The Battle Past Dusk

by Mark Aguirre

  A deep voice from the outside cell spoke, “¿Como te llamas?”

  Peering upward with one eye Chavez faintly said, “What?”

  The man replied in English but with an accent, “Who are you?”

  The hot dry floor finally stopped spinning and Chavez picked himself up slowly. He pressed himself against the rusty bars and motioned for the man to come closer.

  Reluctantly, the man walked out of the shadows, and Chavez shouted in his direction, “I’m a United States Marine!”

  Instantly, the man took out a clean white rag and wiped his face from the saliva that sprayed out of Chavez’s mouth. He stuffed it back in his pocket then calmly turned around and gave a hand signal to the police as he made his way out the door. Chavez stepped back and placed his right hand on his swollen forehead. Immediately after he did this the sound of steel scraping on concrete filled the room. One of the Mexican police guards rushed in and pulled out a handgun.

  “No!”

  “Callate,” said the guard through his black face cover.

  “Solo hacemos lo que hacemos.”

  Bewildered, Chavez grabbed the gun and stuffed it in his back pocket. The two guards grabbed him by the arms and made their way through the front hall and into a small room. The man he saw just seconds ago was sitting in the corner alone. After the policemen shut the door, Chavez slowly reached his hand back and gripped his gun as the man spoke.

  “Right now there is a war and you —”

  Standing in a tensed position, Chavez spoke up, “I told you who I was, now I demand you tell me who you are!”

  The guards open the door and were motioned by the man to shut the door. After, he leaned forward unaffected by the loud tone and replied, “I’m Colonel Jorge Alvarez, now as I was saying —”

  Chavez blurted out again, “I just want —”

  Finally agitated, the Colonel cut him off saying, “You want what we want. You want the power to stop this guerra, but to stop this war, you need ganas.”

  Chavez loosened his grip on the gun handle, which was positioned behind his back.

  The Colonel leaned forward in his chair and stared right at him.

  With sweat filling the forehead of Chavez, he said, “I came here to find my wife!”

  “Si, I can help you find your wife. Pues, just help me find the new leader of your gang.”

  After the Colonel said this, the two police officers violently pushed the door in. Chavez jumped but quickly let go of his weapon. One guard said they were being attacked outside the compound. With a distraught look, Chavez found himself in the midst of another war.

  The Colonel pointed at Chavez, “They’re coming for this pocho. Lo puso de nuevo en el que lo encontro.”

  “No,” one officer pulled his mask down, “!Vienen por ti!”

  Bullets unleashed from their semiautomatics towards the Colonel. Several rounds plastered him and wood chips flew off in the air from rounds hitting his small desk. Chavez took off through the open door with uncertainty. To his surprise, he saw several Mexican prisoners running towards the exit. He consciously followed them outside. The Beltran drug cartel had infiltrated the prison and freeing their members. Fortunately, Chavez dashed away from the group before they entered the two packed police trucks. Hiding behind several six-foot ammo crates, he waited as the prisoners and police guards scrambled off into the open road. Soon, the place was abandoned. He decided to leave the small prison and head for the border.

  About an hour later, he was alone, filled with dust and smelled like trash. The menacing inception of being a wanted man by the Mexican Army and police would haunt him. Also, his hopes of finding Juanita faded. With day breaking, the Marine sunk to his knees on the open road. Exhausted and drool dripping down, he fell face first in the dirt. Many people in the nearby village walked by him and continued on the other side to avoid his bloody and battered appearance.

  The next morning, he was awakened by the sound of rosters. He yelled, “Where am I?”

  “Calmate,” said a soothing voice of old woman who swiftly made her way inside the dim-lit room.

  “You speak English,” Chavez replied in a broken voice.

  “Si, I speak a little.”

  In a depressing manner he asked, “Who are you and where am I?”

  She laughed, “You in the casa de Señor.”

  The lady finally explained to Chavez how her husband picked him. Chavez told her he was from the American army and was looking for his wife. The lady looked towards the cross on her wall and just shook her head with more laughter.

  “What are you laughing about,” he questioned in a serious tone.

  “La hermana de mi esposo had a woman come days ago.”

  Suddenly Chavez’s senses awoke when he heard the old smiling lady, and life entered his eyes and flowed through his speech. He wanted to know everything that happened and what the woman looked like. After a million questions, he fell off the bed and struggled to put his boots on. The old lady held on to him and asked what he was doing.

  Stumbling out the door he finished putting his boots on and said in a stern voice, “I’m going home to my wife. Can you take me?”

  The lady’s puzzled look soon turned into a huge smile, “Sí hombre!”