him and Ángela. If only El Gordo would strike a deal with them, take whatever the three could afford, and call it even. But Jaime knew El Gordo would never go for that kind of deal. Not after he’d kicked that man who had insisted he had paid.

  Xavi ran a hand through his hair, which made it stand up as if his thoughts had electrified it. “I left El Salvador in a hurry, with only enough money for the bus ticket here. I stole this uniform shirt from a washing line just over the Guatemala-México border. I have nothing left except my phone and charger.”

  From Joaquín’s pockets came two Honduran lempira coins. The boy turned them over as if he were studying the engravings. Jaime had no idea of their value, but he guessed it was next to nothing. Rafa, Jaime knew, had gambled away the little money he had. Inside Ángela’s backpack they had the remains of the food from home, and a few pesos for another couple of meals. It was better than nothing but still not fair. These boys didn’t even have a change of clothes.

  “How are you going to stay in the train without any money?” Ángela put her hands on her hips in a way that gave her an uncanny resemblance to Abuela, and no one messed with their grandmother.

  Xavi couldn’t look her in the eye. “Not in. On.”

  Jaime remembered playing trains with Miguel when they were younger. Miguel always liked to balance the passenger toy people on top of the train cars and see how fast he could roll the train before the plastic people fell off. Xavi was talking about doing the same, except as a real-life person.

  Ángela shook her head. “Don’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But what’s the alternative?” Xavi folded his arms over his chest and paced back and forth. “If we walk or hitchhike, sooner or later we’re going to get caught. This whole journey is dangerous. Most people have to attempt it several times. César’s on his sixth try. None of us can return home, either. We’re not staying here to wash dishes for Padre Kevin for the rest of our lives.”

  “But you can wash dishes for someone else until you’ve earned enough money to get properly on the train,” Ángela pointed out.

  Rafa laughed as he put a casual forearm on Ángela’s shoulder. “It would take ages to save up that much. I don’t want to work that hard. Besides, who’s going to hire us when we saw half our fútbol team also looking for jobs to pay their way north?”

  Ángela pushed his arm off her and gave him a reproachful look before turning back to Xavi. “What if something happens to you?”

  He didn’t look at her. “Things happen all the time.”

  “Sure, if you go looking for trouble,” she snapped back.

  “You’re not their mother,” Jaime told his cousin in a low whisper. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to these boys either, but he understood that what they did was their choice.

  “Don’t worry about us, it’ll be fun,” Rafa said. Fun, right, Jaime thought. That boy sure had a twisted idea of what “fun” meant. But, Jaime imagined, if their lives weren’t at stake, riding a train cross-country would be fun—going through big cities and one-horse towns, getting the conductor in his striped hat to toot the horn, borrowing a piece of coal to draw it all. Yes, that would be fun. If it were realistic. Maybe not thinking of the reality was what kept Rafa optimistic.

  “What will you do if la migra catches you?” Ángela demanded, as if she knew they didn’t have real answers.

  “Drop it,” Jaime said, this time loud enough for them all to hear, though no one listened.

  Xavi pointed to the uniform shirt that claimed him as a “student” at a Mexican school. La migra officer on the bus had bought the disguise. Except now the shirt was stained with dirt and Vida’s blood. “It’s worked for me so far.”

  Rafa pulled a letter from his jeans pocket and showed it to Xavi and Ángela. As usual, he volunteered information without being asked. “I sent this to myself, using an address here in Arriaga. The letter contains a long plea from my ‘abuelita’ up north to come for a visit before Grandfather dies. See, this way, if la migra tries to deport me, I have the letter with ‘my’ Mexican address, dated a couple weeks ago. They’ll think that I’m southern Mexican, which explains my accent.”

  Jaime and Joaquín looked at each other and then at the older kids, not knowing what to say. It was Xavi, after glancing through the letter, who finally said, “Except this letter supposedly came from the northeastern state of Coahuila, where your ‘grandparents’ live. But it has the Arriaga postmark.” Xavi folded the letter back into the envelope and returned it to its owner. Rafa’s mouth dropped open in disappointment as he realized his plan wasn’t as clever as he thought.

  “Do you have a way to avoid getting deported?” Jaime asked Joaquín. The boy seemed so helpless and innocent, Jaime wondered how he could possibly have made it this far on his own.

  “I can sing the Mexican national anthem,” Joaquín said to his shoes, and didn’t notice the others looking at him in surprise. Partly because it was a much better ruse than the fake letter, partly because he knew the words. But mostly because he’d dare sing it when he barely spoke.

  Ángela wrapped the young boy in a tight hug before grabbing Xavi’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Fine. I’ll help you get ready. You need a plan, and a few backup ones in case things go wrong, ’cause they will.”

  She led the way back into the church to the wall where route maps and safe-house locations were displayed. Jaime lagged behind with Xavi while the older boy dragged his toes along the dirt floor.

  “I’m sorry she’s acting like this,” Jaime muttered. “She’s not usually so bossy.”

  The corners of Xavi’s mouth went up, but the smile seemed sad, distracted. “It’s her way of showing she cares.”

  Jaime supposed. He knew Ángela liked being in charge and taking care of people—she was a lot like Abuela and his mamá that way. But he’d never seen her like this before. Before Miguel, she never . . . Maybe that was it. Maybe she also thought there was more she could have done to save Miguel. Maybe by helping these boys, they could make it up to Miguel. If that was the case, he was all in.

  There wasn’t much to do to help prepare the boys for their journey—they had no money, no supplies, and not much time left. The best they could do was memorize the locations of the safe-houses throughout México (Jaime drew replicas of the maps in his sketchbook and gave a copy to everyone) and come up with ideas to keep them from harm. Other than “do not get caught,” there weren’t too many options.

  Still, Ángela fussed with their clothing, tried to rid Xavi’s uniform shirt of bloodstains, and offered to tailor Joaquín’s clothes to fit him better. The little boy tugged the sides of his extra-large shirt and bunched the excess fabric to his chest like a blankie. He fiercely shook his head.

  She didn’t pressure the boy but turned to Xavi, her eyes moist. “Please take care of Joaquín.”

  “Of course,” Xavi said. He took a deep breath and then nodded to the trees along the river. “Walk with me for a second.”

  The two walked toward the river. Jaime placed a hand on Vida to keep her from following. With a little food, and a lot of attention, life had returned to Vida. She still whimpered every time she tried to walk, but a doggie smile when she sat next to her humans showed she was glad to be alive. Jaime was going to miss her. He’d never had a pet. Animals back home weren’t companions. They either produced food like eggs or milk, or they were food. But because he’d helped save Vida, she had become a friend, too.

  Ángela and Xavi came back a couple of minutes later. The nighttime made it hard to tell, but Jaime was pretty sure both of their faces seemed redder than before. Had they kissed or something?

  “We better go.” Xavi snuck a glance at
Ángela, who was definitely blushing.

  Jaime hugged each of the boys while Ángela gave them the traditional farewell cheek kiss. Joaquín, however, wrapped his arms around Ángela’s neck and planted an actual kiss on her cheek, like a little kid to his mamá.

  Xavi picked up Vida and placed her between the two hammock slings that Ángela had sewed from rag scraps Padre Kevin gave them. Because of Vida’s belly injuries, Ángela thought it would be better for Xavi to wear two slings, one on each shoulder that crossed over Xavi’s chest and back. This allowed the dog to be supported by her front end and hindquarters instead of her middle. Vida struggled at first but then settled down when Ángela placed a reassuring hand on her head and rubbed her one ear.

  “We change trains in Medias Aguas. If there’s a long wait, we’ll see you there,” she said, repeating the plan even through they had already gone over it. “Otherwise, at the safe house in Lechería.”

  “Sí.” But it was impossible to tell by the sound whether Xavi had said “sí” meaning “yes,” or “si”—“if.”

  “Keep on the lookout for any trouble. Don’t get caught. Be safe,” she called out.

  The three boys walked briskly up the road. At the top they turned around and waved before disappearing into the dark night.

  For several minutes, the cousins watched the top of the road, the last place they saw their friends.

  “You like him, don’t you.” Jaime didn’t have to clarify which “him” he meant.

  “I barely know him.” Ángela scuffed her sneaker back and forth on the dirt road. “But, yes.”

  Jaime took a deep breath to distract himself from thinking what he didn’t want to think—that meeting up with their friends when the train stopped, either in Medias Aguas or farther north in Lechería, probably wouldn’t happen. “Well, as the man of the house at the moment, I permit you to see him.”

  “Man?” Ángela shoved him playfully in the shoulder. “You can’t even grow a mustache yet.”

  Jaime shrugged. “I’ll paint one on.”

  They teased back and forth until a dog barking in the distance reminded them of their friends. Ángela instinctively grabbed Jaime’s arm. Jaime held her close, holding her arm that was holding his. Even with Vida’s rescue, Ángela hadn’t gotten over her dog phobia. Jaime didn’t mind. It was a nice feeling knowing that he could comfort Ángela from some of the scary things the world had in store for them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Padre Kevin handed out water bottles and encouraged everyone getting on the train with El Gordo to use the bathroom (and by that he meant the river) before boarding. When the mamá with two children asked what the train ride would be like, Padre glanced at the two youngsters before answering, “There are no toilets.”

  A mixture of worry and adrenaline coursed through Jaime. He understood what Padre hadn’t said, what he would have said if the children hadn’t been present: the train ride was not going to be fun.

  Nerves made Jaime need to pee twice in the time he and Ángela stood outside the church in the middle of the night waiting for El Gordo. Not only had he never been on a train before, but he’d never had his life in the hands of a stranger either. Pancho, who had driven them across the Guatemala-México border, had been selling his wares in their village for years before Jaime was born. As far as Jaime was concerned, the old man was like a trustworthy distant relative. But Jaime definitely didn’t trust El Gordo.

  For one thing, how would the gangs who patrol the trains or la migra know who had paid for protection? Would El Gordo hang cardboard signs from their necks that read DON’T BEAT THIS GUY UP, HE PAID? Jaime shifted from one foot to another and wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. Anything could happen.

  A dozen people, mostly men but also a few women and two children, waited with Jaime and Ángela on the dirt street outside the church for El Gordo, where earlier that day Jaime and his friends had played with a semi-deflated ball. The mamá clung tight to her children. The water bottles Padre Kevin had handed out seemed to be their only possessions, except the little girl also held a scrap of pink cloth that might have come from a blanket. The man in the bandanna, who’d been the first one brave enough to go up to El Gordo, paced back and forth. The two brothers crouched with their knees to their chests, trying to get a bit of sleep. At least half of them looked as scared and nervous as Jaime felt. The others seemed more lost and empty, as if they had nothing left to lose in this world.

  If Jaime ignored the murky-brown river, the shreds of plastic bags tangled in the undergrowth, and piles of garbage, the area surrounding Padre Kevin’s sanctuary would be pretty. He would miss it.

  “Chapín, ven aquí un momento.” The grumpy woman in charge of the food motioned to Jaime to come over to her by the outdoor kitchen.

  Jaime looked from Ángela to the empty street. He was wondering whether to use the river one more time but supposed he could go to the woman quickly. Any engine that came down the road would be heard immediately. He trotted over to her, keeping his eyes on the street, and on Ángela.

  “¿Sí?”

  The grumpy woman pointed at a weather-worn box nestled next to a bag of dried beans.

  “A missionary donated five hundred lead pencils. We’ll never go through them in a million years. I saw you drawing the map of the shelters. You got talent. Would you like to take some pencils with you?”

  “Sure!” The pencils weren’t good quality. Jaime could tell by the way they felt that the wood would chip when sharpened, the lead would be prone to breaking, and the eraser would smudge the page with a dark streak instead of wiping the markings clean. Still, they were free and the pencils he had brought with him were wearing down. It wouldn’t hurt to take a couple. And besides, it was the nicest thing he’d seen the grumpy woman do or say.

  “Thanks!” He gave her a quick kiss and then ran back to the crowd as he heard a car coming down the road.

  It was a van, not a car. Of course, they wouldn’t have all fit into El Gordo’s Mercedes, not that Jaime thought El Gordo would let them near his fancy car. The windowless van reminded him of the one that woman on the bus had been thrown into by la migra officers. Except this one was black, with dents along the sides as if it had been rammed into several times. Could this all have been a trap? Had they paid El Gordo to send them back home? Jaime wanted to believe that Padre Kevin wouldn’t allow that, but on the other hand, he had seen how the padre disliked the smuggler and yet still felt compelled to work with him. Maybe Padre Kevin didn’t feel he had a choice, like Jaime.

  El Gordo’s minion got out of the driver’s seat this time and opened the rear door. Ángela took a deep breath before she seized Jaime’s hand. They followed the others into the back of the van. It smelled of dirt and sweat, at least better than El Gordo’s offensive cologne. Blessings and prayers came from those staying at the church to brave the train another day, or maybe not at all. Their faces more anxious than envious.

  “Que Dios los bendiga.”

  “God bless you.”

  “Safe travels.”

  “Don’t give up.”

  And, of course, Padre Kevin’s own untraditional words: “Jesús loves you—it’s everyone else you have to convince.”

  Jaime hugged Ángela’s hand to his chest as the van’s door shut and another chapter of their journey ended.

  A narrow bench had been fitted to either side of the van. The people were crammed so tight, heads and knees were the only things capable of rocking and bumping into each other as the van pulled away. No one spoke, including the driver upfront. For the first few minutes Jaime tried to draw a mental map of where they were going—left, right, right—but he soon lost track. Not that it mattered. Not that he knew where they were going. Or that he would need to get back.

  He lost all sense of time. It might have been a few minutes or a few hours. Lights came through the windshield, but the large man sitting next to Jaime blocked the view. At some point the driver turned off a paved road, and the van began
to bounce as it hit craters and rocks. Jaime gripped the underside of his seat to hold himself steady; Ángela banged against the side of the van with a yelp. The woman with two children cut her hand on a bit of metal sticking out on one side but ignored it to calm her crying kids. The driver slammed on his brakes, and one of the men on the opposite bench popped out of the wedged bunch. Nearly everyone on that side fell off their seats into a mosh pit on the floor or on top of the people in front of them.

  “Shh!” El Gordo’s minion uttered his first sound, sharp and full of urgency, as he ducked in his seat. Jaime bit his lip to keep from crying out. His left foot was trapped and twisted at an odd angle between two people on the floor. The mamá clamped her bleeding hand over her daughter’s mouth and glared at her son to stop crying. As if someone had pushed the mute button on a television, the whole black van fell quiet in an instant.

  They remained in the tangle of sprawled bodies for several minutes, not daring to move lest they make some noise. Just when Jaime was sure his ankle couldn’t bear the pain of being smashed any longer, the back of the van opened slowly without its usual metal clamor.

  The dim glow from a distant light post illuminated a pockmarked face with eyes set so deep they couldn’t be seen. The guy’s arms, black with tattoos, held open the back door to keep it from squeaking.

  “If you value your life, you’ll come quickly, quietly, and keep out of sight,” he said in a low voice.

  The passengers untangled themselves and tumbled out of the van. Jaime and Ángela crouched in the vehicle’s shadow, Jaime’s sore ankle aching from the weight. The guy couldn’t have been too much older than Ángela, but the scars on his face made him look like he’d been beaten up a few times. In the dim light Jaime noticed the tattoo covering his arm was tightly wound vines with thorny roses. A gang tattoo, for sure. The guy held out his tattooed arm low to the ground to signal that everyone should stay put.

  Jaime took the time to look around. They were in a rail yard with lines of cargo train cars on different tracks, but no passenger cars. Under the far-off lights, workers loaded boxcars with goods. By the way the sacks hung over their shoulders, Jaime guessed some were filled with something soft like cornmeal. Others retained their shape and looked like they held cement. Uniformed men strutted along the train cars and peered into shadows and underneath the cars while clinging to their automatic weapons.