Borders of the Heart

by Chris Fabry

“So you’re saying I’m a coward. Because I won’t take a chance at love, I’m—”

  “I’m calling you to something bigger than your own vision. Something better than protection. Instead of running from what you fear, instead of turning from the things that could change you, what if you embraced them willingly?”

  He was distracted for a moment by movement at the far end of the lake. When he looked back, she had moved away and he saw a child stumbling toward the water with something white.

  “Come on,” he said.

  23

  ERNESTO WAS THE BOY’S NAME, and when he saw them, his face had shown horror and relief. He tried to run, but Maria called to him and J. D. was too quick. The child hung his head like a trapped animal. His lips were chapped and his face marked with dried sweat. His shoes were held together with strips of duct tape, his hair filled with dust and stickers. When he leaned out over the lake to fill the plastic jug he carried, his ratty backpack dipped into the water.

  “He got separated from his family when they came upon border agents,” Maria said, translating some of what the boy gasped between gulps. He was drinking way too fast, with algae running down the side of his mouth, and J. D. took the jug from him. Ernesto leaned over the water and drank from cupped hands.

  J. D. studied the boy. A child should not look so hardened. What had he been through? And what was his family thinking bringing him here? His eyes were brown like Maria’s, and behind them were years of hardscrabble poverty and want. His face was gaunt from dehydration. He seemed almost hollow.

  Children take much more than they give, J. D. thought. And this one will take too.

  Another traveler was not what they needed. Or perhaps it was. J. D. had been looking for an out, a way to get caught. When the store opened at the lake, they could wander into the bathroom and he could ask someone to call the police. But that felt like running from life and their shared destinies.

  “Has he had anything to eat?” J. D. said.

  When Maria repeated the question in Spanish, the boy shook his head.

  They led him into the trees. Once he felt comfortable, Ernesto was a fire hydrant, talking nonstop. J. D. let them speak. He couldn’t pick up much, but he got the impression the kid knew Maria or had heard of her.

  J. D. slapped a sandwich together as Ernesto continued. The boy grabbed the food and ate like a hungry wolf, which quieted him for a moment, but when he finished, he began again. J. D. made him another sandwich.

  “He talks like he knows you,” J. D. said.

  Maria shook her head, but Ernesto spoke with his mouth full. “She famous lady.”

  “What do you mean, famous?”

  “He’s not thinking correctly,” Maria said. She turned to him. “Ocúpate no más de tu comida.”

  “No, go on,” J. D. said. “What do you mean she’s famous?”

  “Everyone know her. In Herida and por todos lados. Es la hija del hombre más poderoso de la región. Y nos dijeron que cualquiera que la encuentre será rico. Es la gallina de los huevos de oro. Es lo que dice mi padre.”

  Maria glared at the boy, her lips pursed.

  “What’s he saying?” J. D. said. “Something about a rich man who has gold?”

  “He’s mixed up,” Maria said. “The sun has gotten to him.” She grabbed the boy, shaking a finger in his face. “Si no dejas de soplar, te llevaremos derecho a la migra para que te echen de aquí.”

  Tears came to Ernesto’s eyes and J. D. didn’t know what to make of the confrontation. He wanted to reach out and comfort the boy, but something held him back.

  “Maybe if you didn’t yell at him, he wouldn’t cry.”

  “He’s talking crazy. We have to help him get back to reality.”

  “Well, reality is, if they’ve caught his family, they’re going to send the posse.”

  “We should move, then,” she said.

  “I think it’s best we let him go. Give him some fresh water and point him toward the Border Patrol.”

  “He could die out here. He could get turned around and lost.”

  “They’ll find him. And they’ll get him back with his family. If he stays with us, they’ll be worried sick.”

  Maria turned to him and her face changed. No longer the beauty, she was an angry mama bear. “What are you thinking? He is a child. We have to help him.”

  “Fine, hop in the car and we’ll drive straight up the road to the checkpoint. They’ll probably have his family there, don’t you think?”

  “That’s not what I mean. We should take him with us.”

  “Great. It’ll be a big reunion.” He put his hand on the boy. “Come on, Ernesto, hop in the car and we’ll go for a ride.”

  “Stop it,” Maria said. “We’re not turning him in and we’re not giving up.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” J. D. said.

  She asked the boy another question and he fired back an answer.

  “He has family members in Tucson,” she said. “His father sent money so they could make the journey. The father is waiting for them near some highway; he doesn’t know which. His mother had the map.”

  “Good. Then let his daddy come out here and find him.”

  “How can you be so cruel?” she said.

  J. D. looked at the sun climbing through the trees. Even his sweat drops were sweating. He couldn’t imagine what walking through the open desert would be like. Who would risk it? Only the desperate or crazy or those without a choice.

  “Maria, let’s face facts. About him. About us. We’re cornered. The only road out of here leads straight to the authorities.”

  “You did that on purpose. You knew we would be trapped.”

  “I was exhausted. It felt like a good plan. I thought we could regroup and figure out the next move. I’m sorry. I think we’re out of options, but I don’t think this Muerte will mess with us—”

  “It’s not about him messing with us now,” she yelled. “How can I get you to understand?” She said something to Ernesto and he backed up to the car, fear on his face. Then she grabbed J. D. by an arm and pulled him farther into the thicket.

  “I won’t give up,” she said. “I’ve been given something to do. And you are part of this. You were the one who asked me to return to you.”

  “I wanted to keep you safe from Muerte. I’ve done that.”

  “It’s not just about keeping me safe. It’s about what I must do.”

  “What do you mean? A mission from God?”

  She didn’t answer, but it was clear that was it.

  “When did you realize you were on this mission?”

  “Last night. In the car. I had a dream.”

  J. D. closed his eyes and muttered, “Oh, for crying out loud.”

  “You can make fun if you want, but it’s true. I know what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Well, Joan of Arc, if you want to get burned at the stake, that’s your choice, but the rest of us are running from the flames.”

  “I’m not Joan of Arc. I’m not trying to get us killed. I’m trying to follow the path laid out for me. The task God has given us.”

  “Given you, not me. I haven’t seen him looking out for anybody but himself. You can’t drag me into that.”

  “That little boy over there depends on us. The people of my village are depending on us. You can’t quit.”

  “Depending on us? I can’t even get my own life together, let alone help your village.”

  “There is more life in you than you think, J. D.”

  “Listen, Maria. I like you. You’re beautiful. You’re intelligent. You’ve got more spunk than anybody I’ve ever met. In some other situation we might have . . . I don’t know, but you’re talking crazy.”

  “You think I would be interested in making a life with you?”

  J. D. looked away. “No, I doubt you would. And I wouldn’t blame you. I’d get in the way of you and God.”

  “Well, I would be interested,” she said.

  He blushed.
r />   She reached out a hand and took his chin, turning his face toward her. “There is strength in you. And wisdom. And kindness. I have seen that from the beginning. You make me smile, even when I am afraid. And you haven’t given up, even though the one hunting me is a madman.”

  He couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but watch her lips. There was a softness around her eyes he hadn’t noticed.

  “Whether you realize it or not, you are a handsome man.” She placed an open palm on his chest. “The world needs the strength of good men right now.”

  “If the cause is right, I’m not afraid to die.”

  She nodded. “I know. Your fear is much greater than death. You are afraid to live. And that’s what I’m asking you to do. Help me. And by helping me, you will help yourself.”

  “Help you do what?”

  “Stop him. Stop his plan. It is evil.”

  “I got the evil part. Exactly what are we supposed to stop?”

  “He wants to take lives.”

  “How?”

  She looked away for a moment, then back at him. “You will think I’m loca.”

  “I’m leaning that way already. Go ahead and push me over the cliff.”

  “In my dream there was a sea of people. My people. Faces I know from my town. They were stretched from one side of a gathering place to another. Perhaps a stadium or on some city street, I’m not sure. And they were all in danger and didn’t know it. They didn’t understand. They were like cattle being led to slaughter. I tried to get them to see; I screamed, but no one would turn. And Muerte was there, preparing to kill.”

  “With that rifle?”

  “I don’t know. I believe God was telling me I am the one to stop him. And it will be soon.”

  J. D. took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Maria, if there are people in danger in your town, we have to alert the police.”

  “It was not my town. I knew these faces, but it was here. In America.”

  She was crazy. That was all there was to it. She believed her dream was reality. That there was a connection between the real world, God, and what was in her head.

  J. D. had run into this before at concerts. People shoving crumpled sheets of paper toward him. God had given them a song. And J. D. was divinely appointed as the conduit. He had read the words, at least the first few verses, every time it happened. His observation was that God had a spelling problem. And lots of relationship issues with women. He had felt it bad luck to toss someone’s song in the trash without at least reading it, but that was usually the end of it.

  “If people are really in danger, we need to tell the authorities. What can two people and a kid do against some big plot to kill hundreds?”

  She dipped her head and said something in Spanish.

  “What?” he said.

  “You know what they’re capable of and I can’t even convince you. How can I convince the authorities? Who will believe me if you don’t?”

  She had a point. As soon as she was taken into custody, there would begin a long succession of questions. Her insight would be tossed away like a scribbled song.

  Fire in her eyes now. “Instead of him hunting us, we will hunt him. He’ll never see us coming. And if God is for us, who can be against us?”

  “The devil, I suppose,” J. D. said.

  “You believe in the devil?”

  “I don’t know what I believe.”

  She smiled and something inside J. D. melted. “If you cannot believe yourself, then hold on to my belief,” she said.

  Before he could figure out a comeback to put her in her place, the boy called to them.

  “¡Maria! ¡Alguien viene!”

  They moved to the edge of the thicket and saw four riders on horseback coming through the cienega. Noise of the chopper sounded in the distance but it was too low to see.

  “You must choose,” Maria said.

  J. D. studied the landscape and set his jaw. “Get him in the car.”

  24

  THE WIND PICKED UP as J. D. drove away from the lake on the main road. Mesquite trees and cottonwoods flailed at them as he veered toward a dirt lane that led past driveways of houses and farms. J. D. didn’t know where it ended, but he was sure it got them closer to the Slocum farm and his stash of cash, which was where they were headed. They couldn’t go back toward the Border Patrol.

  He drove slowly so they wouldn’t trail a plume of dust. The end of the road wasn’t more than a path with ruts and rocks worn by the wind and cattle, an open range. J. D. parked behind a wooden Dead End sign.

  “That’s not the best omen I’ve had all day,” he said, pointing.

  “How far is it from here?” Maria said as she grabbed the water.

  J. D. squinted into the sun. “I’d say about ten miles as the crow flies.”

  “I wish I were a crow right now,” she said.

  “You and me both.”

  J. D. put the remaining food in Ernesto’s backpack and took the water from Maria.

  “How long will it take?” she said.

  “Never tried to walk it before.”

  “Guess.”

  “I’m hoping we make it by sundown.”

  She looked at the sun.

  “What’s wrong? Want to go back for sunscreen?”

  Maria smiled, then put her head down and walked into the cactus and flat grassland.

  “Watch for snakes. And tell Ernesto to follow close behind, right in our tracks.”

  “I hear,” the boy said.

  They had walked less than twenty minutes when J. D. felt the air change. The days were filled with sun and blue skies, but there had been something different about that morning. A scattering of clouds had formed and warned anyone willing to look that there was something on the way.

  When he glanced in the direction of the car, a dust devil had kicked up. It was a thin tornado, a line of dust and dirt that rose in the air and swirled. He couldn’t see the car or houses behind them, just the mountains in the distance. There wasn’t a bird in the sky.

  “I don’t like the looks of this,” J. D. said. Already the sleeves of his shirt were flapping and he had to turn from the sand as it stung his face. He pulled his hat down.

  “Keep moving,” Maria said.

  J. D. waved Ernesto in front of him, guiding the boy with the jug of water pressed between his shoulder blades. He was so thin they stuck out through the shirt he wore. He was skin and bones and eyeballs. A desert rat. But he knew how to walk through the desert.

  “Ever heard of a haboob?”

  “No,” Maria said.

  “Big windstorm that picks up the dust and covers everything.”

  “Is that what’s coming?”

  “Doesn’t happen here because the mountains block it. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

  The wind didn’t lower the temperature; it just made the walk more unbearable. Like walking against a fan turned outward from a blowtorch. The farther they went, the harder it blew. J. D. leaned into Ernesto, bending forward as he kept the boy going.

  “I think we should go back to the car,” J. D. said.

  “It’s too far,” Maria said.

  “We have to find shelter, then.” J. D. shouted now, the wind whistling.

  “No,” Maria said. “Keep going.”

  Sand whipped at them and J. D. pulled Ernesto behind him. He wished they had stayed in the car. At least they would be safe from the debris.

  Without warning, the wind became violent. It was so hot and filled with dirt he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look into the maw of rising dust that settled in the lines and sinews of his face and tore at his eyes. He turned his head sideways, letting his hat take the brunt of the spray as he reached for Ernesto and pulled him closer. He could hear Maria struggling behind. Each step was like another foothold up Everest.

  And then it struck. Rippling through the canyon behind them, through the arroyos and gulches, the wind worked like an unseen hand gathering and lifting. There wa
s no time to look for shelter because they were inside the maelstrom, dots on the landscape. The saguaros stood sentinel-like as they dug in.

  He gathered the boy in and unzipped the backpack. Ernesto whimpered and held on, burying his face in J. D.’s chest. He dumped the contents and pulled the backpack over the boy’s head, zipping it so it wouldn’t fly away. Then he planted his knees and pulled Maria close, creating a shelter for the boy with their bodies. She hugged J. D., not romantically but of pure necessity. Even so, he felt a stirring from being so close.

  He took off his hat and placed it over Maria’s face so she could breathe. He buried his face in her hair, and soon he was sitting back on his haunches with her in his arms and Ernesto between them.

  “I’d like to see Muerte find us in this,” he shouted.

  I’d like to see God find us in this, he thought.

  Maria didn’t move or try to speak. Once you found a position where you could exist, you didn’t look for a better one. What he wouldn’t give for goggles and a mask. If they had stayed in the car, they could have driven rings around the Border Patrol checkpoint.

  J. D. thought of her words about purpose and meaning and things happening for a reason. His whole existence felt like wandering in a sandstorm.

  He kept his eyes and mouth shut, but the sand was everywhere. When he clenched his teeth, there was grit between them, sand like seeds in his mouth.

  “You okay, Ernesto?” he shouted.

  The backpack nodded against his chest.

  “How about you, Maria?”

  “I am okay.”

  “Try to breathe and hang on,” he said. “This can’t last long.”

  But he was wrong. The storm continued and he retreated to a winter in his childhood. His father had taken his brother and him looking for a Christmas tree, parking on an icy road near the mouth of a logging trail. Each of them armed with a hatchet, they trudged through knee-deep snow toward a ridge of evergreens. Snow fell as they left the house but it picked up intensity near the mountain. J. D.’s face stung and snow worked its way into his boots and down his shins. Icy cold.

  They hunted a good half hour before finding a tree. Tyler and their father chopped as J. D. huddled underneath the boughs. Tyler kept working while his father picked J. D. up and carried him to the car. It was the closest he remembered being to his father’s beating heart. Their footprints in the snow were gone by the time they reached the road and there was a thick coat of sleet and snow on both of them. They must have looked like a snow monster moving down the hillside, but his father carried him through the blinding drifts, started the car, and placed him in the front seat. He stripped J. D. down, then pulled off his boots and shook them free of snow and shoved his feet under the heater to thaw. The car was tomb-like, dark and covered.