El otro lado
No river or wall met them at the border. Instead, they only came across strands of a barbed-wire fence that had been cut. One strand rose, attacking Santiago’s leg when he accidentally stepped on it, but it didn’t even tear a hole in his new jeans. Was that it? Nothing more than broken wire to mark an invisible line in the sand and parched grass? Santiago thought he would feel something when he crossed, but he didn’t. Everything remained the same. The same desert sun beat down on them. Nothing changed in the landscape. Even the mountain range seemed just as far away as before.
They kept the setting sun to the left and carried on.
A dirt road cut from east to west. Unlike the rutted one Domínguez had driven on, this one was wide, level, and clear of debris.
“Stop.” María Dolores flung her arms out to keep Santiago and Alegría from crossing the road. “It’s a trap.”
“How can you tell?” Santiago looked at the road carefully. There were no wires that might cause them to trip, and nothing indicated a trigger that would sound an alarm. In fact, he saw nothing on the road other than dirt and dust. Even rocks were scarce.
“Look.” She pointed to the thin lines that went along the whole road. “It’s perfectly grated. And soft. Anything that crosses it is immediately detectable. See over there? Some critter made those paw prints, and we can see exactly which direction it went. If we cross, la migra will know we were here.”
Now that he looked closer, he saw other animal prints, but not a single one made by a human.
Maybe this was the real border. A test to see if they had what it took to cross seven meters undetected.
Behind them, the desert ground was so dry and compact, their shoes had barely indented the dirt. One step on the road, and their prints would light up like a beacon. Definitely trapped.
“We’re not going to be able to get around it.” Santiago couldn’t see where the track ended to the east, and to the west the setting sun prevented good visibility. “The road probably connects two migra outposts. It’s too wide to jump.”
“So we’re going to have to cross it. Exactly what they want us to do.” María Dolores squirmed.
“What if we walk backward across the road?” Santiago demonstrated a few steps, which got Alegría hopping in reverse and trying to land where his feet had been, like backward hopscotch. She laughed at the complexity of the game, several times landing on the shrubby mounds of brittle grass instead of the spot where Santiago’s foot had been. Santiago and María Dolores didn’t laugh. When they crossed the road for real, it wouldn’t be a game.
“We could try walking backward,” María Dolores agreed. “And stepping in each other’s prints isn’t a bad idea either. People going to war would do that to hide their numbers.”
“I can also wipe our path clear if you think that will help.” Santiago picked up some twigs from a chamisa that on a windy day would become a tumbleweed.
María Dolores didn’t say anything, and by that, she said everything. Santiago could read her mind—she didn’t think it would work. La migra were probably trained trackers and not easily fooled by silly tricks. But she also didn’t have any better ideas.
Santiago moved his bag to the front and this time carried Alegría on his back. María Dolores started crossing the groomed road, her backward footsteps sinking deep into the loose dirt. One careful step at a time, Santiago followed with the chamisa broom, trying to sweep away the evidence of their crossing. Didn’t work. From a distance, a driver would see their jagged path across the track in a second.
Once across, María Dolores turned to face forward again and broke into a jog.
Santiago held Alegría’s legs and jogged after.
“¡Dale, caballito!” Alegría squealed like she was riding a pony and wanted him to go faster.
The uneven ground of desert shrubs and small clumps of brittle grass challenged the run. A few times Santiago’s ankles twisted, but not enough to cause real pain. Their scuttle gradually slowed until it became a walk and then a quick stop for water.
Once refreshed, they kept a fast pace. Every few minutes Santiago would pivot, turning to look in all directions for anything amiss. Lizards scurried by; insects buzzed and hummed. At one point he spotted a pair of vultures circling to the south.
Rest in peace, Domínguez.
The sun glowed bright against the ground, making it almost impossible to see to the west. Almost. Something moved in the glare, causing the hairs on the back of Santiago’s neck to rise.
“Car.” The word came out of his throat like a growl.
They scrambled for shelter. María Dolores crouched behind a gray chamisa bush while Santiago eased Alegría off his back and into the long shadow of a branchy cholla cactus. She lay flat on the ground, and he draped himself on top of her, his forearms supporting his weight. A few dropped cactus spines dug into his hands.
“I don’t see it.” María Dolores tried to peer around the bush.
“Trust me, it’s there.” He could almost feel the vibrations through the ground, his body on full alert to the danger.
The sun hid the dust, and the vehicle traveled slowly.
“It’s coming,” Alegría said, and was met with two quick shhhs.
The border patrol truck didn’t travel by any road or path, or even in any obvious direction. North for a bit, then east, north again, briefly west, south, and then back to north.
Finally it stopped a hundred meters away. Santiago slowed his breathing, determined not to let his chest move. The sun had half disappeared, the shadows more then covered them, but who knew what kind of equipment la migra had to detect their prey.
A crackle came from the radio. Between his nonexistent English and the static, Santiago had no idea what they said, and he didn’t dare shift his head toward María Dolores to see if she understood.
Two voices came from the truck as they discussed what to do. More static and robotic voices came from the radio. The truck returned on its jagged course, this time south. Then east until nothing, no dust, no vibrations, no alerts of danger.
They waited a few extra minutes before easing off the ground. Santiago pulled the cactus spines out of his and Alegría’s hands. Only a faint glow from the sun remained. By the time they orientated themselves to continue north, that last sliver had disappeared.
“We’ve got to get to that cave,” María Dolores said. “We’re too exposed out here.”
“I can still see, and the moon should be out soon.”
Santiago led the way, careful to walk around the small, foot-level cacti and not trip over rocks. Even with the sun gone, the mountain range finally appeared to be getting closer. What he couldn’t see anymore were the two rock fingers. But they had been to the left of the rock face that looked like it had been sliced in half, and that he could still see.
He kept up a steady pace with Alegría on his back and María Dolores behind. A couple of times she passed him a handful of peanuts and raisins and reminded him to drink some water.
Every once in a while, lights appeared on the horizon, but they vanished quickly and never headed in their direction. Beyond that, nothing disturbed the natural desert. No light pollution in the distance, just a billion more stars than Santiago had thought existed, a partial moon, and critters of the desert night. If he’d had the chance, he would have loved nothing more than to sit on a rock and enjoy the nature.
Santiago turned to María Dolores and grinned.
“¿Qué?” she asked sharply, her eyes darting around for danger.
He picked up her hand and gestured with the other at the panorama. “We’ve done it. We’re here in el otro lado.”
She let out a deep breath that she seemed to have been holding for days. Squeezing his hand, she returned his grin. “We made it.”
A large mesquite stood in front of them at the foothills. Two reflective eyes close to the ground stared at them for a second before disappearing into the darkness. Santiago skirted the mesquite to find that it guarded the entrance to a narrow slot canyon. The rocky fingers from the ridge high above weren’t visible from this angle, but his gut said this was the canyon Domínguez had mentioned.
“Hold on to us,” he told María Dolores. Her hand joined Alegría’s on his shoulder as he slipped into the rock crevice of the narrow canyon walls. The moon’s light didn’t reach the canyon floor, and only a strip of stars shone above. He walked blindly with his arms outstretched against the jagged rock walls and dragged his feet across the canyon floor to detect obstacles. His eyes adjusted a little to the darkness. Not enough to see his feet, but enough to notice a large shadow to his left.
From his pocket he withdrew Domínguez’s lighter. The glow showed an indent in the canyon wall. A few more steps revealed an empty cave.
Tonight’s home.