Dreams of Paradise

by R. B. Conroy

  Tito awoke after a few hours of sleep. He stood and shook the damp grass off his jeans. He was wet, tired, and hungry. The dense forest had been thick with mosquitoes during the night--he must have killed a hundred of them before falling asleep. Tito looked around. The forest was pitch black on this cool, moonless night. He glanced toward the road that had been his passageway the evening before. It was very quiet and there were no signs of any late night traffic. He pushed the damp leaves on the bush next to him aside and made his way back to the road to begin his journey to a new life.

  Walking briskly down the darkened gravel road, Tito felt sick inside for what he had done to his father. With the cool morning breeze chilling his warm sweaty face, his mind was ablaze with stinging images of his fists bashing into his father’s terrified face. He kept reliving the vicious attack over and over again. What evil forces had taken over my body, he thought. How could I do such a thing? He feared that he had killed or permanently injured his father. It horrified him to think that he may have taken away the only breadwinner for his family. A tough and surly boy and feared by the other boys in his village, he still loved his family very much and would miss them more than words could say. His heart ached at the thought of not seeing them again. Tears flowed over his soft, brown skin and his heart was filled with pain. He wanted to lay down on the dark lonely road and die, but he knew that he must go on. If his father couldn’t work, he would have to find a job in the U.S. and do what his cousins did--send money back to their families. He had to go on, he must make it to the United States for the sake of his family.

  A few hours later, with dawn just starting to break, Tito had made his way out of the rolling hills of northern Mexico and into the low desert that bordered the southern United States. Several miles later, he looked ahead and spotted the large boulder that was one of the final markers he remembered on the route to his uncle’s house. It was the point where two paths merged to form the final passageway over the border. With the light of day starting to break over the desert scrub, Tito ran past the big stone and continued on his journey down the rutted path worn deep by travelers. So many are leaving Mexico, I am just one of hundreds, he thought.

  It wasn’t far from the big boulder to the unmarked border. He could almost feel it inside--he knew that he had crossed the border and was in America now. Chest heaving, he stopped to wipe his brow with his t-shirt and assess his situation. The desert in the United States looked much larger and more foreboding than the one in Mexico, but fortunately, the pathway was still visible and easy to follow. He scanned the horizon for any sign of the Border Patrol. Not seeing any evidence of the patrol, he took a deep breath and forged across the burning desert sand to his uncle’s house. He passed several areas littered with plastic water bottles, food wrappers, pop cans, and cigarette butts. It was evident that many of his fellow countrymen had used this same route on their difficult journey to a new life. He was also certain that some of them had been captured, jailed and eventually sent back to Mexico. He prayed that he did not experience the same fate as many of his countrymen had.

  Fortunately for Tito, his uncle, now an American citizen, lived only twenty miles inside the Arizona border. If he continued to run and walk briskly, he could be there before noon. He looked ahead. The giant saguaro cactus, the next marker on the route, was still standing tall and majestic in the bright morning sun. With his senses on high alert, Tito once again scanned the landscape ahead, fearing at any moment that border guards with pistols and handcuffs would jump out from some hiding place and capture him. He was close now and his anxiety level was very high. He didn’t want to screw up when he was almost to freedom.

  Suddenly, there was a rustling sound ahead. He quickly turned and leaped behind a pile of gray rocks and frantically belly crawled away from the path. He leaned up and looked over the rocks and listened. He heard the sound again in the nearby brush. Suddenly a jackrabbit with white tail bobbing jumped out of the bush and ran across the path ahead. Tito angrily swept a stone off the warm ground and tossed it at the scampering rabbit. “Stupid rabbit!” he wailed. With sweat pouring off his brow, Tito climbed to his feet and continued down the path to his uncle’s place.

  He was getting close now, his uncle’s house wasn’t much farther. With the noon day sun beating down on his tired aching body, Tito continued to push ahead. His mouth was dry, his lips were parched and bleeding. So far there had been no signs of the border patrol or any other law enforcement agencies. His luck had been good up to this point and he hoped it would continue. Near collapse, he followed the path over a slight incline and looked ahead. His tired, swollen eyes spotted a ranch-style home. He paused for a moment and ducked behind a large cactus and examined the house from a distance to be certain that it belonged to his uncle. He had only seen the house a few times before and that was several years ago. It looked familiar, but he wasn’t certain. Having traveled so far and with so much at stake, he didn’t want to approach the house unless he was absolutely sure that it was his uncle’s. He soon got his answer.

  The aluminum screen door on the white vinyl house rattled open. A dark skinned man, wearing faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt, stepped out of the house with a cooking pan held securely with both hands. He stopped and tossed the sudsy concoction out into the desert behind his home. It splashed to the ground, creating hundreds of tiny bubbles on the hot sandy soil.

  Tito leaned around the giant cactus and laid his hand over eyes and squinted into the noon day sun. He smiled a tiny painful smile--the man was indeed his Uncle Pablo. The slightly slumped shoulders and bulging belly left Tito no doubt that it was his uncle. Now he had to move quickly. He had to get there before Pablo had a chance to go back in his house. “Uncle Pablo! Uncle Pablo! It’s me, Tito, son of your brother, Jose,” he shouted. Tito had changed a lot physically since his last visit so he shouted Jose’s name so Pablo would not be alarmed if he didn’t recognize him.

  The small man at the door zeroed in on the young man running toward him. At first, he moved back to seek the protection of his house from this muscular stranger; but as Tito got closer, a smile appeared on the smallish man’s face.

  “Tito, my boy! How are you?” The door banged shut behind him as he rushed to greet his nephew.

  Weak and exhausted, Tito was thrilled to see his kindly uncle. He threw his arms around him as they met in the middle of his backyard. “Uncle Pablo, Uncle Pablo, I so glad to see you!” He tried to lift him off his feet in celebration, but he was just too weak to lift the portly Pablo.

  The two men jumped up and down in a clumsy dance shouting out greetings to one another. Abruptly, Pablo backed away from young nephew. The smile broadened on his pudgy face, “I sorry my son, but you been out in the desert a long time, if you know what I mean.”

  A rare grin appeared on Tito’s face, “I think you right, my uncle. I probably need a bath.”

  Pablo roared in laughter and then motioned toward the house with his right hand, “Come inside and I will get you a bath and a hot meal. You’re in luck, my boy, I just installed a big air-conditioner in my house yesterday, you will love it!”

  Chapter 8

  Knowing that he was safe at least for the time being, all of the energy suddenly drained out of Tito’s body. With his shoulders slumped from exhaustion, he followed his uncle into the house. His body ached with each step. Inside the house, the cool air from the conditioner hit his dry, weather-beaten face. It felt wonderful. “You are right, my uncle. I love the air. It makes me feel cool all over.”

  “I save and save to buy the air conditioner. When you live in the low desert, you need air conditioning. It’s not cool here, like Caborca.”

  Tito nodded and looked around the modest home. It was very neat and tidy. The worn countertop in the kitchen was clean and dry. A notepad with scribbling on it lay next to what appeared to be a stack of unpaid bills. The sparse furnishings in the living room consisted of an old blue couch, two end tables with small lamps, and an old leather recli
ner that was well worn on both the arms and seat. It was obvious where Pablo relaxed when not working at the fence company. The morning sun shone through the front window partially illuminating the living room. Tito saw no signs of dust floating around in the room or stains on the window. Pablo, like so many of his countrymen, was a clean and tidy man.

  “Your house is very nice. You must be proud.”

  Pablo’s round face flushed red, “Why, thank you, my nephew. I am blessed. America is indeed the land of opportunity. Things are so much better here than back in our homeland and the people here are very nice to me.”

  Tito’s crusty brow furrowed, “It sounds like you are starting to like the rich gringos in America, my sweet uncle. The ones who cheat my father and me.”

  Pablo’s eyes widened, somewhat surprised by the sudden change in tone from his nephew, “Cheat, what do you mean, cheat you?”

  A bit agitated, Tito went on, “My father find out at the auction in Tucson that they were bidding lower on our cattle than on the rich gringos’ cattle. We were just poor, stupid spics to them--someone they could cheat. When my father complained, they say that they were not cheating and if we didn’t like it we could go somewhere else to sell our cattle.”

  Pablo shook his head, “Not all gringos are rich, my son. Most of them work very hard, like we do. And I’m sure there must be strict rules at the auction, America is a land of many rules. What you say surprises me.”

  Tito’s anger flashed, “They do cheat! They all cheat! We are dirt to them! I hate the gringos more than anything!”

  Sensing the growing tension, Pablo spoke softly, “I am sure that you and your father have had problems at the auction. I feel bad that this happened to you.”

  Tito dropped his chin to his chest, his face was bright red, “I am so sorry, my uncle. You invite me into your home and then I become angry. I am so sorry, please forgive me, my uncle.”

  He smiled at Tito, “You have great passion--like your father. There is no shame in that. By the way, how is your father?”

  Tito lifted his head, eyes wide. He was surprised that Pablo had not heard about the beating. Word travels fast in the Hispanic community. He was relieved. This gave him the chance to tell his uncle in his own words before he found out from someone else. He spoke calmly to his attentive uncle, “My father and I had a big problem. That is why I am here.”

  “I wondered why my young nephew come alone for a visit all of a sudden. Please tell me what happened between you and your father that would cause you to make the dangerous journey across the border alone.”

  Tito’s chin dropped back to his chest. He could not make eye contact with his uncle. Tito wanted to tell him, but for a Mexican boy to tell another authority figure that he had beaten his father was almost impossible to do. “I…uh, my…uh father, he got angry with me and I…uh” Tito stopped he could say no more. He just couldn’t tell his uncle what he had done.

  Pablo didn’t press the issue. “Oh, this is enough talk for now. Let’s get you a nice shower and then I will make you a tamale and a bowl of tortilla soup.”

  Tito stood quietly in the middle of the room avoiding all eye contact with his uncle.

  Pablo walked over and placed his hand firmly on his nephew’s shoulder. “I know your father well and he is a very hard worker, but I always thought that he was too hard on you. I think I know what happened. You are a tough boy. I can see how you could reach a point where you didn’t want to take it anymore. I had a brutal father when I was a boy also. One night he was beating me very badly and I could not take it any more, so I grabbed a tire iron off the tractor and hit him as hard as I could. I thought I had killed him.”

  Shocked by the revelations from his kindly uncle, Tito’s eyes shot toward him, scanning his face over and over again in disbelief. “You hit your father?”

  “Oh yes, I hit him hard. There was blood everywhere, but thankfully, I didn’t kill him,” Pablo chuckled.

  “What happened to you?”

  “He did not tell the authorities, but he disowned me. He sent me to live with my grandmother.”

  Tears began to roll down Tito’s face, he began to sob. No one had ever supported him or understood his actions. He was always made to feel like a bad person, as if everything was his fault. This shocking revelation from his uncle was the first time Tito had felt that someone understood him and all of the painful emotions that had been buried deep inside of him for so many years burst forth. He couldn’t speak; all he could do was cry.

  Pablo stepped closer and slid his arms around the large boy’s shoulder. “You smelly, but I want to hug you anyway,” he laughed quietly. Tito threw his arms around his uncle and hugged him tightly. He continued to sob, releasing all of those years of frustration and pain.

  Pablo rubbed his back gently, “It’s alright, my son. It’s all right.”

  Then Tito said something that he had never said to another human being during his short, but tumultuous lifetime, “I love my father, Uncle Pablo, I really do.”

  “I know you do my boy, I know you do and he must be okay or I would have heard by now. If he was dying or hurt badly, someone would have called me. Everybody in your town knows your father and I are brothers.” Pablo chuckled under his breath, “I hate to say it, but he has upset almost everybody at one time or another.”

  Tito’s moist eyes turned up at the corners, a hint of a smile appeared on his face, “I know Uncle Pablo, you are right.”

  * * *

  To help ease his nephew’s mind, Pablo called Tito’s parents the next morning and did not mention the whereabouts of their son. To his surprise, they said nothing about Tito. “Your father is probably embarrassed,” he told Tito. “They will probably disown you as my parents did with me so many years ago”. Pablo went on to reassure Tito that he didn’t feel his father would go to the authorities in Caborca. A proud man, he would not want the others in the town to know that his young son had overpowered him.

  “Did you ask how my father was doing?” Tito asked with much apprehension.

  “Yes, your mother told me that my brother had been injured by a fall off the tractor, but that he was doing okay.”

  Tito was relieved to hear that his father was not badly injured by the vicious beating he had given him. “Good,” he replied almost inaudibly. “I’m so glad.”

  Tito stayed with his uncle for the next several days, during which time his uncle helped prepare him for the trip to join his cousins in Florida. When his cousins left Mexico, they told Tito that when he was old enough he could come and join them in America. Tito never dreamed that he would be going to the United States just a few years later at only twenty-one years old. Sadly, the horrible events of the past few days had changed everything for Tito. He was about to embark on a very unexpected new chapter in his young life. He missed his family, but otherwise he was starting to look forward to joining his cousins.

  Pablo took Tito to a nearby Walmart in Tucson and bought him a couple of pairs of jeans and several white t-shirts. He also bought him socks, a new pair of tennis shoes, a shaving kit and the necessary toiletries for his trip to Florida. Then he drove across town to the bus depot in West Tucson and bought him a ticket for the long ride to Oxford, Florida. The bus was leaving the next morning at 6:30.

  With Pablo’s old brown pick-up chugging in idle, Tito took one last look at the white vinyl home of his uncle. He was proud of what his uncle had accomplished with his life. The modest, well-maintained home was much nicer than the adobe hut his family lived in back in Caborca. He hoped that he too might own a home like this someday in America. He was anxious to get going to Florida and to begin his new life. He tossed the gray duffle bag filled with all of his life’s belongings in the back of the truck and jumped aboard. Pablo was sitting behind the wheel and smiling at him.

  “I call my sons, Pedro and Jesus, after you went to bed last night. I know they stay up pretty late at night--they are like their father,” Pablo grinned.

  Tito lo
oked at his uncle with much anticipation.

  “They say they are happy their cousin is coming to join them. They say their business is growing and they need the help.”

  A huge smile broke across Tito’s broad face, his eyes twinkled with joy.

  “They also say, they are glad you are coming because you are big and strong and can easily lift the hundred pound bags of fertilizer that they would like to buy and save a little money. They buy only the fifty pound bags now because the bigger bags are too heavy for them.”

  An excited Tito exclaimed, “I lift whatever they want me to lift. I lift five-hundred pound bags if they want me too.”

  Pablo’s laughter filled the cab of the little truck.

  Tito snapped his seatbelt on and quickly nestled into his seat, “Let’s get going, Uncle Pablo, my cousins are waiting for me.”

  Pablo nodded. The truck jerked into gear and lurched forward. A cloud of dust billowed up from the rear of the truck. A stray dog ran alongside barking at the tires. Young Tito was on his way to his new life in the United States--a life fraught with uncertainty, but offering much hope to the tough young Mexican boy on the run from a brutal father.

  Chapter 9

  Joe played nervously with the silverware next to his plate. Waiting for Susan to return from a trip to the ladies’ room, he was feeling rather conflicted. He was still not sure if enough time had passed since his wife’s death to start dating. It’s been two years, I think she would want me to be dating by now. His thoughts were interrupted when he looked over and saw the door to the ladies’ room at the Bonefish Grill swing open. Susan stepped out and snapped her small purse shut, smiled in his direction and headed for the table.

  A forced smile appeared on Joe’s face. He watched Susan pull out her chair and sit down. Suddenly he realized, “Oh, dumb me, I should have gotten your chair for you--so sorry.”