After the massacre, Luz Delcano scoured the streets of San Salvador for two months looking for her son Bernabé, but every lead given by acquaintances and even strangers turned up empty. In her search, she found that the city was under a pall of terror and confusion because a new wave of killings was hitting the streets. Some foreigners and even some of Luz’s acquaintances were disappearing. Bodies, mutilated beyond recognition, were being discovered daily.
Many of Luz’s friends, leaving everything behind, were flocking to bus stations with no other aim than to escape El Salvador. The majority of them were heading up to Mexico, and some as far as the United States. Young men were leaving jobs and families because rumors spread from street to street telling of youths being kidnapped at gunpoint by patrols, then being forced into the army.
These events, as well as her futile search for her son, bewildered and frightened Luz. She felt dragged and torn by forces beyond her control, for she could not believe that Bernabé might be dead, or even that he had been pressed into the army. Yet, she didn’t have a clue as to his whereabouts. Those around her began to convince her that her son must have fled the city along with the other young men, and that more than likely he had headed north. But where to the north? Her friends shrugged their shoulders and rolled their eyes when Luz asked this question.
As weeks slipped by and Bernabé’s whereabouts remained unknown, Luz’s intense desire to find her son finally overshadowed her apprehensions. Putting aside her emotions she decided to join the others in their northbound trek, blindly hoping that her son had done the same thing. Uncertain of where her road would ultimately end, she purchased a bus ticket for Mexico City knowing that she would not be alone since others were following the same course. Luz figured that once she got to that city, she would determine her next step.
On the morning of her departure, Luz woke up early. She gathered a few things and packed them into a cardboard box taking only the indispensable: a change of clothing, something to sleep in, a shawl, a small purse with the colones she had salvaged after selling some of her things, and a blurred snapshot of Bernabé in his seminarian’s cassock.
While she waited on the damp pavement outside the crowded station, Luz began to experience a new barrage of emotions. She felt foolish and stupid for what she was doing. But as she hesitantly put her foot on the running board of the bus, she suddenly sensed the grief of those around her, and she realized that besides searching for her son, she was fleeing just as they were. She was struck by the thought that if she was leaping into the dark, so were they; and they were doing it because they had no other choice.
“Por favor, señora, súbase o hágase a un lado.”
“Perdón. Sí, sí.”
Inside, the second-class bus smelled of rancid fruit and bodies. As she craned her neck, she caught a glimpse of the other campesinos also leaving El Salvador. Mostly, they were sullen men with toughened hands and eyes that were tiny slits. All of them wore battered, ragged and sweat-soaked straw hats. There were also women aboard the bus. Some were young, clinging to children, and others were old. Most of them wore faded, stained aprons. Luz again drew comfort from the look on their faces, for she realized she was not the only one who was afraid.
She moved to a seat next to a window and with a sigh she placed her tattered possessions under her. Luz was fifty two years old, and her weight made moving difficult. As she sat down she got a glimpse of her reflection on the grimy window. Her hair was matted and messy, her cheeks were puffy and her chin was flabby. For a moment she stared at her image, knowing that if people could see inside of her they would see something worse. The image of Don Lucio Delcano flashed through her mind. Guilt gripped her heart. He was standing in front of her, in the cow shed, and he was taking hold of her hand. She shut her eyes tightly attempting to erase the recurring memory of her youth.
Then unannounced the bus driver cranked on the motor. At first it had seemed unable to turn over. Then with a blast from the exhaust pipe, the engine coughed, sputtered and took hold. The passengers jerked forward as the driver stepped heavily on the throttle. Luz turned to bid farewell to her country. The last image she saw through the rear window of the bus was the dome of the Cathedral.
The driver promptly asserted his authority by using a severe tone with his passengers. He ordered each to remain in his or her place, to keep their possessions close by—he would tolerate no thievery—and to keep the kids from running up and down the aisle.
“¡Llegaremos a Guatemala en cinco horas!”
In the beginning, the trip seemed smooth, even though the creaking and roar of the engine blocked out the passengers’ voices and conversations. The flat highway, however, soon became bumpy and filled with holes. Each time the bus rocked, heads wobbled back and forth. By the hour, the sun’s rays beat down on the thin metal roof of the bus, intensifying the heat inside.
Five hours later, when the bus crossed the border into Guatemala the passengers were relieved, thinking that they would be allowed to spend some time outside in the fresh air, but the man in charge of immigration merely waved his arm signaling the driver to go ahead. Later on, when they arrived in the capital city, the bus headed directly to the station where it collected a few parcels and packages bound for Mexico City. Finally, the passengers were allowed to get out of the bus for half an hour, and all of them rushed to the rest rooms to empty out their bladders.
The trip through Guatemala was uneventful and hot, with only occasional stops as before. Late on the evening of the second day, the bus made its way across the border separating Guatemala from Mexico. Luz felt the bus slowing down, so she sat up and wiped a small section of her window in an attempt to find out where they were. She read a sign: Talismán, México.
“¡Todo mundo, abajo!”
This time it was a Mexican immigration agent who was shouting orders. Everyone had to get out of the vehicle for inspection. Luz got up from her seat with difficulty because her feet had swollen terribly and her shoes were painfully tight. Some of the passengers were mumbling and complaining. Others asked what was happening and why they weren’t continuing on to Mexico City.
When the bus finally emptied out, the passengers were lined up against its side. The night was dark and the only light came from a fly-speckled yellow bulb that hung by a wire over the entrance of a squat bungalow. There was a sign above its door: Inmigración. Los Estados Unidos de México.
Two men in uniform reviewed the passengers’ documents one by one. It was so dark that Luz wondered how they could make out what was on those papers. Suddenly she saw that a young male passenger was being separated from the group. One of the Mexicans pushed the man, then shook him by the shoulders.
“What have we here? A deserter! That’s what you are, aren’t you? What is your name, cabrón? ¡Rápido! Answer when you’re asked a question!”
“Arturo…Arturo Escutia,” the young Salvadoran responded, visibly shaken. He looked confused and terrorized.
“Bueno, mi Arturito. Anyone can see that you’re a coward.”
As the man spoke, other uniformed individuals appeared out of the darkness. They jeered and goaded the young man, taunting him with accusations.
“What are you anyway? A communist?”
“Sí. You have the shit-loving face of all communists!”
They roared with wide open mouths, while the Salvadoran passengers looked on, some paralyzed with fear, others in frustrated anger. Suddenly, the first official pulled out his revolver, and held it to the young man’s head. “¡Pendejo! Don’t you know when you’re in danger? Are you going to stand there and say nothing just like a god damn, stinking burro?”
It was clear that he was expecting something from his victim. Escutia was obviously supposed to respond or to offer something. But he was speechless with fear. Luz saw the barrel of the revolver gleaming in the dark, and when she realized that it was pointed at the young man’s head she could not restrain herself. In her mind, Arturo could have been Bernabé. Both young men were about the same age and height, and they both had the same look in their eyes. An excruciating heat rose from Luz’s belly up to her neck. Something like hot vomit filled her mouth forcing her to open it wide. A terrifying wail escaped from her throat.
“¡No! ¡No!” she shouted over and over. “¡No tiene derecho!”
Moving with unexpected swiftness, Luz lunged at the arm of the man holding the weapon, and began to struggle with him. Man and woman toppled to the ground, tangled in a wrestling bout that stunned the on-lookers. For a moment, everyone was shocked, but soon they were struck with the humor of what they were seeing. They began to laugh out loud, including Arturo. A circle formed around the two wrestlers. Several people rushed up, craning their necks and stretching their backs in order to get a glimpse of what was happening-an unheard of match between a woman and a man. Rooting and applauding broke out.
“¡Una mujer y un hombre están luchando! ¡Qué barbaridad!”
“¡Dále en la chingada!”
“¡Eso! ¡Chíngalo bien!”
They all cheered for Luz, even the Mexicans in uniform. With her hair sticking out wildly, she pounced her short, fat body on top of the skinny agent, knocking the wind out of his belly. He grunted, and even though he tried to push the woman off, all he could do was kick and jiggle his legs in the air. Luz straddled the man with her knees and, with her hands grown strong with the wringing of wet sheets, she took hold of his arms. All the time she continued shouting and screaming.
Suddenly, it was over. Luz had won the match. Her fellow passengers howled noisily, as did the uniformed men and the other spectators. They wanted more. When they saw that Luz’s adversary was no longer resisting, they shouted at him to go on. But he refused.
One of the men walked over to the tangled pair, and good naturedly tapped Luz on the shoulder. “Basta, señora, basta,” he said. But she would not budge until he convinced her that she and Arturo Escutia would be safe. Only then did Luz agree to move from her vantage point. It took several men to assist her back to her feet.
The loser struggled to get up, furious but so embarrassed that he disappeared into the darkness without even looking for the gun that had popped out of his hand when Luz had first assaulted him. As the crowd hurled catcalls and boos in the direction of the defeated man, his companion gave final clearance for the Salvadoran bus to continue on its way, but not before he took most of Arturo Escutia’s money.