by Sylvia Nobel
When the boy refused to answer question after question, Lupe’s soft voice grew louder and more desperate. “¡Si me puedes contestar mi hijo! Quiero saber que le paso a mi hermano?”
Javier let out a frightened wail and Lupe sat back on her knees, eyes misty with frustrated anger. “¡Ay Caramba! He will not answer my questions.”
I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, you’re scaring him.”
Just then, Sister Goldenrod re-entered the room with a tray of food in her hands. When she realized that I’d disobeyed her direct order to stay put, she banged the tray on a scarred chest of drawers. “I told you to stay away from him! Now you’ve got the poor baby all in a dither.”
Before I could defend myself, Lupe leaped up to confront her. “You lied to me! You said he would tell me about my brother, but he refuses. You have to make him talk to me!”
She jerked her thumb towards the doorway. “Okay, that’s it. Take your nosy friend and get out of here. Now.”
Lupe stomped one foot. “No. We’re not leaving until he tells us what he knows.” From there, the two of them lit into each other. Faces contorted with anger, their heated exchange fluctuated between English and Spanish and behind me, cowering in his dark hideaway, Javier’s cries of distress grew louder.
How dumb was this? The idea of having driven almost 300 miles for nothing snapped my patience. I pushed the closet door shut. “Lupe, be quiet! And you,” I said, locking eyes with Sister Goldenrod, “put a sock in it!” My dad’s favorite expression produced the desired result. Gawking at me, her mouth opened and closed silently like a dying bass. “This is getting us nowhere, and obviously neither of you can handle this situation with anything remotely approaching objectivity,” I continued, keeping my tone cool and rational, “so I’m going to give it a shot now.”
I turned to Lupe. “You are going to act as my interpreter, and you,” I said to my goggle-eyed tormentor, “are going to get off my back and leave us alone for a few minutes. Please.”
An avalanche of emotions tumbled across her broad face and for several seconds, I thought she was going to object. But, she surprised me by leaving the room without another word. Good. Maybe we could make some progress. I turned around, not really sure what I was going to do. When I eased the door open, my heart constricted with pity at the sight of the little boy jammed into the furthest corner sucking his thumb.
Acting on instinct, I sat down cross-legged so as to appear less imposing. “Tell him you’re sorry you yelled at him,” I instructed Lupe, inviting her to join me on the floor, “and that we are here to try and help him.”
Appearing chastened, Lupe began to speak to him softly and his gaze darted back and forth as he studied our faces. I maintained a friendly grin and felt elated when he finally pulled his thumb out and smiled, murmuring, “Que bonito pelo rojo tienes.”
“What did he say?” I whispered.
“He thinks your red hair is pretty.”
I beamed him a huge smile. “Gracias. Okay, now ask him if he can remember what happened to the other people who came here with him.”
I could see the spark of fear reappear in his eyes the moment Lupe introduced the topic and I cautioned her to maintain a calm tone. When he finally answered, he kept repeating the word pesadilla again and again. “What is he saying?” I asked. “What is pesadilla?”
A look of confused frustration dominated Lupe’s face. “It means nightmare. He says he is afraid to sleep because he dreams of the monster bugs with the big scary eyes. He’s frightened that they will find him and cut him with their sharp claws. He says he was hiding inside the toolbox in the van so they did not know he was there.”
“Anything else?”
She spoke to him again and then turned to me. “He’s saying something about his mother not being afraid to come to the crossing place, but that he was because he was very scared to see the horse.”
“He’s afraid of horses?”
She questioned him again and sat back shaking her head. “He says he’s not afraid of all horses, just the black one.” We shrugged puzzlement at each other and she added, “I know. It makes no sense to me either.”
I frowned at her. “So, is he dreaming this stuff, or did it really happen?”
She spoke to him again and his eyes misted as he whispered his response with trembling lips. Lupe’s hand flew to her mouth and she choked out, “Oh, no. This cannot be true.”
A sharp pang of apprehension stabbed my heart. “Why? What did he say?”
“That if my brother and uncle were in that van, they were also stolen away by the sky people and that they are most surely dead by now.”
7
Lupe’s face turned the color of wet cement as we traded a look of horrified disbelief. Monster bugs with sharp claws? Even as I tried to keep my mind open to all reasonable possibilities, the logical part totally rejected the idea of extraterrestrial visitors. It was easier to believe that his interpretation of events was a product of his delusional state of mind, resulting from exposure and dehydration, rather than embrace such a creepy fantasy. There were well-documented cases of people found wandering in the desert suffering from hallucinations. Could something else he’d seen before induce such a fable? Did people have TV in these isolated areas of Mexico and Central America? Video games? Probably. In travel magazines I’d seen photos of satellite dishes in the most remote corners of the earth.
“Ask him about these colored lights,” I urged Lupe. “Isn’t it possible that he’s talking about the moon? You saw how bright it was last night. Could he have seen a reflection of something?”
She spoke to him again and his response deepened her frown. “He does not think so. He remembers his mother telling him that if they crossed during the dark of the moon there was less chance of being caught by la migra.”
He was right. Two weeks ago there wouldn’t have been any moonlight. Then what had he seen? “Can he describe these lights?"
She questioned him again, then sat back on her heels with a sigh. “He says he looked up in the sky and saw a flying disc with lights that sparkled like a rainbow. There was also a blue beam that shined down on him so bright it blinded him like the sun.”
Little shivers traced the back of my neck. This was just too, too weird. How could he possibly be making this up? “Okay, ask him if he can describe these bug-eyed creatures.”
Javier sobbed out his answer and pressed his eyes shut. “He doesn’t want to talk anymore about the bad night,” Lupe said in a disconsolate tone. “He wants to eat his dinner now.”
“Let’s leave him alone for awhile,” I said, rising to my feet, feeling more perturbed than ever. “Maybe we can get more information from him later.” I picked up the tray from the dresser and set it on the floor next to him. He didn’t waste any time diving into the food and my own stomach was growling with nervous hunger when I eased the closet door shut behind us.
Out in the hallway again, I could tell by Lupe’s silence that she was deeply disturbed. Javier’s story was totally unbelievable, but if even a fragment of it had some merit, it was obvious he’d experienced something frightening. But I could not even begin to fathom what it might have been.
I glanced over at Lupe. Her hangdog expression prompted me to stop and place a hand on her arm. “Listen to me,” I said, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Before you get yourself worked into a lather, remember there is no proof whatsoever that your relatives were in that particular van.”
A tiny ray of hope flickered in her eyes. “I guess that’s possible.”
“Of course it’s possible. We don’t know how many people crossed the border that night, or where they went after they got here. When you contracted with this…person you paid, where was he planning to take them?”
“To Tucson. They were supposed to call me when they arrived and I was going to drive down to get them. Gilberto has friends working in Phoenix who said they would get him a job rig
ht away.”
I nibbled my lip for a second. “Could they have been apprehended and returned to Mexico?”
“Maybe, but why would I have not heard from them for so long?”
I shrugged. “What if they’re stuck in the system? Maybe they’re being detained somewhere like a stash house, or drop house, whatever they call them, or perhaps they’re just hiding out someplace. What about the coyote? Can you contact him again?” The look of anticipation brightening her features had me praying I wasn’t planting false hope.
“I’ll ask Sister Goldenrod if she can help us find him.”
“Good. Now, I wonder if she’s got a telephone I can use.”
The heavenly aroma of baking cornbread had my mouth watering as we entered a kitchen so huge it boasted three refrigerators, two stoves and six tables with benches. The layout of the room reminded me of a private Amish home I’d visited with my family years ago on a trip to Illinois. The stern-faced woman and her three white-capped daughters had served up a scrumptious six-course meal that I’d never forgotten¾especially the peanut butter pie. I rested my hands on my hips, taking it all in. So, this was Sister Goldenrod’s soup kitchen for the needy and hungry. At that moment, I definitely qualified as one of the hungry.
A young Mexican girl with coal black hair braided to her waist stood at one of the stoves stirring two steaming cauldrons of something that smelled delectable. At the adjacent stove, Sister Goldenrod, wearing elbow-length oven mitts, bent down to pull pans of golden-brown bread from the oven.
“Can we do something to help?” Lupe asked her.
She glanced around, her expression sour. Apparently she was still ticked off at me for ordering her from Javier’s room. Well, too bad, she’d just have to get over it. After a hesitation, she jerked her head towards the refrigerators. “You can wash and chop vegetables.” She removed her apron and hung it on a nearby hook. “Celia will show you what needs to be done, I have other things to do right now.”
“Sister Goldenrod, would you mind if I use your telephone?” I asked, searching the room for one. “My cell phone isn’t working in this area.”
She dispensed a look of indifference. “As long as they’re local calls, I don’t care.”
Somehow, I needed to get into the good graces of this woman or I’d never gain her cooperation. “I have a phone card, so you won’t be charged for any long distance calls and,” I added, bestowing her a high-wattage smile, “I’ll be more than happy to make a donation to the mission in exchange for dinner.”
She considered my proposal and nodded. “The Guiding Light Mission gladly accepts all donations.”
A door to our right suddenly banged open and everyone’s attention focused on a stocky, balding man staggering into the room, straining under the weight of two large wooden crates. He deposited his cargo on the floor with a loud grunt and then straightened slowly, grimacing and massaging the small of his back. “Son-of-a-bitch!” he groused. “A guy could get a hernia lifting shit this heavy.”
Sister G edged him a look devoid of sympathy. “You sure took your sweet time getting back here. Make a few stops along the way, did we?”
His expression darkened and he opened his mouth to answer when his gaze fell on Lupe and me. Surprised admiration replaced his look of annoyance. “Well, howdy doody do,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “The clientele around here is definitely improving.” His mouth stretched into what I’m sure he thought was a beguiling yellow-toothed grin as he attempted to tug the soiled white tank top down over several inches of exposed and very hairy skin on his protruding belly. “Froggy McQueen at your service. And who might you two lovely ladies be?” Froggy puffed out his chest and smoothed his remaining hair, apparently perceiving himself to be a real attractive guy.
“They’re here on a private matter that does not concern you,” Sister Goldenrod said, moving towards him. “I’m hoping your trip to Tucson and Green Valley netted you more than two paltry crates of melons. Or did you drink up the remainder of the food money on your way back?”
His brown eyes smoldered. “Oh, ye of little faith. Yeah, there’s more stuff. So, I stopped for a few beers along the way, so what? And if we’re going to talk money, I think I’m the one….”
“Bring in the perishables and store the rest in the garage. Now!” she snapped, brushing past him out the door. He shrugged and allowed his appreciative gaze to linger on us a few seconds more before he followed her out, singing, “Froggy went a courtin’ and he did ride, uh- huh…”
I turned to Lupe and made a pretense of fanning myself. “What a total stud muffin. Hold me back.”
Maintaining a solemn expression, she replied, “Yeah, he’s really hot. Please don’t make me fight you for him.” Giggling like schoolgirls, we turned towards Celia, who frowned at us in confusion. The brief encounter appeared to have buoyed Lupe’s spirits temporarily anyway, and for that I was glad. I listened as Lupe translated the girl’s instructions, which were in Spanish, of course, and for the next hour and a half we earned our keep by chopping a ton of onions, celery, lettuce and tomatoes. Dinner consisted of albondigas soup, cornbread, salad, and refried bean burros. Simple fare, but it smelled delicious and would most likely be quite filling.
As if an unheard dinner bell had sounded, two scraggly-looking White guys probably in their fifties, along with several young Mexican men, filed in the kitchen door just as Lupe and I set our plates down at one of the tables. Maintaining deferential expressions, they accepted the handout in silence and nodded at us politely as they moved to the far end of the room. They ate with gusto and left quickly. But, as I took my last mouthful of buttery cornbread, it was obvious that the majority of the “guests” expected to eat this mountain of food had not yet arrived. Most likely, that would occur when darkness fell.
When we finished, Lupe said she was going back to see if she could coax more information from little Javier, so I decided it was a good time to make my phone calls. As I passed a small window outside the kitchen door, my eyes strayed to the horizon. In sharp contrast to the fiery brilliance of summer sunsets, this evening’s grayish-yellow twilight smudged with thin black clouds seemed rather insipid. At least the wind had died down.
A movement near the garage caught my attention. Ah, yes, the beguiling Froggy. He was busy unloading cardboard boxes from a camper shell mounted crookedly on a dilapidated orange pickup. I smiled to myself remembering my exchange with Lupe, but I was more than a little curious about his role here at the mission, not to mention the origin of his unique nickname. What did he do other than fetch food for the soup kitchen? More intriguing yet was the dubious relationship between him and Sister Goldenrod. She didn’t act like any minister I’d ever met and he didn’t treat her like one. There was no sign of her outside, but dim light streamed through the stained glass windows in the chapel. Was she preparing for Sunday morning services? Perhaps I’d attend.
I turned away and went hunting for a telephone. I was anxious to make contact with Tally. It seemed as if we’d been out of touch for days instead of hours. Had Ruth ever given him my message? Had he tried to reach me on my cell phone? I also needed to find a jack so I could hook up my notebook computer and go online to find the articles Walter had recommended that I read.
No sign of one in the kitchen or dining room, but I finally located a smudged white phone beside a pile of old magazines on the floor beside one moth-eaten chair in the living room. I punched in the myriad of numbers required and as I listened to the rings, my heart surged with hope that Tally would answer. But what if it was Ruth again? My body tensed at the thought. I’d love to tell the bitchy old lady off just once, but I counseled myself to stay cool.
“Hello?”
Faint relief softened the pangs of disappointment. It wasn’t Tally, but it wasn’t Ruth either. “Hi, Ronda, it’s Kendall, ” I said, settling myself on the hard tile floor, “is that good-looking brother of yours around?”
I swallowed my frustration, hating the phone tag game. “Wish I could convince him to invest in a cell phone.”
Her laugh sounded brittle. “That’ll be the day.”
“Well, what time do you expect him back?”
“I dunno. Ten, ten-thirty. You want him to call you?”
I hesitated. What if Sister G retired early? She might not take kindly to being awakened, especially if the call was for me. In addition, I wasn’t even sure where I’d be spending the night yet. “I guess not. Just tell him I called and my plans are still on track to be back there Monday evening.”
“Okay.”
Ronda, like Tally, did not waste words. But, at least I felt confident he’d get this message. I would like to have added ‘Tell him I love him and miss him like crazy’ but she and I weren’t that close, so I concluded with, “Thanks.”
Click.
With a sigh, I cradled the phone. Picturing the four of us living under the same roof was a hard pill to swallow. In my heart of hearts, how could I fault Tally’s love and loyalty for his own family? That was part of what made him so special. Was I a selfish bitch to want him for myself?
I shook off my darkening mood and went to retrieve my computer from the car. It was as quiet as a tomb outside minus the usual insect chorus of summer nights that I was accustomed to. The fresh country air had a brisk wintry feel to it that made me glad I’d brought along the jacket. I was actually looking forward to being cold after sweating my brains out these past months.
