Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco

by Judith Robbins Rose

  “Nothing. Sorry.” He looked at me, and I saw his soul.

  He is sorry. ICE men must have daughters, too.

  “He’s not here?” asked Miss.

  “Well, if he is, he’s not in the computer.”

  “It’s been two days!”

  The guard shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Surely there’s some kind of record.”

  “You might check the field office.”

  Another long drive. Another government building, but newer and taller. We walked through a glass door. It looked like Miss’s bank, with shiny stone walls, and a ceiling far away. People waited on chairs in rows. It didn’t look as scary as the warehouse.

  That shows not to trust first impressions.

  Two officers worked behind a desk. They both had guns and badges. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  The large woman in uniform said, “May I help you.”

  It didn’t sound like a question. She was talking to us, but it was hard to tell. Her eyes were rolled up toward the ceiling, though she must have seen it before. I wondered if she had a string in the back of her neck you pulled to make her talk like that.

  “We’re looking for a detainee,” said Miss.

  “Fill out a request form.” The woman shoved a paper at us, still staring at the ceiling.

  I thought of what Miss had said about looking people in the eye. And I understood. The guard was being disrespectful. Telling us we didn’t exist.

  Miss slapped her purse on the desk. She pulled out a pen and snapped the bag shut again. She was annoyed, but the guard didn’t seem to know or care how dangerous Miss could be.

  She’ll find out.

  I looked at the people sitting in rows. Not just Mexicans. People in all different colors. Women with children, tired old men, angry young men. People by themselves, and whole families talking in languages I didn’t know.

  Are all of them waiting to see their fathers, brothers, sons? Are there women detainees, too?

  Miss’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I don’t have his number. That’s why we’re here.”

  The guard dragged her eyes from the ceiling and looked Miss up and down. “Are you a family member?”

  The guard was big, taller than my mentor, but Miss lifted her chin. “This is the man’s daughter.”

  The way she said it made me sound important. As though being the daughter of Miguel Juárez was like being a queen. So I lifted my chin.

  The guard gave me what’s called a withering look. I dropped my eyes to the floor. You can just keep your nasty eyes on the ceiling!

  “If you’re his daughter, you should have his number,” she said.

  I recognized her tone. It’s called derisive.

  Miss stepped between me and the guard, showing all her teeth. It wasn’t a smile. She reminded me of a mother bear on a nature channel. “As I said, we’re here to get his number.”

  “I’m sorry.” The guard looked back at the ceiling.

  It felt like a slap in the face, and I realized the conversation was over.

  “I need to talk with a supervisor,” said Miss.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the guard asked the ceiling.

  “No. I need to talk to your supervisor.”

  The guard flicked her eyes at Miss. “I said, you need an appointment.”

  “I heard you. I want to make a complaint.”

  We followed the woman down a hall. She mumbled, “If I get into trouble over this —”

  But Miss enjoyed making trouble for rude people.

  The big woman made Miss take off her watch, her earrings, and her shoes when we went through a metal detector. I could tell the guard enjoyed that. She took the nail file she found in Miss’s purse and threw it in a trash can. She glanced into my purse and handed it back to me. Then we were marched down a passageway.

  Another man stepped out of an office. His name tag said ARELLANO. “May I help you?”

  Miss held out her hand. “Kathryn Dawson Dahl.”

  His eyes widened.

  “May we sit down?” Miss asked.

  Mr. Arellano smiled the way Miss did sometimes — the smile-that-wasn’t-a-smile — and he didn’t take her hand. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Dahl. I do not have clearance to talk to the media.”

  The lady guard’s eyes moved from the ceiling to Miss. As though she’d just noticed her.

  I grinned.

  “I’m not here with 5News,” Miss told him.

  “It wouldn’t be worth my job to risk it. Surely you understand.”

  Miss blew a whiff of air out her nose. “The station has no idea I’m here. I told them I’m out with a sick child.”

  I turned to stare at Miss. She lied to the people at her work? Miss says lying is for cowards. But maybe it wasn’t a lie. I was sick — sick with worry.

  Mr. Arellano gave a little nod. “What’s on your mind?”

  “We’re looking for a detainee. Your people are unable to locate him in your system.”

  “You are family?”

  “This is his daughter.”

  “You have his case number?” Mr. Arellano looked at me, but I looked at the floor.

  Miss answered for me. “We’ve been trying to get his number all morning.”

  I looked up at him. I wanted to use my puppy-dog eyes, but I couldn’t do it. Now that I knew about real power, it felt like cheating.

  Mr. Arellano showed all his white teeth. He turned his smile on me. “If your father’s been detained, he would’ve been allowed to make a phone call. If he hasn’t called you, there’s nothing I can do.”

  His fake smile made me mad. Miss had warned me to let her do the talking, but I blurted, “He did call! But he didn’t give us a case number, and no one told him where he is!”

  Mr. Arellano spread his hands apart and shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t have to see his soul to know that he wasn’t.

  Miss didn’t try to hide her annoyance. “Walk me through your procedure.”

  “It depends on the circumstances.”

  “Such as?”

  “Mrs. Dahl, I don’t have time to talk you through multiple scenarios.”

  “A typical scenario. Is there a hearing? Are they posted somewhere?”

  “I’m sorry. You need to leave.”

  I stiffened.

  “I’m invoking the Freedom of Information Act.” Her voice had a sharp edge. Like broken glass.

  “You need to leave,” he repeated.

  “What do I do? Write a letter? To whom?”

  Mr. Arellano folded his arms across his chest.

  Miss crossed her own arms. “I asked you a question.”

  His eyes flashed, but his voice was calm. Like a dead man’s voice. “You think I haven’t seen your kind before? Well-meaning church ladies. You take a barrio kid out for ice cream once a week and think you’re Mother Teresa.”

  My mouth hung open. What Mexican would talk to a white lady like that? But then it hit me. Mr. Arellano wasn’t Mexican. He was American.

  And he wasn’t through with Miss. “You charge in here, demanding special treatment for your charity of the week. You think I don’t know what these kids go through? I see it every day. If you don’t like it, then change the law. But don’t barge in here and tell me how to do my job.”

  I glanced at Miss. Her eyes were wide and round. I was sure nobody had ever spoken to her that way before.

  “Mrs. Dahl, you have been asked twice to leave a high-security area. Walk out now, or be arrested.”

  The big guard took a step. The handcuffs on her belt clinked. I grabbed Miss’s hand. It trembled in mine. I thought I was shivering, until I realized, Miss is the one shaking! I looked at her face and saw something I’d never seen there before.

  Fear.

  She tried to say something, but the strangled sound wasn’t English. Mr. Arellano made a motion to the guard, but before the big woman could move, we were halfway down th
e hall.

  Miss dragged me along. Her usually cool hand was sweaty. The guard harangued us — like a pit bull barking and snapping at our heels. I didn’t hear what she said. My heart throbbed like a drum in my ears.

  After we burst through the doorway to the outside, words burst out of me. “Miss, could they really arrest you?”

  “Get in the van.”

  Once inside, she leaned against the steering wheel with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths.

  “Miss, they couldn’t really arrest you!”

  She looked at me, shaking her head. “Put it on my tombstone.”

  “You just asked a question!” I wanted her to think logically, to storm back in there and fight. It was a luxury only she could afford.

  Then I realized I was wrong.

  I’m an American. I can go back in there and stand up for myself. Like in the French class. I unbuckled my seat belt, but before I could open the door, Miss grabbed my arm.

  “Jacinta, I’m tapped out. If we get arrested, I can’t afford another lawyer.”

  “Call your TV people!”

  “So I can get fired? I told them I was out with a sick kid, remember?”

  “SO YOU DO NOTHING?”

  “Nothing?”

  “Think of something!”

  Her breathing had returned to normal, but her face was still red. “Thinking and adrenaline are a bad mix.”

  I’d learned in science that adrenaline triggers the fight-or-flight response. I wanted to fight, but Miss seemed ready to run away. I’d thought she was brave.

  But if you’re brave only when you know you’re safe, are you ever really brave at all?

  Then her eyebrows pulled together, and she stared out the windshield. I could tell she was trying. I shut up so she could think.

  My heartbeat slowed until I couldn’t feel it in my ears anymore. It was cold outside, but sun streamed through the glass like in the botanic garden’s greenhouse. I was steaming. I took off my new sweater and looked at it.

  I knew it was bad luck to leave Mamá’s sweater behind!

  I threw the new one on the van floor.

  Miss didn’t notice.

  I looked to see what she was staring at. A single leaf clinging to a tree in front of us danced in the breeze. I watched it play, watched it twirl.

  Miss can fix this. I couldn’t let myself think anything else. She’ll call somebody. The mayor, or maybe the governor.

  We watched the leaf until the wind tore it away.

  Miss must’ve heard my thoughts. “I could call our senator. She could make Mr. Arellano’s life pretty miserable. But that might make things worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “For your dad.”

  A chill went through me. Papi? What could they do him? Did we give Mr. Arellano his name? Would he find Papi and hurt him? “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?”

  Her face was whiter than I’d ever seen it. I saw freckles under her makeup.

  She whispered, “I don’t know.”

  MISS STARTED the engine and backed away from the ICE building, but her eyes were empty.

  How can she drive without seeing?

  If her head had been made of glass, I would’ve seen wheels turning inside. I waited for a spark — a light to come into her eyes — but it didn’t happen. The stone in my stomach got heavier.

  I thought I might throw up.

  I pushed the little button to open the window and stared at the slushy gray mounds on the roadside. Even with cold air blowing on me, sweat poured off my face.

  Miss said nothing, even when I started shivering. I felt sick, like I had a fever. I thought about putting my new sweater back on, but I was afraid of the jinx.

  Why isn’t Miss ordering me to roll up the window?

  Finally I closed it myself.

  We were on the street to Tía’s apartment when the van turned. I looked at Miss for an answer. She pulled into the youth center parking lot. In a few minutes I was in Mrs. E.’s office with a glass of soda in front of me. Diet.

  “Sorry for not calling, Liz. We were driving by when I realized you might be able to help.”

  Mrs. Espinosa sat on the sofa next to me. “What’s going on?”

  Miss looked at me. “Jacinta?”

  Does everyone have to know? It felt like the word was stamped across my forehead in big red letters. ILLEGAL.

  Mrs. E.’s small dog — who usually slept in the corner of her office — got up on stiff little legs and trotted over to sniff my hands, which were suddenly wet. I wiped them on my jeans. I wanted Mamá, Papi. Someone to tell me what to do. I picked up the soda and took a sip so my mouth wouldn’t be dry, but my eyes started leaking.

  “Was your dad deported?” Mrs. E. whispered.

  As though asking softly would make it hurt less.

  I nodded, holding the glass to my lips so I wouldn’t have to talk.

  Miss said, “Well, not yet, anyway. Miguel called his sister this morning. He’s been detained, but he didn’t leave a case number, and he doesn’t know where he’s being held. We went to the ICE regional office and got stonewalled.”

  Mrs. Espinosa frowned. “You went down there?”

  Miss pressed her lips together and nodded.

  Mrs. E. sighed. “You need to be careful, Kate. Sometimes those folks play rough. It could come back on Miguel.”

  Miss flinched. “That’s what I’m afraid of. What happens now?”

  “There should be a hearing,” said Mrs. E.

  “Does he get a lawyer? What happens to the girls?”

  Mrs. Espinosa stood up. “How would you ladies like some cookies?”

  Why do grown-ups ask the stupidest questions at the worst times? I was left sitting outside Mrs. E.’s office with a plate of stale animal crackers and my watery diet soda. All the ice had melted.

  I could see them through the office windows. Both ladies had cups of coffee, and their heads were together. My papi had been taken away, but I was dumped in the waiting room with the dog.

  To Americans, I’m just some Mexican. My whole family — a bunch of dumb Mexicans. Go ahead and shoot us like dogs.

  Mrs. E.’s little dog whined through his lips. I picked him up and held him. His tiny tongue tried to kiss away my tears.

  Don’t worry, I thought to him. Americans don’t really shoot dogs.

  After a million years the ladies walked out of Mrs. E.’s office.

  “Come on, Jacinta, we need to get to your aunt’s,” said Miss.

  I was slow getting up. I didn’t thank Mrs. Espinosa, and I didn’t say good-bye. They were whispering to each other as we walked outside, so they didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

  “Tread lightly,” Mrs. Espinosa said in Miss’s ear.

  Miss nodded, and we got in the car. As soon as Mrs. E. turned to walk back inside, I yanked the keys from the ignition.

  “Jacin —” Miss’s voice broke off when she looked at my face.

  “What did Mrs. Espinosa say?”

  Miss stared at her lap. “She doesn’t know what will happen to you girls. Sometimes kids are deported with their parents. Sometimes they go into foster care.”

  A bomb went off in my brain.

  But Miss didn’t hear the explosion inside my head, so she kept talking. “Sometimes when parents are deported, their kids just — disappear.” She swallowed. “Your aunt’s not able to take care of all three of you. I — I’m thinking that you and Rosa should live with me for a while.”

  “We need to get Papi back!”

  Miss whispered, “I don’t know if we can.”

  I threw myself against the car seat, pounding my fist on the window, making the van rock.

  Miss jumped. “Jacinta!”

  “How can a person’s life be fine one minute and destroyed the next?” I didn’t realize I’d asked the question out loud until I heard Miss answer.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Gerald Benton turned your dad in. To get back at me for embarrassing him in front of the city manage
r.”

  It was a punch in the stomach. I have no parents because of gymnastics?

  Papi said he’d been stopped for a taillight. But the next day a policeman came to our apartment! I struggled to breathe. “You think Mr. Benton called the police?”

  “Not really. I’m grabbing at straws. But somehow the police knew where to find you girls. And that worries me.” She took the keys from me and started the engine.

  “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?”

  Miss looked at me. I saw her lips moving, but the sounds weren’t hers. They were the tones of a lost little girl. A voice like my own.

  “I don’t know.”

  The second time she’d said that to me. The second time in the same day.

  WHEN WE GOT to Tía’s apartment, Rosa was watching from the window. She ran to the van before Miss switched off the engine. “Papi called again. He gave us his case number.”

  Miss frowned. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I did. You did not answer.”

  Miss fumbled in her purse, then pulled out her phone. Looking at it, she groaned, then dropped it back in her purse. “All right, let’s get inside.”

  My cousins ran into their bedroom to hide when Miss walked in. Suelita buried her face in the sofa. Tía’s and Rosa’s eyes were red.

  Someone has to be strong. Someone has to get Papi back.

  “Miguel is in the Teller County Jail,” Tía told us.

  Miss asked, “Teller County? Why Teller?”

  “We need to go get him,” I said.

  Miss turned to me. “Do you have any idea where Teller County is?”

  “No,” Rosa and I answered together.

  “Drive south for two hours and hang a right. It’s halfway into the mountains.” Miss asked Rosa, “Have you heard from your mother?”

  “I talked to her brothers, but they do not know where she is. They have not heard from her since she left for America.”

  I filled up with fear. I wanted to tear off my skin so I wouldn’t have to feel anymore.

  Miss took a deep breath, then let it out. “I need to know what your parents want for you girls.”

  She pulled out her phone and started pushing buttons.

  Finally! Someone is doing something. I took deep breaths, trying to quiet my heart. So I could listen.