Roots of Indifferences

by Terri Ragsdale

  Every Mexican was a suspect and everyone that talked about or even mentioned the Claude Kelly incident was dragged in by the Texas Rangers for heavy questioning. On one occasion, an overly zealous, talkative drunk who mentioned he knew the killer was hauled in, tortured, and later found dead. The case went unsolved and as the years went by, the papers were shoved into the cold files.

  *****

  In Mexico, the mood was threatening, with many militant Catholic zealots everywhere surrounding the cities. Señor Solis and his family were almost killed when a bomb was thrown at the Solis business. Luckily, no one was hurt. A note had followed to get rid of the "giant doctor," as they now referred to Fred.

  Clandestine messages were being sent by Dan Land to Señor Solis and then given to Fred. All incoming mail to the Juelson residency was being inspected by special agents, so the family was careful not to repeat any information. Fred had gotten word from his father, via Señor Solis, to leave the hacienda and travel to Matamoros. Victoria had found out from Emma that she had accidentally mentioned to Yolanda where Fred was hiding. Secrets were hard to keep. And the greedy Yolanda, knowing that a price was on Fred's head, would automatically inform the authorities for the money.

  In the middle of night, gracious goodbyes were exchanged, and Fred was driven out of town in a worn-out Ford truck used by the Solis's hacienda field workers and taken down the road that led to Matamoros. Within three hours, the slow Fork truck finally entered the sleeping city of Matamoros. Across the border, on the other side of the Rio Grande River, they could see the shimmering lights of Brownsville, Texas.

  Fred planned to reside in Matamoros until given further orders by his father. But no sooner had he found shelter in the home of the Solis's friends when several uniformed policemen accosted and questioned him. He was taken to the local jail and booked on charges of using Mexico as a refugee encampment. Fred was interrogated during the course of the night, where one policeman after another took turns asking him questions; up to this point, he had not slept.

  The following morning, Fred was driven west of Matamoros to a prison, a large gloomy, stone building once used by General Manuel Mier. There he was ushered into an office with a large desk, behind which sat a high-ranking lieutenant, with gold medals strung across his chest, wearing tall black boots and dark sunglasses. He glared at Fred for a long time. When he did speak, he implied that a man of high stature had informed them of his arrival in their city. Fred found out later that it was Señor Del Calderóne, who was still living in Matamoros. How did Señor Del Calderóne know? Who had informed him that Fred was coming to Matamoros?

  He was shown a poster with his picture on it and told to confess to the killing of Emily Ferguson. When he denied any wrongdoing, he was slapped around. Why did they care in Mexico? There had been real killer renegades from the United States living in Mexico, and nobody cared. Why was he so important to them?

  Next, Fred was stripped of his clothing. The little money he had left was taken. He was whipped and tortured and ordered to sign a confession of violating Mexican laws. Fred refused. He declared he was innocent, only helping the poor people. The policemen standing in the dirty office laughed. Fred was given cold tortillas to eat and water to drink, the only food that kept him alive. In his lonely hours spent in the cold cell, he kept thinking of who had informed Señor Del Calderóne. He learned there was a large reward being offered by gringos across the river. If Fred was so valuable on the other side of the river, the officers would hold him for ransom and have the Americanos pay them more dinero.

  Within several days, the lieutenant had inquired and found out that Fred was a doctor and came from a rich, prosperous family and presumed that his father, the former Goodwill Ambassador to Mexico, would probably be willing to pitch them hundreds of dollars under the table to keep Fred alive. All of the smart officers in the prison worked the system and played two against each other. It had always been done, and it had always worked before.

  By the time the news of Fred's capture had broken in Mercedes, Don Federico was being given nitroglycerin pills to put under his tongue each time he had a chest pain. Extremely upset at the news of Fred's incarceration, Victoria and Carlos made arrangements to visit him at the prison in Matamoros.

  Upon reaching Matamoros, the duo had to rely on Victoria's tough, uncompromising attitude to get the officers' attention to be able to see and speak with Fred. The older gracious head General found Victoria to be so amusing and so attractive that he wanted her to return again so she could be his guest. He had never met a woman who was so vivacious, so headstrong and heated with so much passion. He said this with a loud sigh while kissing her hand. He had never seen such beauty. Had chivalry returned?

  I’ll be his guest with a bullet in his head, she kept thinking. So by the time she and Carlos were allowed to visit Fred, they were appalled by the conditions at the prison. There were long passageways of noisy rows of cells filled with killers, thieves, and dope dealers clinging and hanging onto the cell bars, and the odors were disturbing. The inmates urinated in their cells and on the walls. The hideous smell was so terribly offensive that Victoria and Carlos had to put their hands over their noses. At the far end of one of the halls, Fred lay in a cold, wet cell, on a dirty wire-cot , thin, weak and appearing malnourished. His face was black and blue. His eyes were full of despair. His clothes were dirty and torn.

  "My God!" Victoria cried. "What have they done to you?" She hung on to the cell bars with a sickening pity, reaching out to her brother in an act of kindness, with tears falling from her eyes. She began shaking. "We're going to get you out of this hell!" she stormed. "We're going to do everything we can, and as soon as possible!"

  From inside his cell, Fred began asking questions: "How is father doing? What have you heard from Catalina?" And then he told them how Ricardo's father, Señor Del Calderóne, had informed the officers of his coming to Matamoros. "How did he know? How was he informed?" Victoria and Carlos glanced at each other. They would get busy investigating.

  While returning home, Carlos kept his eyes on the road, not saying a word. It was a long, lonely road. He was aware of the depth of Victoria's outrage and anger—she had done her share of crying in the last twenty miles. "I know what you're thinking!" He finally sounded off. "Don't do anything foolish! Let the lawyers and the two countries do their international arguing—that's why we're paying them a high price. Forget any stupid ideas you might have to get Fred out of prison."

  "I can't stand it," Victoria said, blowing her nose on her lace handkerchief. "Fred needs clean clothes and food, and Lord knows, so does everyone in that prison. It's so pitiful!" She began concentrating and frown lines were forming on her, forehead. "I can't for the life of me figure out how Ricardo's father heard about Fred."

  "We'll find out sooner or later," replied Carlos, focusing his eyes on the road ahead.

  When they got home, Victoria went into a trance. And sure enough, it was Yolanda who had informed Ricardo, and he had informed his father in Matamoros.

  Within a week, Victoria's cleverness and maternal instincts had orchestrated a truckload of dry goods, including rice, pinto beans, and large cans of vegetables and fruits, along with blankets and clothing. On the other side, crossing the newly built bridge into Rio Rico, she bribed the Mexicans guards, pacifying them at the port called mordida, by giving them money, food, and clothes to let her pass through, which they were more than willing to do.

  In Matamoros, the officers were delighted to see the coquettish Victoria every week coming with the commodities, which they all enjoyed. The officers were all getting to know her personally and called her by her first name. They were smitten with her, and Victoria was happy to share the bounty with them. They felt extremely lucky to have Dr. Fred as a prisoner, with all of the attention and free handouts they were receiving. They realized he was becoming an asset to them.

  Several packages were brought from the medical clinic, which had been delivered four days after the fire
. Many of the medical supplies were alcohol, chloroform, cotton swaps, injections, and several drugs including syrups. All were quite welcome to the attending doctor that only came once a month, mostly to sign death certificates. One or two prisoners ended up dying every month, and their bodies were taken in a van and dumped in the Gulf, where hungry sharks would quite successfully clean up the evidence.

  Victoria was becoming a regular visitor and things were starting to go in Fred's universal favor as he was given liberty to roam freely around inside the prison walls and help the sickly patients; however, he was kept under close supervision by the guards. He was appalled by the gruesome conditions and the horrible treatment of the prisoners. He was also aware that the majority of the prisoners were cold, murderous killers, but Fred, seeing the world through kindly eyes and wanting to heal people, only saw them as human beings.

  The kitchen area was the worst. Nothing was ever cleaned. Slop was being fed to all of them, and nothing, not even the water, was boiled. Most of them had fleas and lice, dysentery, and many coughed throughout the night from colds or tuberculosis, a contagious disease. It was worse during the summer months, with the unbearable heat and the flies and mosquitoes.

  Having overheard Capitán Gutierrez telling another guard of his newborn child crying all the time, Fred asked from his cell, "What is wrong with your baby?" he questioned with sincere concern.

  "The child cries all the time and will not eat. He did not take to his mother's breast milk, and we gave him cow's milk, and that made it even worse. The household is pulling their hair out. I had to go across the street to my cousin's home to get any sleep."

  "Buy goat milk. Bring it to a soft boil and let it cool. Many infants are hypersensitive to cow's milk and are allergic to it. Let me know how that works out."

  Within two days, Capitán Gutierrez walked into Fred's cell and was delighted to inform him that the infant was now eating and sleeping comfortably. He whispered to Fred if there was anything he could do for him, to let him know.

  "Glad you mentioned that," Fred replied. "I would like to join the men with the van who drive the bodies out to the ocean. I want to make sure they are medically dead, so I'll feel better."

  "You think that they are still alive when we throw them into the sea?" El Capitán threw back his head and guffawed. "I normally have to get permission from the old generals, but all of them are gone to Mexico City for the rest of the year, leaving me in command. They will not return until after the Posadas," he replied, mulling over Fred's request. He was fond of Fred and grateful for his help with his son's health. He pondered a moment, gave Fred a penetrating glance while rubbing his chin, and then said, "It would probably be a good idea. I'll make an order on that. It's done!" Capitán Gutierrez stated. "We'll have you join the driver on his runs."

  Fred continued to live in the Matamoros prison for many months. He was kept alive by the food that Victoria was bringing. His natural instinct, being a humanitarian, was to do whatever he could for the many sickly inmates. As for the corpses, if the families did not claim them quickly, Fred and the van driver would make the runs at night with three or more cadavers and dump them into the ocean, a delicatessen to the sharks. He continually checked and studied the exits and the schedule of the indolent officers, who took their jobs for granted and did not care about the condition of the inmates.

  Three prisoners in the adjoining cells had long been planning an escape, and they offered Fred the opportunity to go with them, knowing he was a medic and had an "in" with Capitán Gutierrez. One of them had overheard Capitán Gutierrez asking Fred how he could help him, and the inmate decided that presented an opportunity for all of them.

  "Next week the full moon will be at its peak. What do you say if you joined us and helped us in escaping from this dirty, filthy place while you're on the funeral van? We can help each other," said the murderous, cold-blooded one, who had been accused of killing his pregnant wife, two children, and his in-laws. "We're all in here for life. We're all a doomed to die in this rotten place if we don't escape from this hellhole. We have no other choice."

  "It looks to me like it might be a little difficult," replied Fred, "but what are your plans, anyway?"

  "We have heard that Capitán Gutierrez is on duty for the rest of the year. While the Capitán is in charge on those nights, he is very congenial to all of us. He always opens the cells and lets us roam around, and usually, they do not pay any attention to the inmates. The Capitán plays cards with the guards, and they drink until the wee hours of the morning."

  "We will have to plan this carefully and watch everything that's going on," answered Fred, encouraged. For the first time, he felt there was a possibility.

  On Victoria's return, Fred informed her of their plans. She told him that it had occurred to her once or twice, but she was afraid since Carlos had forbidden her to try anything. She declared that the attorneys were taking their own sweet time even though they were being paid a high price to handle international matters. The federal courts were planning extradition but were not having any luck, since the Mexican government was not complying with their laws. She cried, cautioning Fred that, with all the high stone walls and guards, it would not be an easy place to escape from. And where would he go? He could not go back into Texas, and Mexico was not the safest place to live either.

  Fred, all excited, replied. "You remember Señor Castillo telling us how beautiful Veracruz was? Well, I think I'm going to try and make my way to that area."

  "How will we know? Father is going to die in agony wanting to know where you are. How soon will you know, and how soon will you contact us?" Victoria pleaded, crying and shaking her head.

  "Only time will tell! I'll write to Felicia or Dan since nobody suspects them of anything. I will contact them and let them know where I end up."

  Victoria embraced him. "I will pray for your safety every day. Manito, go with God! I'm just hoping that Father will be able to handle all of this."

  *****

  The night of the full moon was set as the time for the escape, and everything seemed to be going according to plan. The guards and Capitán Gutierrez began playing Mexican poker and bidding a lot of pesos and drinking hard tequila and not paying any attention to the inmate's actions. Earlier in the day, Fred had advised Capitán Gutierrez that another man had died of an infectious disease and it was wise to dump him as soon as possible, so he had been given the go-ahead for the van to head for the sea. They would leave within the next hour.

  "What did the prisoner die of?" asked one of the guards.

  "Cholera," was the answer. "And we may have more." He might as well have said "fire," for nobody even flinched and went on bidding on the cards and drinking tequila.

  The cells were open and one at a time, each murderous inmate scurried along the dark halls. When the three were finally united, they stood behind a large arched pillar and watched the van, while two guards loaded the remains. They kept an eye on Fred's movements. The two guards went inside the lighted quarters and closed the door. The signal had been to light a cigarette so that Fred would know that they were waiting. Fred turned around and noticed the flame from the corner of his eye. When the van was getting ready to leave, Fred advised the driver that he would get in the back with the dead bodies, until they got to the ocean where they could be disposed of. The driver nodded and started the vehicle. Fred went to the back of the van and opened the door, looked both ways, and summoned the three inmates to climb into the back. Inside, Fred indicated with his index finger against his mouth not to talk. They nodded. Fred then gave the go ahead to the driver with several thumps on the inside of the van.

  The drive was long and tedious. It must have taken more than two hours over a bumpy, winding, uneven road heading east to the coastline. The moon shone brilliantly, making the drive more visible along the tedious route. Finally, the gears shifted and the van began slowing down; it rumbled and shook and came to a complete stop. Fred opened the back door, and the three inmates,
one at a time, rolled out and hid among the tall grass and mangrove shrubs that grew close to the sea. The three waited until Fred and the driver dumped the dead bodies into the splashing waves that were crashing against the shore. The driver walked back to the vehicle and stood beside it, smoking a cigarette.

  Fred paused and took a deep breath. The ocean smelled of fresh air and freedom. Harbor lights were visible from across the border at Port Isabel in Texas, and in the moonlight, he could make out small boats along docks jutting out into the sea nearby. He was a romantic and a reflective dreamer, and his thoughts turned to his happier early years, as he watched the dark waves roll in and deposit their foam on the shore.

  He sighed and turned back toward the van, becoming immediately aware of the sounds of a scuffle. He was horrified to discover that the three killers had ganged up on the driver from behind and had slit his throat with a sharp, handmade object.

  The driver made a gurgling sound and fell to the ground holding his throat, as blood spurted out.

  Fred rushed over, furious. "We weren't planning to kill the driver—he has nothing to do with us!" Panicky, he tried to save the dying man who was still struggling and fighting for his next breath as he lay on the damp grass. When Fred knelt down, trying to save him, the dying driver grabbed Fred's arm in desperation, unfastening Fred's watch. The watch fell unnoticed and disappeared in the high wet grass. "This is monstrous!" Fred yelled at the inmates he had helped. "Killing a human being for the sake of escaping is unthinkable!"

  "Do you want to die also, doctor?" replied one of the cold-blooded killers in a state of rage and hatred, hovering over him with the murder weapon still in his hand.

  "Are you coming with us?" asked the other one, taking the keys from the dead guard, as the other two murderers began dragging his body toward the sea. "Come! We are driving long ways from here, and we will dump the van along the way."