Once on the road Luz stopped crying. As the bus increased its speed she gradually became calm. She sat straight, listening to her thoughts. Her mind reached back in time to the events of her trip north from El Salvador. Her thoughts were riveted on Arturo who unwittingly had helped her along the way. She was reliving many of their conversations, most of them still vividly echoing in her memory.
Then Arturo’s image appeared. Inwardly she saw him. His face, however, was abruptly erased as she remembered the blast of gunfire which had snuffed out his life.
Luz was heading back in the direction from where she had come. Her hands were empty, for she was returning without Bernabé, and now she had also lost Arturo. Luz stared out the window of the bus vacantly, her eyes reflecting the California hillside interspersed with structures and billboards. Then, as the hours passed, she began to experience a strange sensation. She felt the grief that had thrashed her heart after Arturo’s death subside. A growing distance between her body and spirit took hold of her, as if her soul were drifting away from pain, uniting itself to Arturo and to Bernabé.
Luz concentrated on her emotions attempting to sort them out, to grasp their meaning. After a while, she realized that she was finally returning to her source, her place of origin.
When the bus arrived in Tijuana, it stopped at the border on the American side, and its passengers were ordered to get off. As they straggled off the bus, pushing and bumping into one another, a U.S. agent steered the first person in the direction of the Mexican side of the border, and in a loud voice barked out his order.
“Get going!”
As the deportees shuffled towards the other side, they could hear the agents’ laughter, and comments.
“Good riddance!”
“Oh, they’ll be back. Wanna bet?”
“Wet-backs love a free ride.”
Luz was mumbling. “¡Cabrones!” We leave our sweat and tears in your land, and all you can do is make fun of us.”
Once off the bus she felt that her legs, numbed by the hours spent in the cramped bus seat, could barely support her. Her steps were hesitant and tottering at first, but as she regained her strength, she walked with more confidence. Even though she was still enshrouded by sadness, her reflections on the trip to the border had filled her with new determination.
She looked around searching for someone to give her information. Her eyes landed on a young woman. “Hija, dime dónde está la estación de camiones que van hacia el sur.”
The girl informed Luz that the south-bound terminal was located in Mesa Otay.
“Bien. Muchas gracias.”
As Luz moved through the crowds, she felt her strength returning. She looked around and hailed a taxi. As she stepped inside the car she smiled at the driver. “La camionera hacia el sur, por favor.”
When she arrived at the station she was informed that the next bus was heading for Guatemala and El Salvador was scheduled to leave that evening at eight. After she purchased her ticket, she sat in the restaurant of the terminal waiting for the hours to pass. She thought of the people she had met; all of those with whom she had worked during the years of her search. She wondered if she would ever meet any of them again.
At seven-thirty, the station microphone clicked on. A nasal voice announced that the south-bound bus was beginning to load its passengers in the embarkation area. Making her way to the landing, Luz stepped gingerly onto the bus that would retrace her steps back to El Salvador. Once in her seat, she pushed the rusty window frame to one side, and as she looked out she saw a mass of faces beneath her. Some were smiling. Most of them, however, were etched with sadness. When the bus began to move, Luz leaned back in her seat. Her eyes were closed as she tried to summon up the image of her lost son. Would she ever see him again, she wondered as the bus headed south. She reflected on the pattern of her life. One after another, each of her sons had been taken from her, and there was nothing she could have done to prevent her loss.