A Wetback in Reverse

by Frederick Martin-Del-Campo

  More importantly, he remarks about how proud he was of his movies because in them was shed a critical light on the corruption and inefficiency of local and state agencies and the federal government with respect to the care and treatment of innumerable, anonymous orphans ~ that the secular governments never ceased to attack and divest the Church of its traditional roles as educators and care-takers of the down-trodden and helpless, but when it came to the issue of orphans the respective governments both turned a blind eye. Celestina had sent it to them in order to silence many speculating critics who’d perpetuated the rumor that Fulgencio had disavowed his own films. Worse yet, he complains in the same letter that some anonymous vagrants knocked on his door a couple of times insisting they were long lost children of his and had decided to search for him, showing up at his home 25 years later. His detractors were all too willing to believe the worst about him since he had been complaining about the Mexican Orphans problem for more than 30 years. The impostors probably believed their own lies and thought they truly had a chance to become his adopted sons!

  The hours passed, and I attended Consuelo’s dinner party in a state of mental turpitude. She served a delectable roast turkey stuffed with peppers and sweetened ground-beef meat-balls. The atmosphere was as tense as it had been when I first visited their home. She was sweet and solicitous as before, but caveated against my staying long in Tepa. Yet, she hoped that I could somehow help by procuring documents that attested to the legitimacy of the Martin claims to the San Roman movies, since my family blood-ties to his mother were stronger than theirs. Otherwise, they’d all be moving in to the depths of the hell they all helped to create. “Please tell our relatives in California that we’d adopt them into our immediate family,” said Consuelo, “if they help you to pull this off. We would dedicate the recovered films to you as thanks!”

  Well! That last offer certainly tickled my fancy. How could I refuse?

  The following day I went to dinner with young Samuel and his friend, Vicente; he had lost his brother Ricardo 3 months before to heroin at the age of 20, a victim of an addiction foisted on him by Felipe’s nephews. Vicente complained that he’d been a true mental wreck, and found comfort in being with Samuel. As for the latter, he apologized for his prior comportment, and wanted to get to know me better because I had been around and had published a couple of books, a fact which intrigued him. Pride he took in our relationship, albeit distant, but Vicente’s problems took up most of our conversation. Our hearts ached for him, but there was nothing I could say to console his grief. Worse yet, he felt he couldn’t return because it was too painful for him to come home every evening and sleep in the same room where his beloved Ricardo had died. So, he was staying with Samuel and his family during this time, and would stay until he could decide what to do next.

  After wasting two hours in a cantina, we dined in a restaurant called Benito El Holgazan’ (Benny The Bum). I had a savory shrimp and oyster cocktail followed by barely palatable broiled scallops.

  The next day would make 10 since I’d arrived in Jalisco, and was getting restless to visit other states on my agenda. For the time being, both Samuel and me agreed to Vicente’s request to put out a prayer chain dedicated to his brother’s celestial care.

  THE TREATY OF HIDALGO AND

  THE TROUBLE WITH WETBACKS

  Article VIII of the Treaty of Hidalgo (which ended the Mexican -American War back in 1848) guaranteed that Mexicans who remained more than one year in the ceded lands would automatically become full-fledged American citizens (or they could declare their intention of remaining Mexican citizens); however, the American Senate modified Article IX, changing the first paragraph and excluding the last two. Among the changes was that Mexican nationals would “be admitted at the proper time (to be judged by the Congress of the United States)” instead of “admitted as soon as possible.”

  Apparently, some people never got the notice, and Mexicans have been battling for their rights to American residency ever since. Every time a Mexican crosses the border in to America, documented or not, he/she enters a territory that belonged to Mexico but was torn away from the motherland by fraud and illegal conquest, or so he/she had been taught in primary school. Many historians would agree. Americans do not! So, the sad spectacle of ignorant, illiterate, utterly destitute peasants entering illegally to grab at any opportunity for work has perpetuated the human tragedy till the present day.

  Whilst I prepared to tour greater Guadalajara, news was had that no less than 70 hopeful migrants had suffocated to death in the trailer of a transport truck coming out of Saltillo, Coahuila that was headed for the border with Texas. Dozens more had been rescued, though were unconscious at the time, after Saltillo police acting on suspicion forced open the carrier on a foggy Sunday morning.

  Raul Benavidez, a senior police official in the city of Saltillo, said the bulk-load container the truck was transporting was attempting to enter Texas and was purposely headed for Chicago, Illinois. He remarked that most of the victims were Lipan Apache peasants who had been desperate to escape their drought ravaged lands, and feared that their own government would expropriate them for their failure to pay taxes. More than 100 people had been forced into the 50-foot-long (15-meter-long) metal container, Benavidez reported. Furthermore, survivors were rushed to the Red Cross Clinic, many of them unconscious. Worse still, the corrupt clinic workers, employees of a gratis charitable organization, had the audacity to present the patients with a bill for medical services!

  How pathetic, I thought. Here I was afraid I’d be caught for enjoying myself in their country without papers, and there they were losing their lives for a chance to make a buck in America and save their traditional lands! All that the senior Saltillo official could report was that 70 had been pronounced dead without ever having set foot in America. Once the trailer had been forced open, television footage ensued which showed more than three-score dehydrated corpses. Most were stripped to the waist while others were fully naked. Then, to add insult to tragedy, volunteers where shown brutishly tossing the corpses out to be lined up eventually on the gravelly road next to the vehicle. The stink from the container led to suspicions that some might have perished days before, but not even the survivors were willing to talk about their horrid experience. All that the local officials could say was that they’d be “detaining” the coyote (the smuggler/driver) while they prepared for their investigation.

  It is no mystery that South-Western Mexico lies on a well-trodden path for smugglers whom export hapless desperadoes from destitute countries like Guatemala and Mexico praying to find work and liberty in America, Europe and elsewhere.

  Elsewhere during that sodden week, Michoacano police captured Antonio David El Caca (the “turd”) Garcia, notorious as one of a dozen Zacatecas-based narco-traffickers mixed up in the bloody killings of a dozen Salvadorans aboard a bus some months before. Stumbling sleuths reported that Garcia’s smuggler-gang was allegedly searching for a rival trafficker’s cargo when they forced the bus to stop in eastern Michoacan. They didn’t find any pot or cocaine, but killed and flayed the bodies of the passengers, some of whom they were convinced were members of the rival gang. Garcia, I was to learn, was the second suspect arrested in the case.

  I must apologize for overly-concerning myself with all this drama. The issue of drug-trafficking and the explosion of the number of related crimes being committed throughout the country give a poor impression of just how perilous lies the state of civil matters in Mexico. The thing is that I was so excited that I had the chance to view the documentaries and obtained other information about my ancestors, that I blocked out most news until the shock of them awakened me to the impending reality. Since I was constantly on the move and depending on public transports, I had to be mindful of the possibility of a kid-napping or hijacking by local narco-traffickers.

  Speaking of kid-napping, while in Guadalajara I’d learned that another crime I had to worry about was taking place: Enrique had tried to kid-nap Campanit
a, and intended to smuggle her into the United States. To him it was a question of migration and getting back “his property,” according to his macho-chauvinistic Mexican perspective. Thanks to trusty Corazon, I was able to communicate via web-cam and Internet with Becky. I just had to make it to the nearest Internet Cafe’ near the grandiose Gothic-Baroque cathedral.

  When we were finally connected, it took a while before I could get the video camera to work, and Corazon suddenly appeared in a window-video screen and said aloud, “Freddy has connected to us, and we can see him live. I think he is available to chat with others.”

  I sat behind a desk with malodorous busy-bodies behind me peaking in. My friend and me then exchanged pleasantries, a few reproaches about not maintaining contact, and then laughed about the wayward, feckless fate that brought us together, then tore us apart and hurled us in opposite directions. At that point Becky appeared on another video window, and we started to chat. It was nerve-wracking because they referred to Enrique right away. I wasn’t sure of the topic so asked, “Who are you two plotting against?” and they confided that they’d been arguing about the threatened kid-napping. Afterwards they skirted the subject as much as they could especially since it was so painful to Becky, and Corazon promised she wouldn’t say more about Enrique, but my curiosity had been whetted. Overcome with sudden emotion, Becky broke her composure and blurted out, “Hey, it is time to feed my daughter. It is very late, so this will have to wait for another day.”

  That’s what happened, so Corazon and I were left to squirm.

  While she and I chatted about recent events, Becky suddenly re-appeared and begged, “Please forgive me, both of you, that I had to make you wait, but we had already spoken about my not feeling comfortable with this subject.”

  Corazon and I pardoned her, and assured her of our indulgence.

  She went on, “You guys know that I am sick to death of putting up with Enrique’s character and comportment. How he treats my sons and me is beyond contempt. I have been really depressed because of what he yelled at me. With the threat of kidnapping, which he is capable of attempting, I just felt like dying, like wishing I had never been born. I also wished I had never had kids.”

  Corazon tried to assure her that we understood her feelings, and I expressed my sympathy considering the violence I’d put up within my own family. Becky went on, “I felt like a cockroach because Enrique feels he is so good, and he had the audacity to say that I’d abused him. He told me that he is going to take our child no matter what happens. I’m really afraid of what he might do ... I’m a weak hen. Forgive me, but I don’t want to speak of this right now.”

  She tuned out, and once again Corazon and I were left to squirm.

  Perhaps her rantings revealed a part of her personality that no one knew about, and it was obvious that she desperately needed help. She wanted the world to know how she felt but couldn’t bring herself to admit to her failings. She reappeared after a few minutes and tearfully uttered, “My bones hurt ... I feel trapped, and don’t know what to do. At times I feel like a big turd because I see that Enrique succeeds at troubling me at times. He tried to be nice when we’d meet at some restaurant to talk about the welfare of our daughter, and at the close of our conversations he hugs me, and tells me that we have to try harder to overcome our problems. If I relent to his supplications, my children will get the worst of it. If I defy him outright, my children will get the worst of it.”

  At this point Corazon interrupted and asked what she meant to do, to which Becky replied, “I want to give him another chance because I still love him, and I have to be honest and admit that he is not totally bad. But, I despise it when he yells at me. If I go back to him, I feel like I am betraying my sons. If I sue him for divorce and spousal support, I feel like I will put them through a special kind of Hell. They don’t deserve this life. They deserve a peaceful life, so what can I do?”

  I then intervened and assured Becky, “First of all, please, never apologize for something like this. Your drama is our drama, and we certainly have burdened you with our selfish bullshit.”

  Then Corazon interrupted and said, “Truly, Beccita (her pet-name for her) you are facing a great burden. You know, since my mother knows all about your drama, she’s always asking if anything new has happened with you. I have shared a very few tidbits about your wanting to divorce him and move your family to America and such, not much else. But, our mothers, having merciless opinions as you can imagine, said, ‘Enrique will not change, he will go on with his malevolent ways, and Becky will go on regretting her decision; regretting not having left him the sooner.’ And yet, Freddy and me understand them, that you don’t want to do it for fear of what might happen to your children, even though they suffer more than anybody else in any case.”

  Wishing to express my sympathy, I interjected my own thoughts, “Look Becky, from this point of view, and speaking as one who went through the same shit with my parents, you are caught in the middle of a terrible dilemma: you are damned if you do, and damned if don’t! How can you justify one decision or the other when, clearly, you still love the man though you can’t stand to be with him anymore!”

  Corazon quickly picked up on the point and remarked, “From my point of view, if you don’t mind my imposing my thoughts on you my girlfriend, to live with fear is to invite death to the dinner table, metaphorically speaking. Nothing, absolutely nothing is more horrible than to accommodate your life to make room for fear. This is when you most need your courage, and you must do the right thing for your kids. If they, specifically Campanita, really don’t need him, and you pay all the bills anyway, this is the time to serve Enrique the lesson that, despite the love you share, in the end he does not matter. He is Nothing!”

  My lovely friend made an important point ~ he really did not matter in their lives, any more. Her cause was righteous, and if he could learn this once the divorce papers are finalized, she could look forward to closure. Regrettably for her own conscience, she felt her relationship might still have a chance, and that Enrique might truly change. Becky deluded herself that he would do anything to get her back after seeing how determined she was.

  I warned her, “If you give in to his entreaties, together with the veiled threat that he will keep Campanita, he will never respect you. That is human nature, and it WILL happen that way.”

  As Becky squirmed with doubtful resignation, Corazon pressed her, “Your fears are justifiable, yet, Becky, you are in the Right. Don’t make the mistake that my mother did with my father. She never made the effort to educate herself about the rights you and your children have against an often abusive, often cruel, sometimes violent person, just like my father was. Enrique is all these things, and you can’t afford to vacillate when the lives of your children are at stake!”

  The last statement almost shocked Becky into speechlessness, and I tried to remind her, “The Law is entirely on your side, and will force Enrique to support you and Campanita, like it or not. Even if you are just bluffing, you might consider telling him that you spoke to the police and to a lawyer, and they both told you that the Law is on your side. He does not stand a chance of legally taking Campanita from you. If he tries to run away with her, the authorities already know about your case and will be watching him, and that kid-napping he’d threatened will get him 20 years in prison, even if Campanita is his daughter. We are not living in The Middle-Ages. It is good that this is the Age of Respect for Human Rights. You are in the drivers seat!”

  “Even if you end up staying in Mexico, Becky,” Corazon averred to our trembling friend, “he has to learn once and for all that you have him by the balls, ACCORDING TO THE LAW!

  If fear and love for him are what have you indecisive right now, this is all that anyone can tell you, that this cannot be about sentimentality and worries of family ties. These worries only led you to feel like you would rather be dead. It has to be about what is right, and what your legal status is under the laws of this land.”

  As sh
e was making her point and Becky was sobbing, I followed up, “No tears, no more begging, it has to be about the Law, especially if he is threatening to kidnap Campanita and steel her away illegally to America. That is another lesson we learned with my family after my brother Alberto had committed so much shit against the rest of us. Our mother begged and cried, and gave him chance after chance, until, finally, she called in the Law. He surely suffered and had to go rehabilitation, but finally he was broken of his arrogance, his violence and dependence on drugs. He begged my mother to forgive him, and pleaded with her to intercede on his behalf. It took a long while, but it happened, and we have been safe and secure from Alberto ever since.”

  To which Becky abruptly responded, “If only the stupid old hag of Enrique’s mother had done the same with him, god damn it!”

  Corazon continued, “Needless to remind you, but you have your whole life ahead. You may end up having to call the Law, once you have surmounted your fears of Enrique. Again, you just cannot live your life in fear. It is a living death sentence ... A sentence that you are still living through.”

  ... And with that, our somber and tearful web-cam conversation came to an end.

  DRUG ADDICTION IN THE FAMILY

  I was left doleful because our long vaunted web-cam reunion had ended with sorrow and lachrymose au-revoirs. Previously, I thought I’d never get another chance to talk to Becky again, so I put all of my hopes in this video-conferencing. Now I was more confused and perturbed about her case than ever. Would there be another chance to hook up again by way of resourceful Corazon? I think we both were anxious to be kept abreast of new episodes in the heated drama. For my part, I just had to wait, pray, and continue with my investigation of genealogical references, and looking up literature about Fulgencio; the latest news out of Reynosa was that his condition had been stabilized, but he was far from recovering his health.