Disappeared

by Francisco X. Stork

  “Okay.” Sara stands. “Juana, can you forward the e-mail with the threat to me? I want to study it a little more.”

  Juana reluctantly hits a few keys on her computer. As Sara is leaving, she reminds her, “Sara, the e-mail mentions the reporter’s family. Your family.”

  Sara swallows and says softly, “I know.”

  Back at her desk, Sara thinks for a long time. Does she really want to pursue something that could affect Mami and Emiliano, the two people she loves the most? They took so many precautions after Sara received her first threat. Their address is not in any public records. All the bills go to Sara at work. Juana is the only person at El Sol who knows where she lives, and most nights, Emiliano walks to her office after school and they take a bus home together. She’s done all she can to protect herself and her family. She did all that so she could continue to investigate the disappearance of Linda and so many other girls. She owes it to them not to give up now. She will go slowly and carefully and stop if she senses any real danger. How can she “stand down,” as Juana says, when Linda may be alive?

  She forwards the threatening e-mail to Ernesto, the head of El Sol’s two-person IT department, and asks him if there’s any way to figure out the identity of the sender. An hour later, Ernesto calls. “Just from a quick look, this e-mail was sent by someone who knows a lot about encryption. The server bounced the message around so no one can locate the sender. If it’s okay with you, I’ll send it to my friends.” His friends are the Jaqueros, a group of technology and computer experts he knows. The Jaqueros helped her with an article she did on a joint investigation between the FBI and the Mexican Attorney General’s Office. They had access to e-mails and texts betweeen cartel members and government officials that no one else could get.

  Sara says what she always says when he offers to send something to the Jaqueros: “Okay, but don’t break any laws.”

  He responds like he always does: “Who do you think we are?”

  After Ernesto hangs up, Sara answers his question silently: You’re the people who will help me find my best friend.

  Emiliano, in the front seat of the van, glances at Brother Patricio, who is driving and talking. He tries to think of something that will make the brother go a little faster. Emiliano wants to see Perla Rubi before she goes to volleyball practice at eleven, and he has a lot to do today. But Brother Patricio drives the way he hikes: slow and steady.

  “I have to head over to El Paso and get Memo’s new boots,” Brother Patricio says. “I tell you, we are fortunate there was no school today. I’d never be able to do all that needs to be done before the trip next week.”

  “Yeah, it’s too bad we had to get up at five a.m. on our day off,” Paco says from the backseat.

  “I’m sorry, but seven in the morning was the only time the Aguilas could play. They’re a public school, remember. They aren’t lucky enough to have the day off like us. Besides, we need all the exhibition games we can get.”

  “You got us playing again at nine tomorrow,” Paco continues.

  “Well, tomorrow’s game is in El Paso,” Brother Patricio explains. “The Conquistadors were the best team in El Paso last year. It will be a good tune-up game.”

  “The only tune-up I need is sleep,” Paco says, yawning. “I’m burned out and the season hasn’t even started.”

  “What are you complaining about? You barely moved all game,” Pepe says.

  “Hey, who scored the winning goal?”

  “That was all Emiliano. You were just standing there picking your nose when the ball hit your head and bounced into the goal.”

  “Brother, take the other lane. It’s faster,” Emiliano says.

  But Brother Patricio is not listening. “I wish I could take Memo to El Paso so he could try the boots on himself. It’s chancy to buy boots with only a measurement.”

  “Why do you have to get Memo boots?” Paco asks.

  Emiliano turns around and grimaces at him. That kind of question will only make Brother Patricio slow down even more.

  Brother Patricio searches for Paco’s face in the rearview mirror. “It’s a tradition of the Jiparis Explorers Club. A Jipari gets new hiking boots at the end of his first year.”

  “Why do you call it an explorers’ club?” Paco says. “You guys don’t explore anything. All you do is get your brains fried in the desert.”

  Brother Patricio stops to let a car get in their lane. Emiliano throws his hands up in desperation.

  “When are you going to join?” Brother Patricio asks Paco.

  “When am I going to join? What’s that pledge you have to take to be a Jipari?”

  “You want to tell him?” Brother Patricio nudges Emiliano.

  Emiliano recites impatiently, “ ‘I will abstain from all intoxicants. I will be honest with myself and others. I will use the knowledge and strength the desert gives me for the benefit of others.’ ”

  “Hear that?” Paco says, animated. “That first one would kill me. While you guys are out chasing lizards, I’ll be in the shade of my porch, having a cold one. If you get rid of that pledge and you let girls in, I’ll sign up.”

  “Brother, watch it!” Emiliano shouts.

  Brother Patricio slams on the brakes, just in time to avoid crashing into a truck ahead of them.

  “Man, that would have been the end of all our seasons right there,” Pepe says.

  “I just saw my life flash before my eyes,” Paco agrees, “and there were some very important things I didn’t get to do.”

  Brother Patricio lets the truck gain some distance before he accelerates ever so slowly. “In response to your objections,” he says calmly, as if they hadn’t just barely escaped with their lives, “the first part of the pledge is important because so many of the kids we recruit have addiction problems. As to your second concern, we remain open to the possibility that girls will, at some point, want to be a part of the Jiparis. Women, after all, have as good or better capacity for enduring hardships, in the desert and elsewhere.”

  “You have a lot of experience with women?” Paco quips.

  “Laugh if you will,” Brother Patricio says with a mysterious grin.

  Emiliano digs his cell phone out of his backpack and checks his messages. Perla Rubi’s texts are always short and sweet. The last one reads:

  At library. Come by.

  Then there are three messages from Sara.

  Can you pick up eggs and milk on the way home?

  No need to come by work today. I’ll take a bus.

  Do you have money? I’ll pay you back tomorrow. Be good.

  Emiliano smiles. Sara always tells him to be good. She knows he’ll have some money by the end of the day—assuming he can get to his bike while there’s still daylight. Once they get to school, he’ll head over to Javier’s house to pick up the piñatas the younger boy made. Then he’ll go to Taurus, where Memo’s grandmother sewed some kind of purse. Armando, the owner of the club, is usually there till noon, and it’s incredibly important that Emiliano talks to him. The kind of moneymaking opportunity he has in mind may not be around for long. But he’ll never make it to Taurus by noon the way Brother Patricio is driving, or crawling. Maybe Armando will wait for him. Emiliano looks up Armando’s number in his contacts and texts him:

  Need to talk to you today. Got an idea that will be good for both of us. Be there a little after 12:00. Will you be there?

  Afterward, he’ll take the piñatas and the purse over to Avenida Juárez and sell them to Lalo Torres, who will resell them to American tourists. All that will take Emiliano at least four hours, and then he needs to get home in time to shower and find a ride to Perla Rubi’s house for her mother’s birthday party. Oh, no. What about a present for Perla Rubi’s mother? Maybe he can stop by one of the jewelry stores on Insurgentes after Lalo pays him. There’s a ping on his phone. It is Armando’s response.

  I was just thinking about you. I need to talk to you too. I’ll be here. But don’t be too much later than 12:0
0.

  Emiliano smiles again. If Armando wants to talk to him, that means he has some kind of business proposition in mind. Perfect. They’re operating on the same wavelength. “Go, go, go,” he tells Brother Patricio, who is slowing down for another yellow light. “In Mexico, yellow means step on it, Brother!”

  Brother Patricio stops. The car behind him honks. “We are in a big rush, are we?” he says with a knowing grin.

  “His rush is waiting for him at school,” Paco says. “I keep telling him that he’s barking up the wrong tree. He doesn’t have a long-term chance with that kind of girl. She’s too rich for him. But he doesn’t listen.”

  It takes a few moments for Emiliano to realize that Paco is talking about Perla Rubi.

  “Why doesn’t Emiliano have a ‘long-term chance,’ as you say?” Brother Patricio asks. “She could do much worse than an honest, hardworking, law-abiding man like Emiliano.”

  “Hardworking, maybe,” Paco says. “But honest and law-abiding? Just barely.”

  Emiliano sees Brother Patricio smile at Paco’s words. Paco, Brother Patricio, and Emiliano all know about the time when Emiliano was not all that law-abiding. It’s okay. Paco is Emiliano’s best friend, and he’s allowed to allude to his shady past. And he’s used to Paco and Brother Patricio debating the “long-term” possibilities of his relationship with Perla Rubi. Paco’s wrong, but that’s okay too. Though they haven’t talked about it, Emiliano knows that Perla Rubi likes him just as much as he likes her.

  Finally they turn onto the tree-lined street in front of the school. Brother Patricio honks twice, and Cristobal opens the iron gates of Colegio México. Cristobal has been the security guard since before the time when schools in Ciudad Juárez needed security guards. Emiliano sticks his hand out the window and slaps him a high five as they drive by. “Perla Rubi’s in the library,” Cristobal tells him with a wink.

  “You’re living in la-la land,” Paco says. “It’s going to be painful to watch you crash.”

  “You’re just jealous,” Emiliano says, clicking off his seat belt, getting ready to bolt out of the van.

  “Would you mind waiting until I properly park this vehicle?” Brother Patricio says. “I’ll see you all here tomorrow at seven for the game against the Conquistadors. It’s in El Paso, remember, so we need to give ourselves enough time to get across the border.”

  There’s a collective groan from every single boy in the van except Emiliano. He’s already sprinting to the library.

  Emiliano knocks gently on the glass door of the library, and Chela, the cleaning lady, opens it for him. With a nod of her head and a smile, she points to where Perla Rubi is sitting.

  “Thank you,” Emiliano whispers. He looks at the round clock behind the librarian’s desk as he enters. Ten forty-five. You can’t take too long talking to Perla Rubi, otherwise you’ll miss Armando, he reminds himself. He finds her at their usual table, tapping away on her laptop. She’s facing away from the door, so she didn’t see him walk in.

  “Hello, Perla Rubi Esmeralda,” he says, trying not to sound out of breath. They like using their full names with each other because the names are both so ridiculous.

  “Emiliano Zapata,” she says, suddenly beaming. “How was the game?”

  “Okay. It was a practice game. No big deal.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Of course. Too bad you had to come in today. Volleyball practice again?”

  “Yeah, in fifteen minutes. We need all the workouts we can get. No one really minds. I got here early to study for a physics test and … see you.”

  Emiliano swallows. He tries to speak but he can’t. When he looks into Perla Rubi’s eyes, he is sometimes momentarily stunned. It’s as if he remembers how beautiful she is and how fortunate he is and both things happen all at once.

  “Are you okay?” Perla Rubi asks, more amused than concerned.

  “Yes, why?”

  “You seem, I don’t know, strange, but in a good way.”

  Emiliano takes a deep breath. “I have tons to do before the party tonight, and we play again tomorrow. Brother Patricio’s going a little overboard with the exhibition games.”

  She smiles. “How else are you going to win the state championship again?”

  “We’ll be exhausted by the time the real competition starts.”

  “Do you have time to go over your trigonometry homework?” she asks.

  One of the things that Emiliano likes most about Perla Rubi is how seriously she takes her responsibilities as his tutor. He got to know her thanks to Brother Patricio, who arranged for her to tutor Emiliano when his grades fell below the average required to play soccer. They met for an hour once a week at first, and then Perla Rubi increased the meetings to twice a week. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t be on the team. Still, he wishes he didn’t have to worry about things like trigonometry. “Triangles” is the only thing he can think of saying.

  “Among other things,” Perla Rubi laughs. “You have a test next Wednesday, remember?”

  “I … I can’t today. I’ll study this weekend. I promise.”

  She shakes her head, pretending to scold him. “I don’t want all of Juárez to blame me if the Pumas’ star midfielder flunks out.”

  “I’m going to study so hard, really, I will. I’ll get a C-minus in every course, even if it kills me.” He grins at her.

  “That’s what I like about you. You’re so ambitious!” She tugs his right ear.

  “Ouch! Hey,” Emiliano says, looking at the clock in the back. “Are you going to be okay after volleyball practice? Is someone coming to pick you up?”

  “My mother. Don’t worry. I’ll wait for her inside the school. Cristobal will keep me safe. I’ll walk you to your bike. I need a break anyway.”

  He stands when she stands and they walk out of the library together. Chela, mopping the floor, smiles at him conspiratorially as they go by. Everyone knows there is something between him and Perla Rubi. Maybe it’s time to tell her how he feels.

  He stops at the top of the stairs and looks around. They’re all alone.

  “Are you okay?” Perla Rubi asks again, this time concerned.

  Emiliano takes a deep breath. “Everyone thinks we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “Yes, I think they do.” She looks down, and Emiliano notices her breath quicken. His has as well. “Is that bad?”

  “No. I mean … are we? We’ve never talked about it.”

  “That’s true. We never have.”

  “I’d like to be.”

  Perla Rubi nods, her eyes still on the steps. She’s wearing a one-piece outfit that he’s seen on professional tennis players. A pair of blue athletic shorts peek from under her short white skirt. Her skin is smooth, a shade lighter than his. A few strands of black hair stick to her temple. She raises her head, looks deep into his eyes, and then leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.

  “What was that for?” Emiliano says.

  “For being patient.”

  “Is that what I am? Brother Patricio thinks I’m impatient.”

  “You’re patient with me.” Then she says, “Do you want to talk about us? You’ve never needed to before.”

  He looks away for a moment and then at her. “I think I know how you feel about me. And you know what I feel. Don’t you?”

  Only a few seconds pass before Perla Rubi responds, but they seem like a lifetime to Emiliano. “Yes, you do, and yes, I do.”

  Emiliano turns her slightly so that they are facing each other, their bodies almost touching. “Can I say how I feel? Can you tell me? I would like to hear it.” Warmth spreads through him.

  Perla Rubi touches Emiliano’s lips with her index finger. Finally, she says, “Emiliano … my parents are very strict. They know we’re friends. I don’t want to have to lie to them. So it’s better for me if how I feel about you, how we feel toward each other, remains unsaid. Everyone knows that we’re together. And we know what we feel, and that’s all that matt
ers.”

  Perla Rubi’s words make Emiliano feel desperately happy and desperately confused. “But …”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “Your parents wouldn’t be okay with me being more than your friend.” He means it as a question, but it doesn’t come out that way.

  She puts her arm gently around his and they walk down the stairs. When they reach the bottom, she says, “Emiliano …”

  “That’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to say anything.”

  Just then Perla Rubi’s phone rings. She steps away to answer it, and while she’s talking, Emiliano berates himself for starting a serious conversation when he’s so pressed for time. He’s grateful for what she’s given him. She feels about him the way he feels about her. Does he really need more? Why should he feel disappointed?

  Perla Rubi hangs up. “That was Mamá. She asked me if you were here. Before we go outside, do you want to talk some more about this?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  She studies him. Then she drops her backpack at her feet and hugs him. “Emiliano, my father worked very hard to be where he is and to give my mother and me the kind of life we have. So they’re concerned that whoever I fall in love with will—”

  “Take care of you in the manner you’re accustomed?” He doesn’t mean the words to sound as bitter as they do.

  Perla Rubi’s embarrassed silence is all the answer he needs. After a few moments, she says, “Tonight you’ll meet my mother. I’ve told her about your business and all you do for the Jiparis. She says she wants to talk to you. That’s a good sign. My mother will like you, I know she will, and then … we’ll work on my father.”

  “You have it all planned out.”

  “Yes, I do.” She looks into his eyes until Emiliano blushes. Then she grabs his hand and pulls him outside. “Come early tonight so you and Mamá have a chance to talk.”

  “What should I say to her?”

  “Tell her about your business. She loves folk art. You’ll see when you walk through the house. Tell her about the motorcycle you’re going to buy soon and the shops you hope to open when you get out of school. Just be yourself. How many times have you told me you want to make enough money that your mother doesn’t have to work? Tell her that. I’m not asking you to say anything you don’t mean or be anyone you’re not.”