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The reunited, trial-weary Gonzalez family sat down to Sunday dinner, truly grateful to God for delivering Zachary Blake, Marshall Mann, and Amy Fletcher in their time of need. Marshall and Amy seemed excited about the outcome of the trial, and their excitement was infectious. Miguel and Mary Carmen continued to be terrified, tormented by the possibility of permanent separation from their children, but buoyed by Marshall and Amy’s exuberance and confidence that victory was inevitable. Emma was invited to say the grace before the meal.
“God is great, and God is good. Let us thank him for our food. By His blessings, we are fed. Give us Lord, our daily bread,” she recited from her Sunday school class.
“Maravillosa, mi amor!” Mary Carmen gushed.
The family settled in to enjoy their traditional Sunday feast, something none of them thought possible a short time ago. Their arrests and separation still shook the family, but a positive and hopeful trial experience, counseling arranged by the Blake firm, and a return to semi-normal in their community, made current life a bit easier.
“Mama?” Emma mumbled, food dribbling down her chin.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Chiquita,” Mary Carmen laughed, leaning over, wiping her daughter’s chin. “What is it?”
“Why did they take us away, Mama? Why did they lock us in cages? I know you had the secret, but why does it matter? Did you and Papa do something wrong?”
“That is a hard question to answer, my darling. You and Emilio were in cages for no reason. You deserve to know the truth. Let me try to explain.” Mary Carmen looked to Miguel. He shrugged and motioned for her to continue.
“Many years ago, things were terrible in Venezuela. The government treated the citizens poorly, much worse than here in America. We were very poor and had very little money, even for food. Some people were trying to make things better. They went into the streets and to the Capitol and protested.”
“What does it mean to protest, Mama?” Emilio wanted to know.
“You get mad when I take your video game and tell you it is time for bed. What do you do?”
“I yell and cry,” Emilio giggled.
“That is a protest, hijo,” Mary Carmen smiled. “Comprende?”
“Si, Mama.”
“These protests involved lots of people. The government did not like the protests or the people. They starved and beat some of us—many people were locked in cages.”
“Like we were, Mama?” Emma wondered.
“Worse, my sweet. There was no playground. People could not leave their cages and had very little to eat. Many people starved; some even died. Papa and I could no longer stay in Venezuela, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama. So what did you do?” Emma implored her to continue. She felt like a big girl, as this was a grown-up story. Emilio was mesmerized.
“We told our families we were leaving and begged them to come with us. Our parents, your grandparents, were too old. Your aunts and uncles wanted to stay and fight. But they understood why we needed to leave. They promised to help us escape.
“We packed up our belongings; we didn’t have much. We snuck out of the city in the middle of the night. We walked all night and all the next day. We camped out in the forest or at bus stations. We could not afford to take the bus, but in one town, a very nice man took pity on us and bought us bus tickets to Mexico. We had relatives there. We didn’t think our papers would be enough, but no one ever told us we couldn’t continue our journey.
“When we got to Mexico, I called my cousin on the telephone. He was very happy to hear from us; happy we made it to his little town. He picked us up at the bus station and took us to his house. The house was very small. We lived there for a few months, but Papa could not find work. Everyone told us we could find work in America. We had relatives here in America. You know, Aunt Consuela and Uncle Carlos.”
“They came here before you?” Emma was surprised.
“Yes, and they lived here in Lincoln Park. They invited us to come to America for a visit. My cousin helped us get a passport and a visa. He drove us to the border and spoke to the border patrol. We didn’t speak much English back then, so I don’t know what he said, but we were allowed to cross into America. Papa and I looked at each other—we were so happy, and I was going to have a baby . . .”
“Me?” Emma shrieked.
“Yes, my sweet, you!” Mary Carmen laughed, reaching across the table and cradling Emma’s cheek.
“Me, too?” Emilio cried, upset to be left out.
“No, Emilio. You were not born yet. But we loved the idea of having you soon.” Mary Carmen smiled and blew the child a kiss.
“Go on, Mama. Finish the story.” Emilio encouraged.
“Si, Mama—finish the story,” echoed Emma.
“Well, once we got across the border between Mexico and the United States, we took a train across the country, all the way to Michigan. For a while, we stayed with Uncle Carlos and Aunt Consuela. Uncle Carlos got Papa a job at the plant. Soon I got one, too. Later, we were able to afford our own home. We have lived here ever since.”
“So, why are they mad at you, Mama? What did you do wrong?” Emma was confused.
“When you are not citizens, the government wants you to check in with them from time to time, try to become citizens, have your papers looked at and approved. We decided not to do that.”
“Why?” Emma wondered.
“Because we were afraid.”
“Afraid of what, Mama?” Emilio inquired.
“Because you both were born in the United States, you were citizens. You could stay here forever. But Papa and I were not citizens. We could not stay without permission, without the government making us citizens. We were afraid the government wouldn’t make us citizens—afraid we would have to leave the country and leave you here with Carlos and Consuela. So, we never went back to get permission.”
“And that’s why they’re mad at you?” Emma was still confused.
“Yes, my sweet, that is why they are mad at us.” Mary Carmen groaned.
“That’s silly. Don’t they know how wonderful you are? You take such good care of us. Do they know you’re our Mama and Papa? How can they do this?”
“I don’t know, honey. These things do not matter to them. What matters is that we stayed here too long and are now undocumented. If Mr. Marshall doesn’t win the case, we will be sent back to Venezuela. It is too dangerous there for you; we would have to leave you here.”
“No!’ Emilio screamed.
“Never!” Emma cried.
“Don’t worry. Mr. Marshall and Miss Amy will win the case, and we will be allowed to stay.”
“For sure, Mama?” Emilio demanded.
“No, sweetheart, not for sure, but things look much better.”
“Should we pray again, Mama?” Emilio suggested.
“Why not, my sweet boy? It certainly can’t hurt.”
The family joined hands, bowed their heads, and prayed.
