The current leg of the trip on the back of the Beast was fourteen hours, but it already seemed like forever to Enrique, as he had lost all sense of time’s passage long ago. The relentless instability of his situation made every minute feel like an hour; the only benchmark he had was the knowledge that sunrise would indicate they were very close to their destination. And the current nighttime sky was infinite black, save for the array of stars.
Enrique wrapped his arms tightly around his little sister, both for her comfort and his own. He decided he would focus on the stars and say a prayer to St. Jude, the patron saint of the oppressed and hopeless, that he and Maria would make it across the border safely and begin new life.
A sudden turn of the Beast snapped Enrique awake. He instinctively pulled his sister tight as his left arm shot out and braced them both against the top of the train car for balance. Pulled from a dream of better times and completely disoriented, it took the squeaks and moans of the moving train for Enrique to remember where he was.
He was also abruptly reminded of current dangers as he witnessed a migrant roll off the back of the Beast. Enrique and the other migrants watched in sorrow as the man tumbled helplessly onto the dust of the desert floor. Enrique kept watching as the train pulled farther and farther away from the place where the man’s movements came to a stop, from the place where he lay motionless.
Enrique hoped the fallen passenger was okay and breathed a sigh of relief when the man slowly got to his feet and disappeared as the train roared on. It was then that Enrique also realized it was daylight.
“I’m hungry,” Maria murmured as she stirred awake. She instinctively clutched her stuffed tiger close to her chest.
“We will arrive at the mission soon,” Enrique answered as he pulled the blanket away from his little sister.
“Will they have food?”
“Yes,” Enrique assured her, before kissing her on the forehead, hoping that his words would prove to be true.
The loud blast of the Beast’s horn interrupted Enrique and Maria’s thoughts, and as the train slowly moved around the next curve in the tracks, Enrique looked ahead, and his heart started to pound at what he saw. The train station was now in view. He and Maria’s lives literally hinged upon what happened next. He hoped it would be Father Gracilas and not cartel soldiers waiting to greet them.
The migrants moved to a crouching position in anticipation as the brakes of the train began to squeal, the large locomotive slowly grinding to a halt.
“Let’s go. Hurry now,” Enrique said to Maria, before he grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the train car, where a single metal ladder led to the tracks below. There was some pushing and shoving as migrants tried to exit the train as quickly as they could, before the Beast rolled back into motion.
“Go, go,” Enrique said to Maria, when a break in the traffic at the ladder appeared, and she hustled down the metal rungs on cue.
Enrique pushed aside another migrant and quickly followed his sister.
Once on the ground, Enrique quickly grabbed hold of Maria’s hand again and scanned the train station, his heart racing.
He nearly collapsed with a sigh of relief as he saw what he was looking for: A bald headed man, his face lined with age, the color of his skin deep-brown from the sun, wearing a dark-brown robe. Around the man’s neck hung a large wooden cross.
A big smile spread across Enrique’s face as he grabbed his sister’s hand tightly, both sprinting as fast as they could to meet Father Gracilas.
“Was it good?” Enrique asked Maria as she finished the last of her tamale.
The ten year old responded with a smile and a rapid nod of the head. “May I have another?”
“Let me check and see if there’s any left,” Enrique replied, before he got to his feet and walked toward the food table.
Maria Martinez had always looked out for her older brother Enrique, for as long as she could remember. To Maria, her big brother never paid attention to things like she did. How people behaved, for example.
People’s behavior would always tell Maria what they were about to do. When the gangs came through the neighborhood, it terrified everyone, but for some reason, Maria always knew when the gangs would come looking for Enrique. She could tell by how people in the neighborhood would walk or talk. Sometimes it would be in their mannerisms or how they would move. Sometimes it was what they would wear. Still with others, she could tell right away what they would do by a look in their eye. Sometimes, it was a combination of all these things. And sometimes, if the weather was bad, that would tell her too.
And when all these things combined to tell Maria that they were coming for Enrique, she always convinced him to go into town to buy her candy, or play hide and seek with her in the old schoolyard. There were dozens of places to play hide and seek where Maria lived, and she knew them all.
Maria didn’t understand why she knew what people would do before they did it. What was even harder for her to understand was why Enrique couldn’t see what she could see.
If it weren’t for her, Enrique would run into trouble just like their dog Chewy ran into walls whenever the big dopey mutt was chasing a fly in the house. And it wasn’t just Enrique who acted as silly as Chewy. It seemed like no one could ever see what they were doing or where they were going. It seemed like no one paid attention to what was happening around them, ever. It frustrated Maria. Why did they choose to ignore everything? Why couldn’t they just see?
The other children in the neighborhood picked on Maria. Called her a weirdo. She hated that word. To Maria, they were all stupid and blind. When they called her names, it caused her to lash out at them.
But they left her alone after she told that loud-mouthed boy Jose that a car would hit him and break his leg, and the next day it happened. Jose was always running or talking without looking or thinking. How could he not see it before it happened? How could everyone not see it before it happened?
Maria tried to explain this to the parents when they asked how she knew that the car would hit Jose. But they couldn’t understand. None of them could understand. It was so frustrating. So she stopped talking about what she saw. Eventually she stopped trying to see. And then she stopped playing with her friends. She only played with Nala her stuffed tiger.
Maria saw that her father was going to die. She saw it a week before it happened. She tried not to see it, but she couldn’t help it. Her father had gotten into an argument with their neighbor about making loud noises at night. Maria’s father wanted the noises to stop. The neighbor had said no. The neighbor was a younger man than her father, but taller and skinnier, with tattoos on his arms and neck. And his eyes were always angry.
Maria watched as he and her father yelled at one another three days in a row. She watched as the neighbor flexed his hands in anticipation the final time. To Maria, that meant the neighbor would be back, but not to argue again.
The neighbor had dangerous cartel people over to his house once. Maria saw them there when she peeked out her bedroom window the night before the last argument.
When the neighbor walked away from her father that time, it was an angry walk. When Maria saw the look in the neighbor’s eyes, the way he walked, the way he flexed his hands, and the way he laughed with the cartel people only days earlier, she knew her father would be dead in a week.
Maria tried to warn her father. But he didn’t listen. He only yelled at her for spying on him. Maria ran to her mother. Her mother only prayed to Jesus. Maria knew Jesus wasn’t going to help, and her mother did nothing to stop her father from going into town, like he did every Wednesday, where Maria knew he would die.
Maria had warned Enrique. Enrique was the only one who was kind to her. The only one who didn’t yell at her or call her silly. Or weirdo. Enrique said he believed her, but she could tell he really didn’t. But still, because Maria asked him, Enrique tried to warn their father.
Their father didn’t listen to Enrique either. Their father never listened to a
nyone. Her father was stubborn, angry, and blind. And then he died.
Maria stopped believing in the things she saw in her mind after that day. She didn’t want to believe them. She didn’t want to see them. She wanted to be blind, just like everyone else. So she just played with Nala and stayed close to Enrique who she knew loved her no matter what she said or did. The only thing she would make sure to see from now on were the things that kept Enrique away from the gangs. Enrique was the only part of home life that Maria wanted to hang on to.
Pretty soon, she stopped paying attention to many things on purpose. Things would happen to people and places, and she would be surprised that they happened, because she wouldn’t see it before it happened, because she chose not to see things before they happened. Things were easier this way, Maria had convinced herself. She understood it now. If you were blind, you didn’t have to worry. You could just let things happen and be surprised. She would be happy if she never had the visions again.
When Enrique said they were leaving San Salvador, she convinced herself that she was surprised. She was happy to leave San Salvador, where people called her weirdo. She was happy because she and Enrique were leaving San Salvador together and happy because it was an adventure into the unknown. And she hoped that the visions would stay behind her for good in San Salvador.
Maria scanned over the room looking for Enrique. There were so many people here, desperate, scared, and hungry. They hid the fear with laughter and with hope for something better.
They were too scared to see what was about to happen, but Maria could see, no matter how hard she tried not to. She kept herself from screaming in terror at what she saw. For the first time in a long time, she saw everything, just like she used to, and she knew what would happen next. She had to get to Enrique. She had to save him again.
Enrique approached the food table to see if he could find another tamale for his sister.
The temporary mess hall of the Christ Savior Missionary was a converted warehouse that had been long abandoned, the furniture consisting of a half dozen folding tables and several dozen chairs. The place was packed with migrants, all hungry, but laughing and smiling now, relieved and grateful for being fed.
Enrique looked over his fellow migrants and wondered how many would make it across the border into America to work in the fields. Enrique also took note of the building’s details and saw that each faded stucco wall had a wooden Crucifix hung next to a picture of Jesus. He wondered if, after the migrants left, Father Gracilas took the religious items down to throw off the cartel.
He looked over to the makeshift kitchen area, which consisted of hotplates with big metal pots of soup on them, along with a handful of tamales put out on paper plates. To the side of the tamales were napkins and bottles of water.
Father Gracilas toiled behind the tables of the makeshift kitchen, handing out the bowls of soup, along with the rest of the food and water, to dozens of hungry migrants. The priest made sure to bless each migrant as they took their food. The migrants were more than happy to accept his blessing.
As Enrique approached the long line of hungry people to fetch his sister another tamale, he hoped he would have a chance to talk to the priest. He hoped that the padre would be able to advise him on how he could get both he and Maria across the border.
But the sudden popcorn-sounding crack of automatic gunfire from just outside the building stopped everything.
Maria knew that everything she saw in her visions was real when she heard the sound of gunfire. The pit of her stomach sank like it did when she knew her father was going to die and no one would do anything to stop it.
Dread of knowing what would happen next made her mind go blank with fear. Maria had never tried to stop the things she saw from happening directly before. The only thing she had ever done was guide Enrique away from the gangs. But this time she would have to do something. The details in her mind were scrambled now, but the results had stayed clear. The only thing she knew now was she had to get to Enrique.
Maria sprang from where she sat and ran toward the food table. She only made it three steps before a large man who had been running toward the exit and didn’t see her, ran into her, and knocked her completely off her feet.
She tried to get up, but a terrified woman knocked her down. She tried again, but another fleeing migrant’s knee hit her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her, sending her to the floor once again.
In their terror, they couldn’t see her. In their terror, they couldn’t see anything. They run because they are blind, Maria thought. And stupid.
Maria tried to get to her feet one more time and was stepped on, twice—once on the hand and again on the stomach. She howled in pain. Then she howled in anger. It was rage Maria had never felt before. Enrique was going to die, and it was because they were all so blind and stupid. Enrique was going to die because of them.
For Enrique, time itself slowed to a stop as his worst fears leaped to the front of his mind—the realization of what was happening had put time on hold, allowing the pressure from unfolding events to build.
And then the pressure abruptly released, and events began to flow again with accelerated chaos.
Tables were overturned as people scrambled for the doors. Screams echoed throughout the hall as men and women pushed and shoved each other aside, trampling one another, as they scrambling for the exits. As people squeezed through the doorways and out of the building, more gunfire erupted outside the hall. This time followed by screams.
Enrique immediately sprinted toward the table where Maria was sitting, the view of his sister strobed by the panicked rush of migrants. His eyes went wide when he reached the table and saw that she was gone.
“Maria!” he called out as he searched frantically for his sister. He pushed fellow migrants aside and sprinted to where she had been seated only moments earlier. When he got to the table, all he found was her overturned chair.
“Maria!” Enrique called out again, his voice cracking. Tears filled his eyes and his heart filled with dread.
And then something completely unexpected happened to Enrique. Without warning, the fear abruptly stopped.
Extreme clarity washed over his mind, replacing the fear. A simple subconscious command that seemed to come from outside of him, one that he realized had always guided him in the past, one that transitioned from a sense of family to an unwavering sense of certainty.
It now manifested itself as a simple mantra: Save Maria.
For Enrique, there was literally nothing else left in the world.
It was a clear vision of purpose. Enrique realized, in a flash summary of his entire life, that saving Maria right now had driven his actions from the moment his baby sister was born. It was something that he never understood or paid mind to before but could see with clarity now. And he felt it from blood to bone.
So when two cartel soldiers entered the mission hall carrying automatic rifles, Enrique was calm. The impermanence of all things revealed itself to Enrique, and he did not fear it; he embraced it. He knew Maria was alive; he knew Maria was destined to stay alive, even if he was not.
The feeling was something he could not explain, but it was overwhelming, and he instinctively relaxed into it. It was a form of tunnel vision, a clear and unwavering sense of destiny, of being one part of many, and it made Enrique almost giddy. He knew what must be done.
Save Maria.
Those two words became his mantra, his prayer, and it kept repeating in his mind.
Enrique watched as one of the cartel soldiers lowered his rifle and shot Father Gracilas twice in the chest, sending the priest smashing into the wall before his lifeless body clattered to the floor.
Men and women screamed as they witnessed the cold-blooded murder.
Enrique stayed calm.
“Everyone, face down on the floor, arms and legs out. We do not wish to kill you. But we will if you resist,” the first cartel soldier said.
Enrique took note of every detail of the
two soldiers as he lowered to one knee. Sunglasses. Thick black hair. Blue bandanas covering the lower halves of their faces. Calderon Cartel ink. Calloused hands. Dirty fingernails.
The cartel soldier looked at Enrique. And Enrique was amazed at the detail he could see of the M-16 rifle the cartel soldier pointed at him, from the scratch on the barrel to the wear on the stock.
“You. On the floor. Now,” the soldier said to Enrique.
Enrique took one more look around the room as he lowered himself to the stone floor.
Maria was nowhere to be seen.
“Some of you will be held for ransom,” the soldier continued as he walked among the migrants, who were lying on the floor. “Be prepared to ask your families for money. Be prepared to tell them if they do not pay, you will die.”
Enrique watched the soldier’s boots as the cartel gunman walked past his head.
“Others of you will be transported elsewhere,” the gunman continued.
Enrique kept watching the gunman. One stood at the door, his rifle at the ready. The other moved about the room, searching under tables, behind the food boxes, looking for anyone who might be hiding.
Enrique kept his eyes searching. He took note of the priest, who lay less than twenty feet from him, the missionary’s lifeless eyes looking right into his as the pool of blood continued to grow.
Enrique stayed calm as he watched the walking gunman stop at each migrant, forcing them to sit up and empty their pockets. Most had little in the way of money. Some had rings and gold chains around their necks. The cartel soldier took it all.
Enrique turned his head in the other direction, keeping his face on the floor, the stone warm against his cheek. Something caught his eye, and his heart nearly stopped.
Revolution: Luthecker, #3 Page 3