I faltered, not sure how much to say. I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. How much of all this stuff did Dad know about?
He was nodding, looking grim. I thought, Uh oh. I wouldn’t want to be in Luisa’s shoes, or Rafael’s or Frank’s. Facing Señor Straight-as-an-Arrow Pedersen with illegal work papers.
To my surprise Dad said, “They let you off with just a warning? That was lucky. They could have arrested you.”
“They say they will come back,” said Manuel. “And if they see these three, they will arrest them then.”
Dad thought for a moment. “Manuel, I’m going to try to explain something. If I don’t make myself clear, help me out.” To Luisa, Frank, and Rafael, he said, “As far as I’m concerned, you always have work here. But I can’t protect you from the border patrol. If they come back, you could be arrested, and there’s nothing I can do to help you. I’d hate to see that happen. If you want to stay and hope they don’t return, that’s up to you. If you want to leave—go back home or go somewhere else—I understand. We’d hate to lose you, but we’ll manage somehow.”
I listened in amazement.
Uncle Bud spoke up then. “I heard that the other day a crew on the Davis farm saw a patrol van coming and hid in some heavy brush until they went away. Could be the feds are just trying to show their presence, make a statement, scare people into leaving, without having to make a lot of arrests.” Then he shrugged. “But who knows? Some workers in Brockport got arrested the other day and taken to Buffalo.”
Manuel translated this to the group, who listened gravely, still looking very scared.
Meanwhile, I was trying to take in the spectacle of my father and uncle talking openly about hiring illegal workers, or harboring criminals, or aiding fugitives, or whatever this was called. I was trying to comprehend that Luisa could have been arrested right in front of my eyes. I felt as if I had stepped into a world where everything was backward.
15
I was still in a daze when I walked into the kitchen after work. Automatically, I went to the refrigerator to get something to drink. There was a message on the notepad on the countertop saying that Randy had called. It seemed like ages since I’d talked to him. It had actually been the Sunday before, just eight days, but so much had been going on that it felt longer. After slugging down a glass of milk, I picked up the phone and dialed his number.
“What’s up?” I said when he answered.
“José! Guess what? You’re getting a day off from the salt mines.”
“Oh yeah? Why is that?” I was still so distracted by what had happened that afternoon that I could barely think. I tried to push all that out of my mind.
“Friday’s my birthday, man,” Randy answered. “Dad said I can take you and Jason to Darien Lake for the day. He’ll pay for all the rides and games and junk food we want.”
It sounded great. Going would mean I’d be out a day’s pay, but I couldn’t miss my best friend’s birthday, and going to Darien Lake was always a blast.
“We’ll pick you up at eight Friday morning,” Randy said, adding before he hung up, “and, dude, be sure to get me a really cool present.”
Leave it to Randy, I thought. Okay, I’d be out a day’s pay plus the cost of Randy’s present. But it would be worth it.
Dad had gone somewhere with Uncle Bud, so only Mom, Meg, LuAnn, and I were at the dinner table that night. I didn’t want to talk about the I.N.S. guys and their guns in front of Meg, so I waited until we were finished and Mom and I were doing the dishes.
“Mom?” I said, sinking my hands into the warm, soapy water.
“Yes, honey?”
“Did Dad tell you what happened today?”
She sighed as she took a clean dish from my hand and dried it. “He didn’t have time to go into all the details, but, yes. He said the I.N.S. came and threatened some of the crew, the ones whose papers aren’t legitimate. You were right there when it happened, I gather.”
I nodded. “But I don’t get it, Mom. You and Dad knew Luisa and those guys had fake papers?”
“No,” she said. “Not really.”
I waited, still not getting it.
Mom sighed again, then gave a little laugh. “It’s a very peculiar situation, Joe. I’ll try to explain.” She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts, then continued the circular motion of her dishcloth on the plate. “When Manuel arrived with the crew, we asked to see their papers. The law says we have to ask. They showed us papers. Now, your father and I had no way of knowing if the papers were genuine, but that’s not our problem. In fact, the law also says we’re not allowed to question the validity of the papers.”
“That’s weird. Why not?” I asked.
“To protect foreign workers from being harassed.”
“But why would that be harassing them?”
“Well, all farmers aren’t like your father, Joe. There are stories of bosses who find out about their workers’ illegal status and use that knowledge to keep the crews in fear. They give them low wages and terrible living and working conditions—”
“Luisa told me she’s worked in some really gross places like that,” I interrupted.
Mom nodded. “She might have felt she had to put up with it because if she complained, her boss could have turned her in. That’s what happens sometimes.”
I scrubbed extra hard at the pie plate in the sink, thinking about somebody taking that kind of advantage of Luisa. I was glad there were laws to protect the workers from that stuff. But then I had another thought.
“Wait a second, Mom. It doesn’t make sense. You said there are laws to protect workers from being harassed, right? So what were those guys doing in our field with guns? Isn’t that harassment?”
Mom was putting some dishes away in the cupboard. When she turned toward me, she made a funny face. “That’s what I meant when I said the situation is peculiar. There are laws to protect the workers from being treated cruelly. There are also laws saying that people who come here from other countries to work have to go through certain legal channels, or else they can be arrested and sent to jail or deported. That’s where the I.N.S. comes in. They’re supposed to keep people from crossing the border from Mexico—or anywhere else—illegally, and to find the ones who manage to do it and send them home.”
I finally understood what Luisa hadn’t wanted to tell me the other day. She and Frank and Rafael hadn’t produced papers for the I.N.S., because their papers were fake. They hadn’t crossed the border legally, the way Manuel had. They had sneaked across somehow.
I thought of the people she’d told me about, the ones who had died trying to cross the desert. I wondered how she had gotten here, and groaned as I remembered asking her if she and Frank and Rafael had flown over. As if she could have gone to an airport and jumped on a plane for the States. She must have thought I was making fun of her, or trying to pry information out of her. Or else that I was a real dope.
But didn’t she know I’d never do anything to make trouble for her? Maybe it wasn’t easy to trust people when you were an illegal alien, which I’d finally realized was exactly what Luisa was.
What I didn’t understand was why it was such a big deal. I mean, who cared if Luisa came here and worked on our farm? Handing Mom the last dish and letting the water out of the sink, I said, “Why does the border patrol want to send them home? What harm are they doing?”
“If you’re asking my opinion,” said Mom, banging down a pot with a little too much force, “none. The truth is that farmers in this country, including us, couldn’t survive without the labor of people like Manuel and the crew.” She took the last pot from my hand, shaking her head. “It makes me so mad when people fuss about how the foreigners are taking American jobs. From our experience, that’s just not true. We’ve tried running ads for local workers, and not one person has ever even called. Not one. Nobody around here is willing to do that kind of backbreaking labor for what they consider such low pay.”
The dishes were done,
but instead of running off the way I usually did, I wanted to stay and keep Mom talking. I’d never thought about all this stuff before, which kind of amazed me actually. But now that I knew Luisa and the rest of the crew, I wanted to understand what was going on.
I sat back down at my place at the kitchen table while Mom puttered around, wiping down the counters and setting up the coffeepot for the morning.
“Nobody wants to pay more for their food, Joe. The lawmakers and the politicians know that. They know the whole system relies on cheap labor. Which means foreign labor.”
“Luisa thinks she makes good money,” I said. “She says she couldn’t make nearly so much in Mexico.”
Mom nodded. “Our workers have always been thrilled to have jobs. They’re willing to take incredible risks to come here so they can work.”
“Some of them die trying to get here,” I said.
“I know. I just read about eighteen more people who died in the desert.”
“It’s like some sort of crazy game,” I said, shaking my head. “One part of the government says they can’t come here, and another part watches out for them once they’re here, and another part arrests them sometimes and other times scares them to death but gives them a break—like today.”
Mom laughed. “It is like a crazy game,” she said. Then she frowned. “But games are supposed to be fun. And this one involves real people and their lives: the workers, obviously, and us, too.”
I looked across the yard, past the barn to the trailers where the crew lived. I imagined them inside, huddled together, trying to decide whether three of them should leave or stay.
“What do you think they’ll do?” I asked Mom. “Dad told them they could stay if they want to.”
“I imagine they’ll take a chance and stay, hoping the I.N.S. was bluffing. In a way, I hope they do. We need them, and I know they like it here. But, on the other hand, I’ll feel terrible if any of them get arrested.” She shrugged helplessly.
“What are we going to do if they leave?”
Mom gave a little snort. “We’ll probably run another useless Help Wanted ad that no one will answer. And you and your father and the crew will work harder, and LuAnn and I will help, and maybe Meg, too. And we’ll pray that Manuel has contact with some other workers who can get here quickly.”
“What will they do if they leave?”
“They might actually go back to Mexico,” Mom answered thoughtfully, then added, “but I doubt it. As I said, they risked a lot to get here in the first place. I understand the migrants in this area have quite a network among themselves. Our crew may hear of another farm that needs workers and go there. And if we’re lucky, some of the workers from that farm will come here.”
That really was crazy. It was like musical chairs. I was amazed by the weirdness of it all. Then I remembered something Uncle Bud had said. I asked Mom, “Why do you think the I.N.S. would bluff the way they did? If they are bluffing, that is.”
“I’m not sure,” Mom said slowly. “They must recognize how complex the situation is. I imagine they understand the futility of most of what they do. Maybe they’re just trying to show that they’re doing something. Maybe they figure word will spread that they’re around, and a certain number of the illegal workers will get scared off without the hassle and expense of arresting them. I honestly don’t know, Joe.”
That’s what it came down to. None of us really knew what was going on. And how was the crew supposed to decide what to do when they had so little information?
Just then there was a knock at the kitchen door. I looked through the screen door and saw Manuel standing on the porch, along with Luisa, Frank, and Rafael. They must have come to a decision. As I jumped up to let them in, I realized that, like Mom, I didn’t know what I hoped it would be.
We all mumbled greetings, but everyone knew this was not a social call. Manuel stepped to the side and motioned for Frank to come forward. Holding his Yankees cap in his hand, he nodded to Mom.
“Jim’s not home,” Mom said quietly. “You can tell me what you’ve decided, and I’ll be sure to tell him as soon as he gets in.”
Frank cleared his throat. “Señor Jim and you good bosses. Little Boss okay, too.” He smiled faintly at me, waving his hand back and forth in a so-so manner, teasing me even now.
I smiled back, even though my heart was suddenly pounding.
Then Frank pointed to himself and the two others. “We stay. But”—he hesitated before saying haltingly—“we don’t know how long…We are scared. One day…” He made a rapid motion with his hand, indicating, I thought, a need to run away quickly.
Mom held up her hand to stop him from saying more. Smiling warmly, she said, “Jim and I are very happy to have you stay. If a day comes when you feel you need to do something different, well, we’ll understand that, too.”
The two men and Luisa all nodded, their faces serious and grateful. I felt grateful, also, to hear that they were staying. Not just because we needed their labor, but because I realized how much I’d miss them if they went away.
But I was scared for them, too. That night, each time I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I saw Luisa’s terrified face, and the I.N.S. man’s hand reaching for his pistol.
16
At breakfast the next morning, Mom and Dad talked about the crew’s decision to stay. I didn’t say too much, even when Mom said she thought that with everything going on they’d better not go to the Olmstead reunion.
“It’s only Tuesday,” said Dad. “We’ve got over a week to see how things go. I wouldn’t rule out the trip yet, Viv.”
Mom continued to look troubled, but I thought what Dad said made sense. And I thought it was nice of him to keep Mom’s hopes up, since in his heart he’d probably just as soon stay home.
We were still picking strawberries. For the next couple days, everything at work was the same—and yet everything was different. There were the same endless rows of plants, the same aches and pains, the same sweat and heat and bugs. But we were all nervous and jittery. I noticed that the crew took turns keeping an eye on the main road, the farm lanes, and the hedgerows bordering the field. It reminded me of the way geese feeding in the fields had sentries on the alert, their heads up for danger. I felt myself looking over my shoulder and peering toward the road every few seconds, dreading the sight of those white vans with their official green insignias.
The fear and paranoia wore on my nerves, and I knew it had to be even worse for the crew, especially for the three who were in danger of being arrested. But the days passed without incident, and without any reports of raids or arrests or even warning visits from the migra.
Wednesday was the Fourth of July. We were working, and didn’t do much to celebrate. But when it got dark, the crew joined us out on the lawn. From there, we could see the fireworks the American Legion shot off every year down at the lakefront.
I didn’t care too much about fireworks, myself, so I spent most of the evening sneaking peeks at Luisa, who seemed to be having the time of her life. She was wearing the dress Meg had told me about, the one her mother had embroidered with flowers and birds. She looked great. She and Meg sat together on a blanket, their eyes wide with excitement, oohing and aahing over every burst. I wished I could go sit with them, but I was afraid LuAnn would make some comment to embarrass me.
At dinner on Thursday night, I realized Randy’s party was the next day. I’d been so preoccupied when he’d called, I’d forgotten to even mention it to my parents.
“Dad?” I said as I passed him the spaghetti. “I know I should have mentioned this before, but I forgot. Randy’s birthday is tomorrow, and he invited Jason and me to Darien Lake for the day. Do you think I could take off?” I hesitated, then added, “Or should I tell him I can’t go?”
I made myself look right at Dad, even though I figured I was about to get a lecture about the importance of responsibility and planning ahead. To my surprise, Dad continued serving spaghetti without any change of expressi
on. “Up to you, Joe,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no reason you can’t have a day off.”
I couldn’t believe it had been that easy. I’d had my arguments all ready, figuring I’d have to convince Dad that Randy’s party was an important enough excuse to miss a day’s work. But he was even smiling as he added, “I don’t suppose it’ll kill you to wait one more day to get that Streak of Lightning, will it?”
For a second, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then I realized he meant the Streaker. It was weird, but I hadn’t even thought about the bike for days. “I guess not,” I said.
I made a face, then said, “I’d be further along if I’d stuck with my hourly wage instead of going by the quart on the strawberries, though.” It felt kind of good to admit it.
“Manuel says you’re getting up to speed now,” Dad said as he sprinkled cheese over his spaghetti. This remark, made so casually by Dad, stunned me. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that Manuel would report on my work, just as he probably did with the rest of the crew. But I felt ridiculously pleased that Manuel had noticed that I was improving. And that he had mentioned it to Dad. Maybe he didn’t get as much enjoyment out of my screwups as I’d thought.
Okay, I had the day off. Now to the next tricky problem: getting a “really cool present” for Randy. Remembering how Dad had reacted before when I’d mentioned having Mom drive me around this summer, I turned to LuAnn and asked, “Lu, could you take me in to Wal-Mart after dinner? It’ll only take a second. I’ve gotta get Randy a present.”
LuAnn looked at Mom, who nodded that it was all right with her.
“Okay,” said LuAnn.
I was suspicious immediately. I’d been counting on LuAnn, whose license was still new, to jump at the chance to drive anywhere. But, still, she had agreed, just like that, to do a favor for me? No deals, no bargains, no trades? A second later, I understood why.
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