La Linea

by Ann Jaramillo

  A young father and mother, near my age, sat on top of two boxes tied together with rope. They passed a baby back and forth, but it cried nonstop anyway. Two more string bags held some fruit and drinks, a bean pot, a molcajete, a box of soap. This was everything they owned in the world. I thought they must be headed to la capital to try out a different life. They’d still be poor there. It would just be a different kind of poor.

  I felt quick and light and alert. Everyone else seemed burdened, loaded down. My backpack and my pouch weighed no more than a feather.

  The bus finally pulled up to the station. The mother and father with the baby stowed their boxes, mounted the stairs, and sat at the front. An india, wearing a bright, multicolored skirt and blouse, slid into the second seat. A shawl covered most of her face, for modesty. She grabbed the ends and pulled it tighter around her neck. She carried only a small string bag. I decided she was going to help her sister who had just had a baby.

  I made my way to the back of the bus and claimed a seat next to a window. Three young men settled down behind me. They didn’t wear their traditional pants and shirts, but I could tell they, too, were indios. Triquis, maybe, Zapotecos or Mixtecos. They sat shoulder to shoulder, speaking softly in their own language. Maybe they didn’t speak Spanish. Probably they just didn’t want me to understand.

  Two more young men grabbed the seat in front of me. One wore a New York Yankees cap facing backward on his head. His T-shirt had a faded cartoon drawing of a square-faced kid with spiky yellow hair. The other man wore an Oakland Raiders cap pointed forward and a ragged sweatshirt with a Notre Dame logo.

  “What’s the name of the guy they told us about? Do you think we can find him? What if we can’t find him?” one asked anxiously.

  “Would you stop asking me that?” the other replied. “I already told you ten times.” He used the annoyed tone of an older brother, one I used with Elena when I wanted her to shut up. I guessed by their accents they came from Guatemala, or maybe Honduras.

  A black man slid into the seat across the aisle. He was traveling alone and light, like me. I nodded at him slightly. He returned the nod with one of his own, adding a shy smile.

  He carried one small backpack held together in some places by duct tape and in others by crude hand stitching. Out of this he pulled a portable CD player. He fiddled with the earphones, adjusted the volume, and settled back, listening intently. Who was he? Where was he from? I finally decided he was a tourist, probably not as poor as he looked.

  Several other men entered the bus. Each was single. Most traveled alone. I counted a total of fifteen young men, including myself. I bet all of us had the same destination, somewhere across la línea. Here we were together, close enough to touch.

  There, up north, one might go to Chicago, another to Atlanta, or Michigan. What were the other places I’d heard about? Oregon? Yakima? Oklahoma? Someplace called Little Rock? Some were cities, it seemed. Maybe others were states. I wasn’t sure. There was California, of course. I knew all about California.

  Finally, yet another man sat right next to me. I let out a big sigh. I wanted to be alone so I could stretch out a little and sleep. I knew I needed to rest when I could. But he was barely seated before he started talking, a fast-flowing river of words, as if he’d been starved for conversation.

  “Hola. Me llamo Javier. You can call me Javi,” he began. “What’s your name? I’m from El Salvador. You’re from here, right?”

  He paused only long enough to kick his backpack beneath the seat in front of him. He had silver hair and deep wrinkles around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. I looked closer. He was a lot older than anyone else on the bus.

  “This is a good bus. I can tell already. You can always tell by the driver,” he continued without taking a breath. “I’ve been on two that broke down. Where are you going? Maybe we could go together. It’s boring to travel alone.”

  He looked at me hopefully. Don Clemente had warned me not to give away my route or my contacts. Besides, I didn’t want the burden of another human being.

  So I lied. “I’m going to la capital to stay with my brother and sister-in-law.”

  Javier’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. But within minutes, his friendly talk started up again. Over the next hour, I found out he came from the mountains of El Salvador somewhere. He used to work on a big coffee plantation. He left behind his wife and two children.

  “I had no choice,” he explained. “The coffee prices went in the toilet. With no work, no money, what was I supposed to do?

  “I’m going north, to New York, where my brother works in a restaurant. He can get me a job. Within a short amount of time, I’ll have money to send for the family.”

  He paused momentarily and looked at me more closely. “You must be about the same age as my boy, Eduardo. He wanted to come with me, but of course he had to stay to help out the family. He wasn’t happy about it.

  “You’re not going to la capital, are you?” Javi said suddenly. It wasn’t really a question. He hadn’t believed my story. I’ve always been a bad liar.

  “You could come with me, you know,” he offered.

  He waited for me to answer. “This is my second try. I’ve learned a few things, and sometimes it’s good to have someone to watch your back.”

  I said a silent thanks to Don Clemente. With his people and his coyote, I didn’t need anyone else. If Javier had already tried once, and failed, I’d be better off by myself, alone. The last thing I wanted was an old man tagging along with me. How much help could someone like that be, anyway?

  “Gracias,” I murmured. “I’ve got my own plans.”

  CHAPTER 12

  I leaned my head against the dirt-streaked window and closed my eyes. What was Javi saying now? I’d quit paying attention. Words just bubbled out of his mouth. He didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t really listening.

  I felt the bus stop. I opened my eyes, straining to see through the grime. Three federal police cruisers blocked the road in front of us, and a white transport bus stood empty by the side of the road.

  Javier sat up straight beside me. “This is bad news,” he said. “The federales have a special internal procedure to look for people like me. You know, people traveling through Mexico to get to the North.”

  “You’re lucky,” he continued. “The federales won’t bother you. After all, you’re Mexican, a citizen. Es tu país. You belong here.”

  I was relieved. I had my school identification, which should work for this check. But I was now suddenly worried for Javier. “Pretend you’re Mexican,” I said. “How will they know?”

  He laughed. “The first time I tried to come north, they tricked me with one of their questions, the ones they use to separate people like me from Mexican citizens. They asked me how many stars the Mexican flag has. I guessed and said three. They laughed at me and sent me right back across the border to Guatemala.”

  Javier sighed loudly, then continued, “But there’s no end to the tricks, is there? Besides, just listen to me. If they ask me to talk, they’ll know.”

  It was true. His accent wasn’t like mine, and not like any of the accents I’d heard before in Mexico.

  A fat federal boarded the bus slowly. His bulky figure blocked the front window. From under his cap, I saw his eyes move from passenger to passenger. He lifted up the driver’s microphone, his breathing still heavy from the short climb up the bus steps.

  “Exit with your belongings. Line up by the side of the bus in single file,” he commanded.

  His eyes continued to glide over us, checking to see who might resist. Everyone did exactly as he said. No one even complained. He smirked. To him, we were just a bunch of pobres, now under his control. ¡Buey!

  Outside the bus, I found myself near the end of the line. The federal strutted back and forth in front of the passengers. His name tag glinted in the sun. “Capitán Morales” it read. His gut hung out over his belt. He clutched his clipboard importantly, tapping it rhythmi
cally with his pen.

  “This is a routine check,” he announced. “I’ll ask each of you a few questions, and then you’ll be free to reboard the bus with your things.”

  At the front of the line was the young couple with their baby. Morales asked them many questions, too many for a routine check. The father answered each quickly. Still, the capitán continued to ask, and ask again.

  I saw the father reach into his pocket. He turned his back to us and I knew he was taking out money to pay off the federal. He didn’t want trouble for his family. He just wanted to get where he was going.

  The capitán was making an example of the father. The message was loud and clear: “Look how easy this can be, you poor fools. I can mess up your day, so don’t make it hard on yourself.” Morales had practice getting money out of poor people.

  My stomach turned over. How much could I offer? What would Morales accept? What would he do if I said I had nothing? I needed every single peso. I couldn’t give him the bribe he was after. What good would it do to have only part of the money for my coyote?

  The capitán moved down the line slowly. He pulled the two brothers with sports caps apart from the others. They had no papers. They had suspicious accents. Mostly, they had no money for bribes. La mordida was not an option. Morales would send them south to Guatemala, along with the other young men who couldn’t pull enough money out of their pockets.

  Included in this group was the black man I couldn’t figure out. He gave me a small, sad smile. He didn’t seem surprised to be singled out in this way. Maybe this had happened to him many times before.

  Finally, the capitán stopped directly in front of the small indígena. Ever so slowly, he pulled the shawl down from her head, revealing her face. I’d know that profile even at a thousand meters.

  “Elena!” I gasped.

  She turned, looked at me, and whispered, “Miguel.” The color drained from her face and her lower lip began to tremble. She took one tentative step toward me, but the capitán grabbed her arm and pushed her back roughly. Elena tripped on her shawl, falling to her knees.

  Capitán Morales turned toward me. I could almost see his brain working, very slowly. Who was Elena? Who was I? How were we connected? All he could figure out was that Elena wasn’t who she pretended to be. Anyone in Mexico would know that her face didn’t match the india clothing she wore.

  And then, at that very moment, the Yankee-capped young man, one of the brothers, muttered, “Cobarde.”

  He said it just loud enough for the capitán to hear. A guy like Morales must’ve heard bad words many times in his career. He must’ve been called lots of names. But to be called a coward, that was the worst. So much for his machismo!

  I saw the capitán’s eyes change. The capitán felt disrespected, and he’d been disrespected enough already for one day. I knew that he’d stop trying to figure out who belonged in Mexico and who didn’t. He didn’t care who we were, where we came from, or where we were going. Morales would make us pay for his bad day.

  For the first time, I was afraid.

  Within minutes, Capitán Morales and two other armed federales escorted us onto the transport bus, all fifteen men I’d counted, plus Elena. No one protested. What would be the point? I sat, once again, next to Javier. I couldn’t imagine how he felt, having to go back for a second time. Javi muttered quietly, repetitive and rhythmic phrases I couldn’t make out. Prayers, probably.

  Elena was in back of me. I felt her eyes bore into the back of my head, but I refused to turn and look at her.

  The bus chugged slowly, to the south, toward the border with Guatemala. I remained motionless for many hours, watching the sun set on the wrong side of the bus. Morales would dump us on the other side of the river. My plan—Don Clemente’s carefully laid plan—was in ruins. And Elena was to blame.

  CHAPTER 13

  The bus stopped just once before the border, in the pitch-black of night. One by one, the federales left the bus, walked away into the darkness, and quickly returned. I guessed they were going to pee. Elena had never been able to wait to go, and I knew she was suffering with every bump in the road. Well, fine. She deserved to suffer a little.

  As for me, my butt hurt, my neck ached, and my legs were cramped from being doubled up. Morales had forbidden us to stand or change seats. The complaining finally began.

  “Ay, Capitán, let us out, just for a minute,” one called out. “What do you want, a big mess on the bus?”

  “Usa una botella,” Morales sneered. He motioned for the driver to get going, sat back down, and pulled his cap over his eyes. Several men cursed him quietly.

  “They’re no better than the worms that feed on a dead corpse,” Javi said sourly, nodding his head in the direction of our jailers.

  He rubbed his forehead with both hands and then ran his hands through his hair, attempting to comb it with his fingers. He shrugged, raising his hands palms up.

  “But their work will be for nothing. We’ll all come back, all of us.” Javier looked around the bus to confirm his opinion.

  “This isn’t the first time for them, either.” He pointed at the two brothers. Then he paused. “For them, it’s a minor setback, nothing more.”

  He motioned to the black man across the aisle. “And that guy? He’s come all the way from Brazil! Do you know how far that is? He’d never let an idiot like Morales get in his way.”

  Javier studied me curiously for a moment. Then he turned slightly in his seat to catch a glimpse of Elena behind us. “¿Quién es? Your girlfriend? What are you going to do about her? She’s a liability, you know. She’ll slow you down.”

  Elena leaned forward, placing her chin on the edge of our seat. Her head was right between ours. “I won’t slow anybody down because I’m traveling alone. And I’m not his girlfriend, I’m his sister. I already told him I know what to do and he doesn’t need to worry about me.”

  Elena spoke to Javier. She said it as if I weren’t even there.

  “Actually,” I said to Javi, ignoring Elena, “she’s only thirteen years old. You can tell what a baby she is by how she behaves. Now I’ll be forced to change all my plans and take her back home. She’s so selfish, she didn’t think that far ahead.”

  “It’s her fault we ended up like this,” I continued. “Most of us would be all the way to the border by now, if it weren’t for her.”

  I only half believed this, but I said it anyway to hurt Elena. It felt good to say the things I’d been thinking all night long.

  Javi was grinning. He didn’t seem to care who won the argument. He was just enjoying the entertainment.

  “That’s not true. That ugly, fat capitán would’ve let me back on the bus if Miguel hadn’t called out my name the way he did.” Elena’s voice got louder with each word. By then, half the bus was listening.

  “And just who does he think is really selfish? He’s the one that was going to leave me all by myself in San Jacinto. I know how to get north, and I’m going to do it.”

  Elena stood up, gripping the metal edge of the seat with both hands. “I’m not going back to San Jacinto, not ever!” she screamed over my head.

  Capitán Morales stood up at the front of the bus. He stared long and hard at Elena, hitched up his pants, and yelled, “Shut up, all of you!” Morales turned back toward the driver. “¡Cállensen!”

  Just then, the bus lurched. Morales lost his balance. He reached for the seat nearest him, missed the back, and fell on his knees in the aisle. He grunted and pushed himself up. His pants fell down. We all could see most of his giant naked butt.

  Elena giggled quietly behind me. Javier’s laugh began low in his gut, and ended in a series of loud snorts that flew out his nose, like a donkey’s bray. It ended in a giant wheeze. I began to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Then everyone started to laugh, with Javi, and at Morales. For the moment, we didn’t care if Morales got back at us.

  But Morales made like it never happened. At the front of the bus, in front of us all, he adjusted
his uniform jacket and sweat-stained cap. He pulled up his pants once more, trying to get them over his bulging gut.

  Finally, he withdrew his pistol from its holster and inspected it casually. The barrel gleamed in the half light of the dawning sun glowing through the window of the bus. It was all an act, like his earlier shakedown, but it worked. Silence fell over the bus again.

  Javier’s wheezing that had begun with his laughter hadn’t stopped. His chest rose and fell with his efforts to take in air, but he didn’t stop smiling.

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I wonder if this guy is as stupid as he looks. I think he might be. I’m going to find out.”

  With that, Javier scrunched down, settled his head against the metal edge on the back of the seat, and closed his eyes. I fell asleep to the sound of Javi’s breaths, loud and insistent.

  CHAPTER 14

  My stomach growled loudly, waking me from my nap. I kicked my backpack angrily. I regretted gobbling down every bite of Abuelita’s tacos and fruit the day before. Suddenly, without a word said, food appeared. It came out of pockets, duffel bags, backpacks, paper sacks. Someone peeled oranges and passed the pieces around. My share was two small slices. The black man took out a torta, unwrapped it, and tore it into rough chunks to share.

  There were pieces of taco, tortilla, a few chicharrones, some dry cookies. Elena dug up a brown, squishy banana. She broke off an end piece and passed it up to me. She knew it was the only part of a banana I liked. She meant it as a small peace offering. I ate it, but I didn’t feel like making peace with her. I wouldn’t ever forgive her stupidity.

  Out the window, I saw the landscape had changed. A thick forest, almost a jungle, lined the rutted road. The bus slowed to a crawl. A long line of people walked single file on both sides of the road, most headed the opposite direction from us. Through the front window of the bus, I could barely see the outline of a town in the distance.

  A lazy green river snaked along the road part of the way. Discarded plastic bottles, car tires, and rusty cans littered the banks. A small flotilla of makeshift rafts ferried dozens of people across the slow-moving water from Guatemala to Mexico.