Efren Divided

by Ernesto Cisneros

  Three hours? It sounded like something Mía would do.

  Lalo sniffed and exhaled deeply. “Yeah . . . three wonderful hours with her against my chest. Stuff like that has a way of changing people.”

  Lalo wiped the bridge of his nose.

  Efrén wiped his eyes.

  “The worst part is how the only memories she has of me now are behind the iron beams of the Muro. Lord knows I haven’t lived a perfect life, but I ain’t no criminal. Unfortunately, that’s not how she sees me. To her, I’m nothing more than an embarrassment. Just some tatted up vato that sends her money and writes letters that she occasionally answers.”

  “She can write at her age?”

  Lalo laughed heartily. “My baby girl isn’t a baby anymore. That photo you saw is old. She’s a teenager . . . with her own life to live. In the States, where she belongs.”

  Just like that, Lalo slipped a new CD into the stereo and cranked up the volume so loud that he cringed. “Check this out. It’s my jam,” he said, dropping the volume just a pinch.

  Efrén had no idea who the rapper was, but he bobbed his head up and down as Lalo sang out loud. Efrén mumbled along as best he could, occasionally skipping over words he wasn’t yet allowed to say.

  Looking out the window was a glimpse of an entirely new world. Yes, the place was simple and poor looking, but it was also kind of beautiful. There were no ridiculous mansions hogging the ocean view or fancy hotels catering to the rich. Instead, there were tiny stands advertising fresh coconuts and shrimp cocktails.

  “You know, Lalo, this place is kind of nice.”

  “It can be.”

  Lalo parked alongside a white curb that extended below a white lighthouse tower.

  Efrén examined the miniature palm trees and uneven paths ahead. He couldn’t decide if the place looked more like a skate park or miniature golf course.

  “This is it. The Muro. Come on.”

  Efrén followed Lalo up the ramp, where families of every size lined the rusted iron beams, many in folding beach chairs. “What are they doing?”

  “Visiting with families.” Lalo pointed to the other side of the fence. “See, people from the US line up, and when their turn comes up, they get to hold hands with the family they’re separated from. It’s how I got to watch my daughter grow up.”

  Lalo placed his hand on Efrén’s shoulder and paused like he had something to say. Only he didn’t speak a word, just started walking toward the empty beach.

  Efrén’s eyes searched the many faces along the fence. They came in all sorts. From babies to elderly folk with walkers—all different, beautiful shades of brown. Efrén began walking alongside the iron barrier. There were as many smiles as there were tears. A woman leaned into the space between the beams. She poked her arm through. She was about the same height as Amá, with a similar pinto bean shade of skin.

  Efrén walked closer, curious about what she was doing. The answer hit him. Immediately, his eyes stung as if they’d been rubbed with a ripe jalapeño. Less than ten feet away was a mother and daughter—her Sea World hat still on—resting their foreheads against the other, each with their eyes closed, tears flowing.

  He patted his shirt. Feeling the satchel underneath his shirt helped calm and reassure him. He looked over at the rest of the families camping around the sidewalk, waiting for their turn to hold hands too.

  Efrén walked up to the iron fence and held up his palm against it. How was it possible that he was allowed to cross to either side? His place of birth didn’t change anything about him. It didn’t make him better than anyone else. It just made him . . . lucky.

  Plain. Simple. Dumb luck.

  Efrén came up behind Lalo and took a seat next to him, beside the invisible line where the ocean waves broke before retreating.

  “Hey, you all right?” Lalo asked.

  Efrén took a moment before answering. “I don’t get it.”

  “What don’t cha get?”

  “Why people don’t just hire a coyote and come over anyway. Like Amá’s going to.” His face lit up. “I know . . . you could tag along. You and Amá could cross together.”

  “Hold up,” Lalo said, turning to face him. “It’s not that simple. You can’t just walk across.”

  “I know. That’s why we got the money. My dad took on some extra night work to get it. But it’s here with me. See?” Efrén reached under his shirt for the satchel and pulled out the wad of money he had. “Amá found a coyote who promised to get her across. Right at the hotel she found on the Avenida Revolución. All I need to do is deliver this to her. Then we can go back to the way things were. We can be a family again.”

  Lalo went silent.

  “What’s wrong? Is it not enough?”

  “First, do us both a favor and put that money away.” Lalo surveyed the beach to make sure no one was watching. “Look, man, as much as I’d like to, I’m not gonna lie to you. Getting across isn’t as easy as you think. Using a coyote to cross along the customs line is pricey, but crossing over by the desert . . .”—he shook his head—“I wouldn’t try it. Not again. And the local polleros are too risky. Some of them promise to get you across, but instead, they just take your money and dump you into the desert to fend for yourself.”

  “But they’re not all bad, right?”

  “Look, I know a few guys who work this area. I can’t make you any promises, but I can call and see if they might be able to help you guys out.”

  “What about you? Don’t you want to see your daughter?”

  “Of course I do. More than anything else. But without a license or Social Security number, there isn’t much I can do to make a living there. Besides, I’ve got a record . . . so if I get caught again, I’ll definitely do some serious time behind bars.” He rubbed his chin as he continued. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll make do. Sadly, it’s what our people are best at—making do.”

  Efrén took a moment to let the words sink in. Then he looked at Lalo and tried reading the letters just below his knuckles, only the tattoo was too faded to read.

  “Did you do something bad?”

  “Nah, man. Well, nothing too serious.” He stared out blankly at the sea as if entranced by the motion of the waves. “Simply put, I hung around the wrong type of friends . . . didn’t think for myself.”

  Lalo gave Efrén a look. “Little man, do yourself a favor: surround yourself with good people. People who will bring out the good in you. Not the bad.”

  Efrén thought about David—about how lucky he was to have a friend like him. Scratch that. Had him as a friend. But it wasn’t like he could just quit the election. Jennifer had been right. Él era una semilla, and he needed to push through the dirt and reach for the sunlight.

  “I think you’re a great guy. You shouldn’t give up.”

  “Give up?” Lalo laughed. “Trust me. If there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s give up. Here’s the thing. All I want out of life is for my Abby to grow up happy, with a good job—maybe a family. That’s it. Everything else is gravy.” Lalo scratched at the tip of his nose. “I just want what every parent wants for their children: a better life.”

  Efrén’s forehead wrinkled. “A better life? Without you?”

  Lalo nodded ever so slightly. “A better life . . . for her.”

  Fourteen

  Efrén stared out of Lalo’s car window noticing how everyone here was busy with work—even the kids. He craned his neck to follow a group of boys loading plastic crates into a tiny shop. In the US, these same kids would be busy skateboarding around town, or maybe burning off steam on the grass field of the neighborhood school.

  It’s what our people do—we make do. Lalo’s words stuck around like the musky odor in the car.

  “Here we are,” Lalo said, parking the taxi outside a wax museum.

  Efrén leaned over, catching sight of the giant Arco staring down at him. A nervous excitement now filled him.

  “Come on,” said Lalo, “your mom must be worrie
d mad about you.” He pointed ahead. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch up.”

  Efrén bolted out of the car, anxiously scanning the area around him. And when that didn’t work, he turned to Lalo who calmly jutted his chin at a rompope-colored Taco Loco restaurant. “Over there.”

  Without a blink, Efrén broke off into a sprint and didn’t stop until he stood below the Club Super sign. Of course. This made perfect sense to him. Where else would Amá go? She was Soperwoman.

  Amused and equally excited, Efrén rushed inside the restaurant where a lady behind a mosaic counter flattened out rolls of masa into perfectly shaped tortillas, like Amá used to do back home.

  “Hola, buenos dias. ¿Algo de tomar?” the lady offered with a warm smile.

  “No, gracias,” Efrén answered, searching the Coca-Cola themed tables for Amá. “Estoy buscando a alguien.”

  “Wait . . . are you Efrén?” she asked.

  Efrén crinkled his forehead. “Yes. But how—?”

  “Your mother told me all about you.” Her accent was thick, but her English was easy enough to follow. “She went down to the Arco to look for you. Made me promise I’d let you know if you came by.”

  He scampered down the street as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran directly under the huge landmark, huffing and puffing.

  “Efrén!”

  Efrén turned, catching sight of Amá, who was already running in his direction.

  “Amá!”

  Before he could say another word, Amá wrapped her arms around him and lifted him off the ground like she used to when he was younger.

  Efrén closed his eyes and laughed as Amá began kissing every spot on his face.

  Amá held on for one last squeeze before letting go of Efrén. Her glance shifted over to Lalo who now stood by, hands in pocket, smiling.

  Efrén pointed at him. “Amá, this is my friend, Lalo. He helped me get here.”

  She sandwiched Lalo’s hand between hers. “Thank you. I was so worried that something had happened to him.”

  “Not this kid. He’s got real smarts about him.”

  Amá smiled and pointed toward the restaurant. “Would you like to join us?”

  Efrén nodded at Lalo, who agreed. Amá and Efrén sat together on the same side of the table. “Guadalupe,” she called. “¿Podrías tomar nuestra orden, por favor?”

  The lady put down the masa and wiped her hands on her apron before coming over with a bowl of chips and salsa.

  Lalo dug into the salsa with the warm tortilla chips, raving about the entire menu. He swore Amá had found one of the best places in all of TJ. Then he asked her where she was staying and how she liked the city.

  Amá looked even more tired than usual, but continued to smile, even as she went over the details of her deportation. By the time Guadalupe brought in the tray of tacos covered in green sauce alongside grilled nopales and green onions, the topic had changed to coyotes and the dangers of trying to cross the border.

  “I got ditched twice myself,” Lalo said, squeezing lime on each of his tacos. “Then I dropped four G’s on some fake papers but ended up getting arrested and sent back. Things are different now. Even if my daughter’s old enough to petition on my behalf, they’ll never give me permission. Not with my record.”

  He just stared at his food as if embarrassed to look Amá in the eye.

  There was an awkward moment and all Efrén could do was swirl the straw in his Jarritos soda.

  “But there are others who can get me across the line, right?” Amá asked, her words almost pleading.

  “Yes,” Lalo answered. “That kind of stuff’s done by organized groups. But it’s very expensive.”

  Efrén reached under his shirt and handled Amá all the money. “Speaking of . . . here you go. It’s almost thirteen hundred.”

  Lalo looked at Efrén, then back to Amá. “We’re talking ten to fifteen thousand. With no guarantee.”

  Amá’s eyes welled up, even as she held onto her smile. “So all we need now is nine to fourteen thousand more.”

  “Like I told Efrén, I know what it’s like being separated from family. Don’t worry, I’ll help you. I’ve made some interesting connections over the years. I can set something up for you, but this kind of money,”—he shook his head—“it won’t be through the customs line. Are you all right with that?

  Amá nodded nervously.

  “Okay. Let me see what I can set up for you.”

  “Yes, please,” Efrén chimed in.

  Lalo took one last massive bite and pulled out his phone before excusing himself.

  Amá scooted her chair closer to Efrén and cupped her hands over his. “Oh, mijo . . . Tell me. How are the gemelos? Is Max behaving?”

  Efrén smiled and nodded. “Si, Amá. Both are good. They ask about you, a lot.”

  She rested her palm over her heart. “And your Apá? I worry about him so much. He’s exactly like you.” She took her index finger and ran it down Efrén’s nose. “Bien guapos, los dos.”

  Efrén blushed. “He’s doing fine.” As much as he wanted to, he didn’t mention anything about Apá’s having taken on extra work or his having hurt his hand, or even the fact that he hadn’t slept much since she’d been taken away.

  She stared long and hard at Efrén in the same Amá way she did whenever he brought home a perfect report card or lopsided paperweight that she had no use for—even though she didn’t own a desk. “¿Y tú, mijo? How are you doing?”

  Efrén shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

  “I know all this has been incredibly rough on you,” she said. “Having to watch over your brother and sister—especially your brother—is not easy. Trust me, I know. But like your Apá, you never complain. Somehow, you just do what needs to be done . . . whether it’s fair to you or not.”

  Efrén blinked faster and tried breathing through his nose—anything to keep himself from tearing up. But when Amá reached for his hands and pulled them toward her and kissed them, he couldn’t help it.

  Amá and Efrén laughed as they each wiped away their tears.

  “Look at us,” she said, “a pair of chillones.”

  Lalo returned to the table, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “It’s all set. Tomorrow morning. Four a.m.—sharp.”

  Amá gasped, sharing a nervous smile with Efrén.

  Efrén leaped out of the plastic chair and hugged Lalo, who uncomfortably hugged him back. “It will be through the hills though,” he said. “Is that okay?”

  “Hills? That will be easy.” She turned to Efrén and smiled. “Did I ever mention how I got into California in the first place?”

  Efrén shook his head.

  Amá chuckled to herself like she did whenever she told one of her stories about growing up in Mexico. “I came into the US on the back of a motorcycle in one-hundred-and-five-degree weather”—she gestured to her belly—“while seven months pregnant.”

  Efrén’s eyes just about popped out. “With me?”

  Amá’s smile shifted to the side of her face, just like Efrén’s did whenever he smiled. “Sí. En serio. I’m not kidding. The van that was supposed to bring me overheated. We were pretty much stuck in the middle of the desert with no food or water.”

  “No way,” Efrén said in total disbelief.

  “Sí, mijo. You were a real macetón. Had a head like a watermelon. But it worked out. One of the lookouts, a guy on a motorcycle, ended up having to give me a ride.” Amá laughed again. “Picture me on the back of a Harley-Davidson, sporting a huge barriga. It looked like I’d swallowed a beach ball.”

  Efrén shook his head. “I can’t believe Apá agreed to that.”

  “He didn’t know. But”—this time, Amá burst out laughing—“you should have seen his face when he saw me pull up to the drop-off spot. I know it sounds crazy, but what choice did I have?”

  Efrén looked over at Lalo. “Will my mom be safe?”

  “My friend promised he’d look after her. I trust him.”

 
; Amá held up her glass, her smile now a tad more comfortable. “To a safe return to America.”

  Both Lalo and Efrén reached for their sodas.

  “And to Lalo,” Amá added, “. . . our guardian angel.”

  Fifteen

  As promised, Lalo delivered Efrén safely to the San Ysidro Port of Entry, to the same spot where they first met. Efrén couldn’t understand why Amá was so emotional. After all, he’d be seeing her at home the next day. “Ay, Amá,” Efrén said, complaining as she once again kissed his entire face. “I gotta go. Apá must be worried. I should’ve been back hours ago.”

  Finally, Efrén pulled away. “Te veo mañana. Okay, Amá?”

  Amá wiped away her tears and nodded—but not before blessing him and delivering another round of kisses.

  Efrén turned to Lalo and extended his hand. But Lalo wasn’t having it. Lalo leaned forward and gave him a huge hug.

  “What is it with you two and hugs?” said Efrén.

  Everyone laughed, even Efrén.

  Wearing a sad smile, Lalo held out his tatted-up arm and waved. Efrén thought about how he’d almost passed him up because of the way he looked. If I hadn’t met Lalo and those men had caught up to me . . . Efrén couldn’t let his mind go there.

  He’d been lucky—very lucky—to have met someone like Lalo. How Efrén wished there was something he could do to help his new friend, to give him the second chance he so deserved. But for now, Efrén needed to get back to Apá, as well as Max and Mía, to help prepare for Amá’s return home.

  He waved good-bye to Lalo, sweeping his arm from side to side as widely as he could. Then he stepped into the concrete corridor leading back to the US. He looked up at the cameras glaring down at him and then at the guard carrying the largest military style rifle he’d ever seen.