by Michel Stone
Héctor needed to hurry, to be on his way to the dock so that the parrots’ chance of survival might increase and he could have this unpleasantness behind him. The longer he sat here, the longer the birds would be bound and stacked and perhaps the greater the likelihood of their suffocating.
But he had to do something. The foulness of these dealings would linger with him long after he’d delivered the parrots to Santiago and Ignacio. Héctor imagined the silent pleading of the birds’ eyes haunting his dreams for years to come, reminding him of his inability to save them.
He reached again into the cooler, moving several of the birds aside, choosing a parrot squashed somewhere in the middle of the bunch. While holding his flashlight in his teeth and the bird in the crook of his arm, he began removing the binding from its trembling body. The blue of its wingtips reminded Héctor of fishing offshore, of the place where the emerald and pale blues of shallower water gave way to a blue as dark as midnight. Mindful of the powerful creamy-yellow beak just centimeters from his bare fingers, Héctor used the blade of his pocketknife to free the last bits of mesh from the bird’s upper parts near its head, then he set the parrot on the bow and stepped back from it.
The parrot hopped to its feet and studied Héctor with glossy black eyes rimmed in delicate red feathers. It shook its wings twice with a strange shudder, then extended them wide, revealing a few brilliant red feathers Héctor had not previously noticed under the outstretched wings.
Something about this, two of God’s struggling and curious creatures sizing each other up, appealed to Héctor, and he could have watched the bird perched there for a long while. But with a sudden flap the parrot took flight and in an instant vanished in darkness. He listened, longing to hear the beating of its wings lifting the bird to freedom, to safety, but the breeze swallowed the sound, and only Héctor’s imaginings of fluttering wings lingered.
Héctor closed the cooler, hoping, somehow, that the remaining birds felt some relief with one less parrot crammed among them.
He carefully replaced the tape, thankful it maintained its stickiness. When he’d secured the last strip he noticed beside his boot a lone feather. In the flashlight’s beam the tip of the brilliant green feather looked as if it had been dipped in yellow paint. Héctor considered this a gift from the one parrot he’d freed, and he slipped the colorful quill into his breast pocket. Then he started the engine and gunned the Gabriela toward the distant lights.
When he neared the bay, he slowed and eased the boat toward the dock. Santiago emerged from the shadows and stood under the single, flickering security light at the end of the pier. No one else could be seen around the marina, and the men worked quickly.
“What’s this?” Santiago said when he noticed the second cooler.
“I received two tonight,” Héctor said, not meeting Santiago’s eyes, busying himself with the rope with which he’d secured the coolers to the boat out of habit, though the tranquil seas this night had not warranted that precaution.
“Excellent. Excellent!” Santiago said. “I was beginning to worry about you. As calm as this evening is I’d expected you back sooner, but I guess the delay was this double load, eh?”
“Yes. Tonight took a little longer with two coolers to lower to the boat and secure,” Héctor said.
“Sure, I get it now. Here,” Santiago said, peeling Héctor’s payment from a roll of bills. “Good work, Héctor.”
“I need to tell you, Santiago, I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, folding the pesos and slipping them into his back pocket. He expected an emotional response from Santiago, some sense of disappointment or even anger about Héctor’s departure.
Instead Santiago shrugged and nodded. “Tomorrow? You sure?”
Héctor didn’t want to talk anymore. He didn’t want to be here a moment longer, but he willed himself to stay put, to finish the conversation without angering his boss.
“Yes, I have to get going. To my daughter. I have to get up north.”
“Okay,” Santiago said. “We knew you were only passing through, you told us that. It’s why we wanted you, you know? Just a guy passing through on his way to someplace else. Usually you guys are the best workers, anyway, hungry to make a buck.”
He extended a hand to Héctor and the two shook. “Safe travels, then,” Santiago said, lighting a cigarette that had been tucked behind his ear. “So, hey. I need to get going,” he said, already halfway to his truck. “I’d offer you a ride, but I got to get this load out of here.”
Héctor nodded. “Yeah, sure. Thank Ignacio for me,” he called with careful indifference, as if he had no sense of the time sensitivity of Santiago’s delivery. He watched Santiago’s lights recede. Héctor looked back at the Gabriela, thankful for his time with her, then began the last walk he’d take up the hill toward Emanuel’s apartment to sleep for a few hours. At dawn he’d make his way to the bus station, and for only the second time in his life, he would head to northern Mexico.
Chapter 29
Rosa
She saw him approaching from down the lane long before he saw her rocking in the dappled shade of the ficus tree in the courtyard. She knew his reason for coming, and she stood and went inside to tell Lilia she’d be back shortly.
“Go with you, Roro, go with you!” Fernando shouted.
“No, no, child,” Rosa said, handing the boy a sugar cube from her apron pocket. “Stay here and take care of your mama. I’ll be right back.”
Rosa met the messenger boy before he’d reached the yard, and together they walked the direction from which he’d come, back to Armando’s shop and Rosa’s waiting phone call. A black hen with a clutch of tiny yellow biddies pecked among the small, weedy bed of pink flowers growing alongside Armando’s shop.
“Just hatched this morning,” the barefoot boy said, grinning, revealing brown, decaying top teeth. Rosa slipped him a few coins and thanked him for calling on her, then she went inside and made her way to Armando’s phone.
“Hola, Héctor?”
“Yes, Rosa. Hello! How is everyone there? How is my family? I sure wish I could speak to Lilia. Tell me about her,” he said. He seemed rushed.
Armando, for once not eavesdropping but occupied with customers at the cash register, couldn’t hear her speak, and so Rosa could be more candid with Héctor now than she’d been during the last call, when Armando had jammed himself so close to Rosa she could smell the old goat.
“Héctor, Lilia has had some bleeding, but for now I think it’s stopped. She is flat on her back and being an obedient patient, which, as you know, is not always her way. That girl can be hardheaded. She’s had a low fever the past few days, but I’m not sure the source of it, and I’ve been keeping her hydrated and still.”
“Is she okay?” he asked, just like a man. You could tell them everything about a situation, yet they still needed a woman to explain the meaning of things.
“She is. For now. This baby isn’t breech like Fernando was, so that’s good. I believe this one’s a girl, and her head is way down already. We’ll see, Héctor. That’s all I can say.”
“And my boy?” he said, raising his voice over loud noises suddenly blasting near him, nearly drowning him out.
“He’s perfect, that one. Fernando is just fine,” she said.
“That’s good, Rosa. Thank you for taking care of them,” he said.
“Tell me about you, Héctor. Are you still in Acapulco?”
“No. I left a couple of days ago. By bus. I’ll get to Matamoros tomorrow. These buses,” he said. “So many stops and delays. So much waiting. Two flat tires already since I left Acapulco.”
“Two flat tires?” she asked. “On the same bus?”
“No. The first one was on the drive from Acapulco to Mexico City,” he said.
“Mexico City! You went there! Did you see the capital? What was that like? I’m sure Lilia will want to know.”
“No, Rosa. I saw only a bus station. You forget, I’ve been there before, when I went to el norte
, or maybe you didn’t know. But I have visited that place before. It’s very dirty and nothing like Puerto Isadore.”
“Hmm,” she said, nodding and thinking about this. How could the capital city be anything but beautiful?
“So from there, I took another bus that stopped in Teotihuacán. Then another bus, one that had a flat tire, carried me from there to León, and then to Zacatecas, and that is where I am now.”
“I’ll tell Lilia all this if I can keep straight in my head these towns. She longs to know your progress, Héctor.”
“I’ll sleep here tonight, and tomorrow I’ll board a bus to Real de Catorce, and then on to Matamoros. I’ll call you after I’ve visited the orphanage, okay Rosa? Tell Lilia I love her, and kiss my boy for me. Tell him Papa will see him soon, and I will bring him a gift.”
“Yeah, sure, sure, Héctor. Of course. Vaya con dios,” she said before placing the receiver back in its cradle on the wall.
Armando was at the far corner of the shop, showing a teenage boy a magazine that Rosa suspected, based on their hushed voices and rapt attention, held photos of nude women. She rolled her eyes, thankful for Armando’s distraction, and slipped through the door before he had a chance to annoy her.
When she stepped outside she noticed one of the little chicks cheeping beside a flowering cactus, its blossoms as yellow as the bird’s down. The hatchling seemed to have gotten himself separated from his mama and brothers and sisters. Rosa bent down and scooped him up, searching for the rest of the brood. Then she thought of a different plan and lowered the chick into her apron. Fernando would enjoy him, and it was time he learned how to be gentle with tiny, living beings. Soon enough he would be a big brother.
Chapter 30
Héctor
The bus ride from Zacatecas to Real de Catorce would take several hours, and Héctor grabbed an abandoned newspaper from a bench to read along the way. A man with a boy, maybe ten years old, and a girl, maybe twelve, sat together on the floor along a back wall of the bus station. Something about their appearance, their demeanor, intrigued Héctor, and he had a feeling they were traveling to the border. They’d kept to themselves since they’d arrived, about an hour after Héctor had arrived the previous evening. Their clothes were filthy, and their eyes remained downcast. They sat close together, sharing an orange the man peeled. Perhaps they were Hondurans, poor and scared, working their way to el norte.
Héctor had seen others from Central America during his trip north several years ago. He didn’t mind them or begrudge them the opportunities el norte could afford them, but he’d heard others spew mean-spirited words of disgust for such travelers passing through Mexico, as if their presence sullied Mexico.
When the time came to board the bus to Real de Catorce, Héctor worked his way to an available seat near the back. He opened the newspaper and had begun to read a story about one of the Mexican World Cup team’s assistant coaches, a name unfamiliar to him, when he glanced up and saw the three from the back wall of the bus station making their way down the aisle toward him. The man took the seat in front of Héctor and directed the children to take the open seats across the aisle from Héctor. The man passed a cloth sack to the girl, but motioned toward the boy.
“Tell him he can use it as a pillow,” the man said to the girl. She took the sack then turned to the boy, and using hand signals explained the purpose of the sack. The mute boy nodded and wedged the sack between his grimy window and the seat, then nestled into it to rest.
Soon the bus rumbled to life and lurched onto the highway, and Héctor hoped this one had good tires full of air and without leaks. He watched the scenery passing by his window and took in the countryside, from scorched plains of creosote bush, mesquite, and tar bush to stark mountains, the site of which left Héctor lonely and heavyhearted.
When he’d traveled to el norte, he had not come this way exactly, or maybe he had. But he didn’t recognize anything outside his window. He would pay attention because one day, when Alejandra was older, he would tell her about this journey and how her papa had traveled a great distance to find his girl and bring her home with him to her mama and brother and soon-to-be-born baby sister or brother.
After a while he felt the girl’s eyes on him. Both the boy and the man traveling with her had fallen asleep, but the girl seemed alert and interested in everything around her. When their eyes met, she said, “Are you from here?”
She was a shy-eyed girl who looked at Héctor from an angle, as if turning her face directly toward him would be too bold or disrespectful.
“Yes,” he said, detecting an accent in her Spanish that told him she was, indeed, not from these parts. “Well, not from here”—he pointed out the window—“but from south of here. And you? Where are you traveling from?”
The girl glanced up at the man with whom she traveled to be sure he wasn’t listening, and when she’d ascertained that he still slept, she leaned in toward Héctor and said, “Honduras. We’re going to la línea to cross to el norte, but my uncle, he tells us we must be careful, that our journey is a secret. He says people here are both good and bad just like they are everywhere, but that because we aren’t from here we can’t know for certain which is which, you know? Who is the good and who is the bad. You aren’t bad, are you?”
Héctor thought about that. “No, not too bad, anyway.” He smiled at her. She was a pretty child with curious eyes and deep dimples.
The girl nodded, pleased with Héctor’s answer. “Have you been to el norte?” she asked.
Héctor considered how terrifying crossing as a girl her age might be. “I have,” he said.
She seemed to think about this, likely wondering why he was back in Mexico. Héctor suspected she’d heard stories of Norteamérica’s greatness, stories that had lured her and her uncle and her brother to the north.
She looked out her window and Héctor out his, and neither spoke for several minutes. He could not know what these Hondurans were leaving behind, and he wondered if the girl’s uncle would look back on this journey in a few years’ time and think the effort worth the risk, the price these children might have to pay. The girl’s skin was clear of acne, but dirty from the grime of her travels. She’d barely started to develop into a young woman yet, but some men, evil men like the coyote Lilia had enlisted, would prey upon such innocence in the vilest of ways. He wanted to tap the sleeping uncle on the shoulder and tell him to turn back to his country, that he couldn’t know the risks he was taking with these children. But just as he thought these things, he recalled his own fire and determination to get to el norte. No amount of warning would have deterred him.
“My sister was killed,” the girl said, looking at Héctor again with the same curious expression, her head turned slightly to the side.
Héctor had not expected this, and when he didn’t respond immediately, she said, “She and her boyfriend. A gang member shot them, and my parents had to fetch their bodies from the mountains. That’s where the shooters left them.”
Héctor wished he could offer the girl a piece of gum or a candy, though she didn’t seem overly burdened in her sadness. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“The gangs in my neighborhood are terrible. Our house sits on the corner, and every day we can hear gunshots nearby, and at least once a week someone is killed on one of the corners near our house. My brother,” she said, glancing at the sleeping boy beside her, “he’s deaf. He’s at the age the gangs like to recruit new members, so my mama and papa are sending us to el norte, to get my brother and me away from the gangs.”
“So your parents remain in your country?” Héctor said.
“Yes, they have to stay because to pay a coyote to take us all costs a lot of money, you know? And I have two more little brothers and a baby sister, and so my parents are staying behind with them.”
“I see,” Héctor said, wondering where this girl and her brother would end up and if they had family already in America or if they would stay in the home of a friend. He’d heard of gangs
, of course, but in Puerto Isadore, they’d not been a problem. The reasons people left his village for el norte were for better-paying jobs, for opportunities and education for their children.
After a moment he said, “Why’d the gang kill your sister and her boyfriend?”
The girl shrugged. “We think the gang killed them because my sister’s friend is the girlfriend of a boy in another gang, but that girl doesn’t have a home, not really, and so my sister and her boyfriend let the girl sleep on the floor in their house. The girl’s boyfriend was very angry about this.”
Héctor studied her face, trying to make sense of her tale. “Angry that your sister and her boyfriend helped her?”
“No, angry that the girl had been in the house of a rival gang member.”
Héctor wondered about the fate of the girl, the one who’d angered her murderous boyfriend, but he decided not to ask about that.
“How old was your sister?” he asked.
The girl looked beyond Héctor now, out the window at a small pasture of cattle. “She was fifteen. Her name was Linda.”
At this the girl turned, leaning against her brother as if to rest, and spoke no more.
Héctor shifted toward his window and thought of Alejandra. He prayed God would give him the ability to protect her from all the evil in this world. As a younger man, Héctor’s thoughts had only skirted the edge of contemplating evil. His youthful naïveté and hunger to experience the world had kept such considerations at bay. Now he often considered the horrors happening every day everywhere, tragedies unfathomable to him as a younger man. He looked across the aisle where the girl and her brother seemed to slumber, somehow, in peace. He prayed for their safe crossing, and that their uncle was better equipped to protect them than Lilia and he had been at protecting Alejandra.