Illegal

by Francisco X. Stork

  Bob and Nancy walked in front holding hands. It was the first time I’d seen them hold hands. Bob had a gray suit with a pink tie. Nancy wore a white, flowing dress that made her look young and full of life. She had a necklace of black pearls, and two gold bands around her wrist. Two elderly men with white pants, blue blazers, and red ties gave each of us a booklet the thickness of a supersize comic book. Nancy led us single file to the second pew from the right and waited for me to enter first. Trevor sat next to me.

  Bob was kneeling. His hands clasped each other fervently and his eyes were tightly shut. I watched his lips move. Bob seemed to be honestly praying and not just putting on a show. Was he asking God to forgive him for abandoning his Mexican family?

  The pews filled with men in jackets and suits, and women with hats that looked elaborate and expensive. I kept thinking that any moment, one of those men was going to tap me on the shoulder and say: “Give me Hinojosa’s phone.” But how could they contact me in church? Maybe it was good to be inaccessible to anyone, first here and then with Popsy. I needed all the time I could get to think, to decide.

  There was a sweet smell that came from perfume or from the dozens of flowers in the altar, I couldn’t tell. Then there was a single blast from an organ behind them and joyful music filled the space inside the church with a thickness that could almost be touched. Sound came from the front and from the back of the church but also from the ceiling. It enveloped all of us. For a few minutes, after the service started, I imagined I was in a theater. Dozens of white-robed choir members surrounded the altar, holding thin, black books in front of them and singing with abandon, as if they wished to be heard way up in heaven. Then came a long parade led by a boy not much older than Trevor holding a tall brass cross. The boy’s skin was so pale and thin, I could see the veins of his temples. Behind him were acolytes and a dozen men and women dressed like priests.

  After a while, the drama became more subdued. People responded to one of the priests from words written in the booklet that was handed to us. There were long readings from various parts of the Bible, and all I could think of was that time was ticking, ticking never to come back and unless I did something with the phone, Sara could get killed. Trevor, next to me, had also lost interest and was reading the instructions for the Life Star. My mind had gone on to imagine by who and how I would be asked to return the phone when we pulled into the driveway of Abe Gropper’s house.

  “Let Popsy see you with your coat and tie on.”

  Nancy was talking to Trevor and not to me. Trevor had unclipped his bow tie and was now taking off his jacket. I followed his lead and loosened the knot of my tie—the same knot Bob had tied for me. I breathed for the first time that morning. Trevor rang the bell by the door and the sound woke me up. In front of me stood an enormous house, the biggest one I had seen in Aurora. We were standing in front of tall oak doors under a porch held up by white pillars. There were four large windows on the front of the house and behind us a circular driveway with a fountain in the middle. At the end of the front yard, there was a brick wall that separated Abe Gropper’s property from the street on one side and from a golf course on the other. Above us, hanging from the roof of the porch, was a brass chandelier not unlike the ones I had just seen at the church.

  “Buenos días!” I was startled by the sound of Spanish words. A woman not much older than Nancy with skin the same color as mine was holding the door open. She gave Trevor a quick hug before he ran inside. The woman had a black dress with a white apron and her mostly white hair pulled back in a bun.

  “Hello, María,” Nancy said, walking into the house as if she owned it. “Popsy make it back from the airport?”

  “Yes, he’s in the back. He got in around ten thirty.”

  “Hola, María!” It was Bob, speaking Spanish for once. “Te presento a mi hijo, Emiliano.”

  “Emiliano! Mucho gusto!”

  “Igualmente,” I said, taking the hand she offered. María held my hand firmly and for longer than customary, as if to let me know that there was kinship between us.

  “Pasen, pasen. El Señor Gropper está en el patio.”

  “Okay, no more Spanish, you two,” Bob said, returning to his old self.

  María gave him a look that seemed to say: You can fool everyone else but not me. Then she leaned closer to me and whispered, “Ven a verme en la cocina si te cansas de hablar inglés.”

  If I had had my way, I would have followed María into the kitchen right then. Instead, Bob took my arm and led me through a long hallway lined with large and small antique clocks. Some were on top of dark-looking tables, some stood on the floor, and some hung on the walls. The sound of different kinds of ticking filled the air.

  “Abe collects them,” Bob explained. “Look at this one.” We stopped in front of a wooden clock with two miniature woodsmen sawing a woman on a table in half. Each movement of the saw equal to one second. The woman had her arms straight up and her mouth open in a big O. I wanted to say something to the effect that I knew what the woman was going through, but my brain was working slower than usual, and I couldn’t put the thought into words, much less words in English. “Ten thousand dollars,” Bob said. “Abe bought it last year on a trip to Austria.” Then, as if remembering something, “When you talk to Abe, call him Mr. Gropper unless he tells you to call him Abe.”

  We kept on walking toward the glass doors at the end of the hall. Nancy was out on the patio pouring herself what looked like tomato juice from a very skinny glass pitcher. The back of Abe’s bald head stuck out from a plush chair next to the table with the drinks. I could see an aquamarine pool down the patio steps. Bob ran his hand over his hair and took a deep breath before turning the knob to the door. He seemed nervous. But about what?

  “Don’t worry, his bark is worse than his bite,” Bob said.

  “I’m not the one who’s worried.”

  Bob walked to Abe’s front and motioned for me. “Abe, I want to introduce you to Emiliano.”

  I had imagined Abe Gropper as a big, imposing man, but the man I saw sitting on the patio chair was short and chubby, with a face that was a wrinkled, slightly more masculine version of Nancy’s. He reminded me of the little man in the Monopoly game. There was a white pillow under him that made him seem taller than he was.

  “Emiliano,” Abe said, pronouncing my name correctly. He floated a hand out to me like he wanted me to kiss it. I gave the fingertips a small, awkward squeeze. “My apologies for not getting up. Sciatica.” Abe grimaced.

  Nancy put her glass down and grabbed a gray cushion from one of the other chairs. “Put this behind you. You have to keep your back very straight.”

  Abe waved her away. “I’m fine. Where’s my grandson?”

  “He must have gone straight to the playroom. I’ll go get him.” Bob seemed only too happy to go back into the house.

  Nancy was about to sit down when Abe said, “Why don’t you go inside and let me and Emiliano have a chat so we can get to know one another?”

  I waited until Nancy had left and then sat on the edge of a chair and prepared myself for an unpleasant experience.

  We were sitting under a red umbrella that cast its shade on Abe. It was the first truly hot day since I had arrived in Aurora, but Abe was wearing a pink sweater that looked expensive. Below the hem of his white pants, I saw the super-tight, almost transparent socks that old men liked to wear. The light brown leather loafers seemed like the only comfortable piece of clothing on his body.

  “Pour yourself a Bloody Mary.” Abe pointed with his chin at the skinny pitcher.

  “I don’t drink alcohol,” I said.

  “No? Why not?”

  I had not thought of the Jipari oath in a very long time, but I remembered it just then.

  I will abstain from all intoxicants. I will be honest with myself and others. I will use the knowledge and the strength the desert gives me for the benefit of others.

  Was I still a Jipari, then? It must be as Brother Patricio a
lways said—once the Jipari oath is in your blood, it stays there. Then it came to me: Who are the others for whose benefit I’m supposed to use the knowledge and strength the desert gave me? Did those “others” include the Groppers, including Popsy?

  I was aware that Abe was examining my silence, as if determining whether my failure to respond was a hostile act. “I don’t like it,” I finally said. I smiled to let him know that I was not made of the same weak ilk as his son-in-law.

  Abe grinned sarcastically. “I never met a Mexican that didn’t like to drink.”

  “There’s a few of us,” I joked, trying to defuse the hostility I sensed, both in me and in the old man. There was no need to antagonize Able Abe more than was necessary.

  “It’s heated,” Abe said when he saw me turn my head in the direction of the pool. “I keep it going year-round but mostly I use the hot tub.”

  It was a stunning pool with a waterfall flowing out of a miniature mountain on the deep end. Abe’s backyard reminded me of Perla Rubi’s house.

  “Right over there I’m going to build a combination tennis and basketball court. Only I’m going to have it built so it becomes a skating rink in the winter. Maybe that’ll get Trevor interested in sports.”

  How many Mexicans did it take to keep the pool and the enormous backyard as pristine as it was? Another memory came to me just then: the two flashes of light I saw just before losing consciousness in the desert. When you almost die, it is very hard for a pool to impress you.

  “One day all of this will belong to Nancy and Bob and Trevor.” Abe paused to make sure the meaning of his words fully registered. “They could move in now. The house is too big for one person. Two if you count María.”

  “Why don’t they?”

  “Nancy wants to pretend she is independent.” Abe reached for the glass of Bloody Mary and drank what was in there. He filled his glass from the pitcher. There was a plate with stalks of celery next to the pitcher. Abe stirred the Bloody Mary with a celery stalk. “It’s probably better. We’re both stubborn, ornery, and moody.”

  I did not know what ornery meant, but it sounded like Nancy.

  “Your father has done well for himself, don’t you think?”

  I wasn’t sure what Abe Gropper meant by “done well.” As in, not bad for a Mexican? As in, by marrying Nancy Gropper?

  “What do you mean?”

  Abe shot me a look that said something like Isn’t it obvious? Then he gasped and leaned forward, tucking the pillow farther down his back. “I mean that I gave him a job replacing filters and now he’s practically running the place. When I retire, the business will be his. His and Nancy’s.” Abe let that sink in. Then, “I got to hand it to him. I didn’t think he had it in him. I thought he was just another illegal who will work for three months max before he gets homesick and leaves. He showed me, all right.”

  “And then he married your daughter.”

  Abe laughed and reached for his back. “Ouch! When it hurts to laugh, then you know you’re getting too old.” He shook his head. “‘And then he married your daughter.’ You got some moxie, don’t you?”

  “Moxie?”

  “Look it up. It’s a good English word.”

  Abe was staring at me with unblinking eyes. I looked away. In the staring contests that Sara and I used to have, Sara was always the first one to blink. But there was something menacing in the way Abe stared at me. I regretted looking away. It showed fear and I did not want Abe Gropper to think I feared him.

  “You were painting Irene’s house?”

  “Irene?”

  “Irene Costelo. Let me tell you something,” Abe said, leaning forward. “She’s a crazy woman. And a liar. Did she tell you her husband sued me?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t feel obligated to tell Abe Gropper what Mrs. C had said to me.

  “Yeah. Crazy bastard. Claimed I didn’t install his gas furnace correctly. I went back and fixed it but not because he sued me. Then I hired the best lawyer in town and sued him. He ended up paying me for slander.”

  I watched Abe carefully. I remembered the quiet anger behind Mrs. C’s words and knew that she, and not Abe, was telling the truth.

  “Ahh, hell! Go on and believe whatever she tells you, what do I care?”

  That right there must be what ornery means. Ornery is how you get when you drink in the middle of the day. When ornery men start to yell at you, it is time to leave. I stood. “I’ll go find Trevor.”

  “Sit!” Abe commanded. I sat down slowly. I was obeying out of courtesy and not because Abe Gropper had any power over me. “I have something for you.” Abe dug in the space between the cushion and the side of the chair and pulled out a thick, white envelope. He waved it in the air momentarily and then threw it on the glass table. “Open it.”

  I knew by the bulk of the envelope that it contained money. Could it be I had judged Abe Gropper wrong, that underneath the orneriness, there was generosity? I searched the man’s face for kindness, but there was none.

  “Go on. Open it.”

  The envelope was not sealed. I opened it and saw the hundred-dollar bills.

  “Five thousand dollars. All yours. There’ll be another five thousand when you do what I ask.”

  “Do what?”

  Abe grinned, like he knew I would bite and ask that very question. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. My heart beat uncontrollably and there was nothing I could do to slow it down.

  “It’s very simple,” Abe continued. “Bring me the phone.”

  “The phone?”

  “I understand your sister told you that someone was going to contact you and ask for the phone you’ve been carrying. Well, that would be me. I’ve contacted you and now I’m asking. Bring me the phone and then get out of town.”

  For a moment a chill of fear traveled down my spine. And then I chuckled. Able Abe. I did not see it coming.

  “Something funny?”

  “A little. Do you know what’s in that phone?”

  “All I was told is that the phone is a matter of national security.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “I believe that the person who is asking me is trustworthy and has no reason to lie to me. If he tells me my government needs that phone, then it must be so.”

  I shook my head. For some reason, Abe’s words and gestures calmed me down. A peace came over me. Big Shot did not want any trouble. He wanted it “to go down easy.” Abe was a jerk who had been played and lied to by Big Shot. That was good; it told me that maybe they would be unwilling to hurt Sara … unless they had to. They were willing to pay good money to get the phone. Ten thousand dollars was a small fortune. More than one hundred thousand pesos. Enough to open a small business, to take care of my mother for a long time, to help Sara with her asylum case. I looked behind me. Bob and Nancy had not come back. Did they know what Abe was going to propose? The thought that Bob was part of the scheme to get the phone back and get rid of me broke the peace that I had begun to feel. I thought I had stopped thinking of Bob as my father, but at that moment I realized I had not been successful. It was crazy to feel sadness at the thought that Bob wanted me gone, but I did.

  “What happens after I give you the phone?”

  “Poof. You disappear. Tomorrow morning, after Bob and Nancy go to work and Trevor is in school, you come here, get a taxi or walk, I don’t care. Write your father a note. Tell him you didn’t like it here and are going back to Mexico. You come here with all your things ready to go. You hand over the phone. Someone will be here to make sure it hasn’t been tampered with. I’ll have a bus ticket for you to Dallas, Texas. Then you’ll be taken to the bus station. It won’t be hard to get a bus from Dallas to the border. I’ll give you the remaining five thousand tomorrow.”

  I felt a kind of relief when he suggested that I write my father a note. My father wasn’t part of the plan and that was good.

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “No.”

  “I
f I don’t come tomorrow morning, then what?”

  Abe Gropper looked at me with a mixture of admiration and pity. It reminded me of the way I used to look at opponents on the soccer field when they knew they were going to lose but kept on giving it their best. Then the expression on Abe’s face changed to one of controlled fury. He leaned forward and pointed at me.

  “Listen. You will find this hard to understand, but I will tell you anyway. I have nothing against you personally. I have nothing against Mexicans or any other foreigner except those that want to do this country harm. Hell, I hired your father when he didn’t have papers. I got María to help my wife, and I kept her even after Sally died. But enough is enough. There’s a limit to the number of people we can help, and we reached it. If we go beyond a certain point, the country will be destroyed. It will lose the glue that keeps us together as Americans. That’s what I believe. You people in Mexico build walls to keep out the Guatemalans. When we do it, all of a sudden we got no compassion. Give me a break! I have a lot to lose here. It took me years to build up a successful business. I bid on government contracts. I just came back from Washington, DC, where I met with the assistant director of the U.S. Department of Labor. I can’t afford to have you around.”

  Abe grabbed his chest. He looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. When he recovered enough, he said, “You don’t understand. It was my idea to give you ten thousand dollars. It was my idea to give you a bus ticket. I advocated for you on account of your father! I fought for you! Do you understand? Be here tomorrow morning or go home and get the phone now. And take that with you!” Abe pushed the envelope with the money closer to my side of the table.

  I saw the veins on Abe’s neck thicken with blood. If I didn’t do as Abe ordered, the man would explode or implode.

  “The phone is not at my father’s house. It will take me a while to get it,” I said, standing up. “I’ll be here with it tomorrow morning.”