Lonnie cupped his own package with two hands and squeezed. “Sometimes, boys…sometimes I still want chicken.” He reached for Hernán’s shirt while the men on either side held him motionless—
“Hernán, you don’t have to go on.” Colin’s voice broke through his story.
Hernán blinked and looked around. He’d gotten through by detaching so thoroughly from himself he couldn’t recall where he was for a moment.
Sofia had a stricken look on her face and a sheen in her eyes. Colin was on his knees by Hernán’s chair, holding both hands in his own.
“I’m so sorry,” Colin said.
Hernán’s throat was tight. He tried to speak but he’d lost his momentum. The memory of hands forcing him down, holding him spread for Lonnie, made him shudder. He pulled his hands free of Colin’s and dropped his head into them.
“Just give me a minute,” he croaked out.
“We can stop there if you need to,” Sofia said, her own voice riven with emotion and distress.
After a moment, Hernán pulled himself together. “I’d rather finish.”
Colin stood and stroked Hernán’s hair. “Whatever you want. But we understand what happened. You don’t have to give us the details.”
He nodded and drank the glass of water Sofia set before him. Colin took his seat again, and Hernán made himself tell the rest.
Isela couldn’t look at him when they brought him back to the dormitory, afterward. It went on every night for a week. Hernán thought it was a week; he lost the ability to separate the time. During the day they used him to translate. At night they brought him to the third floor.
Maybe eight days after the first time in Lonnie’s room, when Hernán called Juan, his uncle sounded excited. Elías had enough money to get him out. Hernán felt tears begin. He made Juan repeat the news because he couldn’t believe it was almost over.
He told the coyote, who left the room and came back with Lonnie. The thick, red-headed man just stared at Hernán with burning eyes when he said his family had the money. Hernán’s stomach seethed with acid, and he clutched the phone receiver so hard it made his knuckles hurt. Please let me go, please let me go…
Lonnie scratched his ear and sneered. “You’ve been here so long, the price doubled.”
Hernán felt a sick certainty move through him, right then, like raw sewage. He was never going to get away from Lonnie. Somehow he managed to whisper to Juan about the price, and his uncle started to scream and yell.
Lonnie took the phone away from Hernán, dropped it in the cradle, and walked out.
He thought about killing himself that night. Or getting away and finding the immigration checkpoint to turn himself in. He’d be sent back to El Salvador. Deportation might lead to the same thing when Cuernos came for him, but at least it wouldn’t be suicide.
The next morning, as Hernán worked outside by himself, a big, black car pulled up to the house. The driver came around and opened the door; a man in a fine suit and holding a walking stick or cane climbed out. Lonnie came down the stairs to shake hands.
The man said something harsh-sounding and Lonnie glanced over at Hernán. Those eyes that haunted Hernán’s dreams glittered, and made his stomach roil in fear. The big coyote Carlos gestured to summon Hernán, and they all went into the phone room.
The man in the suit took a chair, but Lonnie remained standing, looking nervous. Silence weighed down on Hernán’s head, the pressure making his ears want to pop, as the man stared steadily up at the light fixture. Finally he spoke in a voice heavy with contempt and exasperation.
“Heath, we are business people. Yes?”
Lonnie nodded sullenly.
“And we offer a service. A service that is valuable to our customers and lucrative to us. You understand, right?”
Lonnie started to turn red.
“So what do you think happens when word gets out our handlers cannot be trusted with the pollos? What happens when a family is told a price, and meets the price, and then is told it has doubled.” With the last word he rapped his cane hard on the floor, making Lonnie jump. “Answer me!”
Lonnie cleared his throat and said defensively, “We always charge more when the family doesn’t pay.”
“A reasonable surcharge, yes. Double the fee? No. And you’re avoiding the question.”
The seated man shot a look at Carlos, who nodded and punched Lonnie in the gut. Lonnie doubled over, retching. As if nothing had occurred, he kept talking.
“I’ll tell you what happens. Our customers look for more reliable alternatives. Others can establish a network and follow the routes and make the connections. They can even use our same contractors.
“This is a straightforward business. And we placed you here because of your knowledge of the American border patrol. We trusted you to run this important aspect of the business. Then I get word a customer is extremely and vocally unhappy. One of the men who finds us chickens is therefore also very unhappy, because a chicken is kept in the coop even when his money is ready.”
Lonnie was purple in the face and wheezing. He tried to straighten but Carlos put a heavy hand on his shoulder to keep him bent. Lonnie glared at him with malice but the big coyote seemed unfazed.
The man in the suit continued. “Now, Heath. You have created a problem for our business. I’m here to find out why.” The man looked at Hernán for the first time. His eyes traveled dismissively up and down.
“Why did you make me come all this way to this disgusting house for this…” He gestured vaguely at Hernán, the unspoken word nevertheless hanging in the air.
Lonnie licked his lips and hesitated. “He’s useful for translating with some of the contractors who don’t speak Spanish. We could use him to expand—”
“He’s fucking him,” Carlos volunteered. Lonnie gave him a look of pure loathing.
The man sighed. “Of course you are. Weak, Heath. A businessman controls his appetites. You can get what you need for a few pesos on any corner in this shithole of a town, but instead you pollute our reputation.
“So. I have received the original, agreed upon payment and I have assured—personally assured—this boy’s family he will leave today. I want extra precautions taken to make sure he isn’t picked up by Immigration. If this”—he waved again at Hernán—“Portillo boy arrives in Houston safely and his family is satisfied, you may keep your position here.”
The man went silent and stood, apparently seeing no need to explain the implied or else. He left without another word.
Lonnie glared at Carlos, still standing too close to him. Teeth gritted, he said to Hernán, “Get your shit ready. You leave in one hour.” He stalked out.
Hernán found Isela in the dormitory. They couldn’t meet each other’s eye—hadn’t been able to since Lonnie started up with him—but he opened his pack and said, “I’m leaving today.” When his few belongings were stored away, he zipped it up and risked a glance. Isela finally looked at him, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m glad you’re getting away.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “And I’m sorry I didn’t know what to say to you.”
“It happened to you too. Didn’t it?” Hernán wasn’t surprised when she nodded sharply. He sat on the bed next to her, hands folded in his lap. “I hope your sister gets the money together soon.”
“Me too.”
There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Finally he stood and gripped his backpack.
She rose as well. “My name is Isela Vargas. When I get across, I’m going to live in San Antonio, in Texas. Maybe you can write to me, when you write to the children.”
Hernán nodded. “I’m Hernán Portillo. I think I’m going to Maryland where my uncle Elías lives, but I’m not positive.”
Isela gave him a quick hug, and then dropped her arms. He said goodbye to Violeta and went outside to join one other man, a pollo who was crossing that afternoon. Three coyotes were to accompany them, which was more than he’d seen leave with other groups.
They drove to a river; from Hernán’s studies he guessed it was the Rio Bravo. A boat waited for them. After a short trip across, as they neared the opposite shore one of the handlers said, “We have a short window during the guard change. As soon as we stop, we run. Keep close to me. If I drop, you do too. If you hear gunfire, cover yourself any way you can. Keep running in the same direction and we’ll try to meet up afterward.”
The boat ground against dirt. The handlers leapt over the side, followed by Hernán and the other man. They ran away from the water, across a field. Hernán’s heart was in his throat as he listened for sounds of a patrol, for gunfire. He had a stitch in his side, the backpack banged against his neck and shoulder, but he kept going.
Eventually they slowed to a jog, then to a walk, then to a short halt to drink some water. After just minutes, they moved on.
It seemed they walked forever but, in hindsight, it was about six hours. They went under fences, and around small, lighted towns. Hernán wondered if Albert and Andrea would have made it, or if the walk would have proved too much for their little legs. He wondered if Isela would make the same journey soon, and Violeta.
Finally they reached a house on the outskirts of what seemed to be a larger town. When the lead coyote knocked rapidly on a back door, an elderly man opened it. He peered out through a screen door and said something softly in Spanish to the handler, who answered. The man nodded, opened the screen door, and came outside.
He quickly led them to a shed. Inside, the coyotes helped raise some floorboards and then the group climbed down into the darkness. The dirt floor beneath Hernán’s feet smelled of urine. The elderly man replaced the boards and they heard him leave.
Time passed. Hernán and the others sat on their heels or on their backpacks, waiting. A scuff of noise turned all their heads upward. Through the slatted boards, they could see a flashlight beam raking across the interior of the shed. Voices in English sounded, and one said, “All clear.” The flashlight beam vanished.
After another twenty minutes, the elderly man came back. He helped them up into the shed and gave them each water and a bag of food. They slept for a few hours, and then the elderly man rousted them up. “Quickly, before the patrol comes again,” he said querulously as he gestured for them all to be gone.
The handlers led the way out of the shed and into the early morning light, down to a country road, at the side of which a flatbed truck sat parked. The lead handler gestured for them to wait before jogging over to talk to the driver. He opened the bed of the truck and got them all lying down, alternating head to feet, before closing the tailgate again.
They drove for a long time, and Hernán watched the sky lighten overhead.
He had made it. He was in the United States. The relief he should have felt was muffled in such exhaustion and shame, it might all be a dream.
After a few hours they stopped and had to walk again. A youngish coyote, more talkative than the others, told Hernán they had to get around a U.S. checkpoint. Eventually they rejoined the road where the same truck waited for them.
A few hours after stretching out on the pickup bed again, Hernán could tell they drove into a city. The tops of buildings became visible where he looked skyward. The truck eventually came to a stop and the driver let them out.
Hernán looked around to find himself amid a series of dilapidated buildings. All the signs he could see were in English. Above the crumbling and peeling walls, the tops of skyscrapers glittered.
The lead handler brought everyone inside. Bathrooms, food, water, and then they were guided to an open space, where a woman with a clipboard bustled over. The coyote said something to her and she handed him a cell phone.
He beckoned Hernán closer and held out a piece of paper with a phone number on it. “Call this. Tell them you’re in Houston and find out where you should go next.”
Hernán took the phone and pressed the buttons with shaking fingers. The call connected almost immediately.
“Hello?” he heard a shaky voice ask.
“Rudy? Is it you?”
“Hernán! Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m in Houston. In Texas. They said I should ask you where to come next.”
“Dad and I talked about it. We think it makes most sense for you to come to Boston, where I live. That’s in Massachusetts. I’ll meet you at the bus station.”
“Um, okay.” To the handler, he said, “Boston.” He said goodbye to Rudy, pocketed the phone number, and the next thing he knew he was being loaded onto one of many large buses. From hurried conversations and calls across the floor, he learned the buses carried the immigrants to different destinations around the country.
The coyote who had escorted him gave him one hundred dollars. “This has to cover you until you get to Boston. Everything is expensive here so be careful with it.”
“I will. Um. Thank you.” He held out his hand to the coyote, who looked at it, shook his head, and walked away.
The bus took Hernán from Houston through Atlanta, up through the mid-Atlantic region, to Connecticut, and finally Boston, a journey of several days. He called Rudy from a rest stop when the bus got to Massachusetts, and he was at the bus station when Hernán stepped off.
They lived in Rudy’s apartment for a few months. That was where Hernán discovered Rudy sold a Rolex watch he’d received as a gift to help raise the money to get Hernán out of Mexico.
Funds started to get low. Hernán called his mother to ask for help once, but she said no. He’d never spoken to his parents since, though he called Juan sometimes to check in on him and Brijith.
Rudy and Hernán grew more and more nervous about being in Boston, even though it publicly declared itself a sanctuary city. They decided to seek work in Provincetown, where Hernán could be more confident about staying clear of ICE. He kept as far out of sight as possible, worked what jobs he could find without proper documentation, and prayed that his new life would be enough to keep him far away from the eyes of Cuernos.
Chapter 17
Silence reigned in the conference room when Hernán finished his story. He realized he had unconsciously shredded a pad of paper, and immediately started to sweep the pile into his hands.
“Leave the paper,” Sofia said softly. “Do you know what happened to the others? To Isela, Albert and Andrea?”
Hernán blinked away his memories, trying to refocus on her. “I managed to find Isela’s sister in San Antonio. She got her money a week or so after I did, but her group was caught. Isela was sent back to El Salvador. I don’t know if she tried again.”
His vision blurred, and his voice when he could speak again sounded hoarse. “I was never able to find Albert and Andrea’s family. I don’t know what happened to them.”
Sofia nodded. As she stood and pulled herself together, she said, “I think I should give you two time alone. Hernán, I know that was difficult. Why don’t we leave it for today? I have enough to begin developing the narrative and evaluate strategies. When David returns we’ll call you to discuss our next steps.”
She came around the table to rest a hand on Hernán’s shoulder, and then shook with Colin. “The conference room is yours for as long as you want it.”
After she left, Hernán turned to face Colin for the first time since he’d stopped speaking. He didn’t know what to expect, but probably disgust. Certainly pity. Embarrassment, maybe, that Colin had gotten himself involved with someone as weak as Hernán.
He didn’t expect the glow of pride shining from blue eyes. Colin said fiercely, “I’m so grateful you’re in my life.”
The cold shell Hernán had wrapped around himself to get through the story began to fracture. “You don’t hate me?” His lower lip started to tremble. The room blurred. “But I was so weak. I helped those animals drug Albert and Andrea. I didn’t know how to help Isela. I couldn’t escape Lonnie.”
Colin took both of Hernán’s hands in his. “How could I hate you?” he asked incredulously. “I’m a
mazed by you. The courage you have.” Shaking his head, he said, “I wouldn’t have even begun the journey.”
“It wasn’t courage. It was fear. That’s all it was. I was terrified to stay in San Marcos and then I was afraid to run away from the way-station.”
“Oh no, Hernán.” Colin stood and pulled him into a hug. “Don’t you know how brave you are? Those children never would have made it so far without you. Even Isela. You did everything in your power to help. You’ve been abused in so many ways but just look. You set your mind to escaping El Salvador and you did it. You’re in the States. You’re safe and you made it.”
Colin pulled back just enough that Hernán could see tears shining in his eyes but also a determined set to his jaw. He glimpsed the warrior in Colin, and it recognized him.
It said, you are a warrior too.
The shell splintered completely and he couldn’t hold back any more. He began to sob in Colin’s arms, wracked with everything he’d kept inside for so long. He clutched at Colin’s shirt and hid his face against the smooth fabric. Colin was an anchor for him and Hernán kept hold when his terror and the darkness threatened to pull him under.
Hernán didn’t know how long he cried. It seemed as if every time the tears stopped, a fresh wave of grief and remembered fear washed over him. His throat was sore and raw, and he realized he’d been moaning. Colin held him and there was no place Hernán wanted to be except in his arms.
There came a massive shift inside, like a stone tilting ponderously away from the front of a cave in which he had been trapped. His stagnant grief and self-loathing drained away in his tears.
Gradually he realized he was just absorbing Colin’s warmth. His tears had stopped, and he’d become more aware of Colin’s trim body than ever before. Their proximity made him nervous, not because he had the slightest fear of Colin, but because he didn’t know what he was feeling.
He tensed slightly and Colin released the hug. Hernán missed his arms keenly, but only then noticed what he’d done to Colin’s shirt. As he ran his hands over the wrinkles and the wet patches, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”
Asylum (Pride and Joy Book 2) Page 18