Dark Moon Crossing

by Sylvia Nobel

  Slowly, I rose to my feet. Well, well, well. How very intriguing. Froggy was in possession of information concerning Sister G’s past that I would very much like to have. Would it confirm my suspicions about her legitimacy as a real minister?‌ What was the criteria for becoming a minister anyway?‌ Could anyone just start a church?‌ Did one have to file papers or graduate from a seminary with a degree in theology?‌ I’d have to check that out.

  I unlocked the car door, laid my computer on the passenger seat, retrieved my overnight bag and walked towards the first small dwelling. A rectangle of light appeared suddenly as Sister G opened the door and I caught a glimpse inside the tiny room packed wall to wall with mattresses and cots, all occupied by the grim-faced Mexican families who’d been in the kitchen earlier. No doubt the other two shacks were also filled to capacity.

  She sucked in a startled breath when the light fell on me. “What do you want?‌”

  “Just wondering what the sleeping arrangements were.”

  She shut the door quickly and moved past me. “Where’s Lupe?‌”

  “Conked out in Javier’s room.”

  “Well, I don’t really have any extra rooms. I have a lot of guests tonight.”

  “I can see that. Say, um, aren’t you worried about getting caught?‌”

  Her steps faltered. “Caught doing what?‌”

  Okay, I’d play the game. “Harboring undocumented immigrants.”

  “Look here, O’Dell,” she said coldly, “I have no knowledge of that and neither do you. I’m simply here doing the Lord’s work. I don’t need to see people’s papers to know whether or not they are human beings in need of help.”

  She had a point. If cornered, she could always claim ignorance. Well, no sense getting into another pissing match with her right now, it was getting late and I needed a place to crash. I fell into step beside her as she ambled towards the pink house. “Listen, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot today, but I am curious about something you said earlier.”

  “What’s that?‌”

  “When you thought I was an undercover agent with the Border Patrol, you said something about me coming back here to finish the job. What did you mean by that?‌”

  She exhaled a wheezy sigh. “We had a big fire here a while back and I think someone in their ranks is responsible. I’m just lucky the wind shifted when it did, or it would have burned everything to the ground. As it is, five buildings were a total loss.”

  “What makes you so sure it was someone with the Border Patrol?‌”

  “Because they’ve been on my case since we opened our doors. They’re pissed off at me, the ranchers are pissed off at me, the goddamn INS is pissed off at me just because we’ve been doing the humanitarian deed of putting up water stations to help save some lives.”

  “And how long have you been doing this type of humanitarian work?‌”

  She paused and turned around, looking annoyed. “Why do you want to know?‌”

  I shrugged. “Just curious, I guess. It’s my nature to ask questions.”

  An upward eye roll. “No kidding.” She reached for the kitchen door handle. “Look, this old place was falling to ruins when I took over, let’s see, almost two years ago. Besides a barrel of elbow grease, I put in a lot of my own savings to help restore some of the buildings. The sanctuary and this house are both over a hundred years old and need constant repair.”

  I followed her along the winding hallway until she stopped at a door and swung it open. “I have an extra bed in my room. You’re welcome to bunk there if you like,” she said pointing to a narrow cot crammed into the corner of the tiny, angular room.

  I wasn’t keen on the idea of sharing a room with her, but hey, what choice did I have other than sleeping on the floor in the airless little room with Lupe and Javier?‌ I set my overnight bag on the floor, switched on the lamp and then caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced up at the low eaves and it was all I could do to keep from screaming my lungs out at the sight of a huge, shiny black spider dangling in a web not two feet above my head. A mass of shivers engulfed me as I executed a backward leap that almost knocked Sister Goldenrod to the floor. “Jesus H. Christ!” I gasped, whirling around to make a mad dash for the doorway.

  “What’s the matter with you?‌” she screeched from behind.

  From a safe distance of ten feet, I raised a trembling finger. “The…there’s a humongous spider hanging over the bed. A black widow, I think.”

  She blinked slowly. “So?‌”

  Her look of bemused irritation said it all. People who do not have a spider phobia can never in a million years understand the raw terror these eight-legged creatures can generate. “I can’t sleep with that thing hanging there. You’re going to have to kill it.”

  She glared daggers at me. “I will do no such thing. Beulah has been living here almost as long as me.”

  “You named the spider?‌”

  “Listen up, O’Dell,” she said with a tired sigh, dropping onto her large four-poster bed. “Beulah stays. That’s the only spare bed I’ve got. Take it or leave it.”

  Well, it was her decision, her place and her spider, so I was out of there. Suddenly camping out in my car didn’t seem like such a terrible idea. “If you’ll hand me my bag, I’ll be going now.”

  8

  Now what?‌ I was contemplating the idea of spreading out my bedroll on the living room floor when halfway down the hall a door opened and Froggy McQueen stepped into my path. “I…ah, couldn’t help but overhear your dilemma, Miss O’Dell, and I think maybe I can be of service.” His smile appeared genuine, but he couldn’t disguise the crafty gleam in his eyes.

  I stared down at him, noticing for the first time the bushy tangle of gray hairs protruding from his nostrils. In fact, Froggy seemed to have an abundance of hair everywhere but on his head. Even his ears were fuzzy. I suppressed a shudder of repugnance and forced a polite smile. “And just exactly what did you have in mind?‌” He made a great show of reaching over to push the door open wide enough to reveal two twin beds. “Are you lonesome tonight?‌” he crooned in a terrible imitation of Elvis Presley, “are you lonesome tonight?‌ Are you sorry we drifted apart?‌”

  I’m sure my mouth was hanging open a mile. “Excuse me?‌”

  “In other words,” he said, grinning wickedly while executing a grand sweep of his hand. “I’d be more than happy to share my quarters with you.”

  I’ll bet you would, you disgusting little…horny toad. With extreme difficulty, I swallowed back a hundred caustic retorts and weighed my position carefully. If I alienated this guy it would make it much harder to extract information from him. “That’s very kind of you, but you see I’m having a really bad asthma attack,” I said, patting my chest and forcing a tiny cough, “so I’m going to have to sleep…” Where?‌ Think fast! “…out on the porch.”

  “It’s gonna be freezing outside,” he said, apparently hoping to dissuade me.

  I smiled sweetly. “I need the fresh air. You do understand, don’t you?‌”

  His smile sank out of sight, replaced by a look of complete bafflement. Before he could utter another word, I added, “But, thanks for your generous offer. Good night now.”

  Pervert. With shivers of revulsion skating down my spine, I pushed past him before I said something I’d regret. And that wouldn’t have taken much.

  “Okay, sweet thing,” he called after me in an oily tone I’m sure he meant to sound enticing. “But if you change your mind and want to get toasty warm, you know where to find Froggy.”

  I hated it when people referred to themselves in the third person. The image of spending the night under the same roof with this odious little man derailed my plans of sleeping in the living room, so I headed outdoors once more. Would this aggravating day never end?‌

  I got about ten steps from the door when it dawned on me that I’d best use the facilities now because there sure weren’t any outside that I knew of. I did a qui
ck turnabout, let myself quietly in the kitchen door, and started towards the bathroom I’d seen adjacent to Javier’s room when a slight sound from the direction of the living room halted my steps. Moving with stealth, I peeked around the doorway. Froggy stood in the dim lamplight dialing the phone. I pulled back out of sight, breathing shallowly. Who would he be calling at this late hour?‌

  “Hey, diddle diddle, it’s the cat with the fiddle,” he intoned, keeping his gravelly voice low. “Little boy blue do not blow your horn, but the sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn.”

  What the hell?‌ Struggling to make sense of what I’d just overheard, I nearly missed his abrupt cradling of the phone. Oh, crap! On tiptoe, I hotfooted it around the corner and ducked into the kitchen. Seconds later, I heard his door close. The after-effect of yet another adrenaline jolt left my whole body tingling. I sat down on one of the benches until the sensation subsided, thinking I’d had more than enough shocks for one day.

  So what had that been all about?‌ Froggy certainly had a thing for songs and now nursery rhymes. Innocent sounding as it may have been, the call was obviously some sort of a signal. But for whom?‌ There was no way to check because the phone he’d used was so ancient it didn’t have a redial button.

  To conceal the fact that I’d been eavesdropping again, I returned to the kitchen and banged the door as if I’d just come in. Making no attempt to muffle my steps, I made my way along the hallway once again. When I passed Froggy’s door, I heard the hinges squeak softly. The icy chill on the back of my neck told me he was watching, but I entered the bathroom without turning to verify it. I washed up quickly and was back outside in less than fifteen minutes.

  Walking towards my car looking skyward, I almost gasped aloud at the sheer magnificence unfolding. The driving wind had ruptured the thick cloud cover, allowing intermittent beams of moonlight to shine through the ragged openings like a flashing neon sign. Long shadows chasing across the rugged landscape created a rather hypnotic effect. I could have stood there in the exhilarating breeze watching the moon play Peek-a-boo with the silver-edged clouds all night, but fatigue won out.

  Now that it was my only choice, I must admit I didn’t relish the idea of spending the night in my car. I would have preferred to camp out in the open, but thoughts of Froggy roaming about, not to mention the legion of other strangers present, squelched that idea.

  It was no easy task to accordion my long frame into the sleeping bag on the back seat. After locking the doors, I rolled the windows open a few inches to stave off my claustrophobia, but in spite of the soothing wind whispering through the palo verde branches, sleep proved to be elusive. I shifted to my left side and adjusted the rolled up jacket pillowing my neck. Just think, if I hadn’t agreed to take part in this peculiar undertaking I’d be cuddling with Tally right now.

  Time passes at a sluggish pace when it seems as if you’re the only person awake on earth. But it does give one time to be introspective. Lying there staring up at the distant carpet of stars winking back at me like a million rhinestones, I began to look at them differently. I began to question my own beliefs. Sure, I’d read science fiction novels dealing with the possibility of life on other planets, I’d seen all the long-running TV shows and movies addressing the subject, but was I really ready to accept the fact that there might be alien forces kidnapping people here on earth?‌ No. But then, was it logical to believe that we human beings were the only intelligent life in the entire universe?‌ Was there really something to these alleged UFO sightings?‌ How else could one explain the similarities between Javier’s tale and that of the Mexican immigrant found months ago in Morita?‌ And, what about all those animal mutilations?‌ No doubt UFO enthusiasts would solemnly intone that it was the work of the extraterrestrials, just as Mazzie La Casse had, but it made more sense to assume that this was the work of someone very human in origin. And if so, what would be the purpose of such a heinous act?‌ A feeling of helplessness crept over me. What had possessed me to think that I could tackle something this ambiguous in two short days?‌ I tried to clear my head, but my mind flitted from one disturbing theory to another like hungry hummingbirds around a feeder.

  “Stop it,” I said out loud. If I were to get any sleep at all, this was definitely the wrong subject to explore alone in the dead of night. I turned my thoughts instead to Tally and the promise of fun that lay ahead for us in California. But gradually, the memory of our quarrel and his parting words to me eclipsed my happy fantasy. I was reluctant to admit that perhaps he was right, but I couldn’t help wondering if I’d made a huge mistake agreeing to take this on.

  Somewhere between reflections of self-recrimination and the immensity of the task that lay before me, I fell into a tortured sleep filled with disquieting dreams. The final one had me running for my life across the desert, pursued by monstrous winged creatures astride wild-eyed black horses. Consumed with panic, my heart slamming against my ribs, I could only move in slow motion. A vacant house appeared, but each shadowy room I tried to hide in was inhabited with spiders of all sizes, shapes and colors. I tried to escape, but the space creatures closed in, trapping me. When one enormous yellow spider began crawling up my arm, I awoke with a strangled shriek of terror and sat up, banging my head on the headliner of the car. “Owww!” I rubbed the injured spot and massaged the dull pain in my neck. The sensation of pure horror evoked by the dream lingered on for long minutes, clinging in my memory like some viscous fog.

  “Get real,” I warned myself, holding my wrist aloft, squinting to see the time. Four-thirty-five. I groaned softly. Too early to get up, too late to get a decent night’s sleep. Which was just as well, as I had no intention of chancing a return of the nightmares.

  It was then I realized the swiftly-moving shadows outside my window were not caused by clouds, but by people. Dozens of them were running through the clearing, many more than had been in Sister G’s kitchen the night before. “Holy cow.” I hunched lower and watched with amazement as the dark stream of humanity drifted past me. Even the smallest child made not one sound. Shifting my weight so I could see out the back window, I saw a glint of moonlight reflecting off glass, illuminating the outline of four vans parked at the mouth of the driveway. Official transportation, I presumed. How was it I’d not heard them?‌

  Witnessing the clandestine event, one that was probably occurring a hundred-fold all along the U.S./ Mexican border at this very instant, gave me an odd thrill. How many gringos, outside of authorized government officials and the smugglers themselves, ever got a chance to observe something like this?‌ Not many, I wagered, observing one tall figure in a low-slung western hat motioning people into one of the vehicles.

  I glanced back towards the shacks and saw the silhouette of another lone figure disappearing into the darkness. Sister G watching her flock being herded to safety?‌ Was it really her sole mission in life to assist these unfortunate souls, or was she entangled in the actual trafficking process?‌ Is that what Froggy meant when he’d accused her of having additional sources of income?‌ I thought about the cryptic nursery rhyme—Little boy blue don’t blow your horn, and decided it made more sense to concentrate on his activities. Since he believed that I was outside on the porch, had he warned the van drivers to cut their engines and coast silently into the driveway?‌ And, the sheep’s in the meadow and cow reference was obviously code announcing that the illegals were now on church property waiting for transportation.

  The faint growl of an engine seemed to validate my theory. One of the vans rolled away. Two minutes elapsed before the second one left and several more before the third headed east towards the Sasabe road. The entire operation had been carried out with military precision in less than twenty minutes.

  Trying to focus in the poor light made my eyes blurry, so I held them closed for a few seconds and then looked out again at the fourth van. Something was different. The driver had not started the engine and it sat there for another five minutes before the headlights blinke
d three times. Away in the distance to the southwest, I saw three answering flashes. How odd.

  The minutes dragged by until the muffled purr of the engine alerted me. The van eased out to the road and headed south towards the border. Huh?‌ Was the driver directionally challenged?‌ Less than thirty seconds later the headlights of an oncoming vehicle appeared from the direction the other three had gone. My God, it was the Border Patrol! Had agents already apprehended the other three vans?‌ Would this one chase down number four?‌ But the SUV did not appear to be in pursuit. It cruised by the driveway slowly and I watched until it disappeared from sight. No siren blared, no emergency lights blazed. I continued my vigil for another ten minutes, but nothing else happened. I could make no sense of what I’d just seen.

  Edgy, crabby, and suffering from pangs of guilt, I stuffed the jacket under my neck and curled up on the seat again, trying to get comfortable. I, Kendall Shannon O’Dell, a law-abiding United States citizen, had witnessed the entire illegal operation go down and had done nothing to stop it. But what if the smugglers were armed?‌ What could I have actually done?‌ And when the Border Patrol arrived, shouldn’t I have alerted them to the situation?‌ Why hadn’t I?‌

  As I pondered the plight of little Javier, of Lupe, of the despondent faces of the people in Sister G’s kitchen last night, an odd sensation of remorse engulfed me. These desperate souls, including this most recent group of young men and families, were, at great risk to themselves, breaking our immigration laws in order to flee lives of poverty, despair and corruption. They were willing to sacrifice everything familiar in order to seek a better life for themselves and their children. For the first time I actually thought about the dark-haired men and women who toiled in our fields, bussed our tables, bagged our groceries, washed our cars, mowed our lawns, cleaned our toilets—and were happy to do so. Somehow, thinking of these things lessened the guilt enough so that I drifted in and out of broken sleep until the first signs of daybreak appeared.