“And you still want to live there?”
She continues reading her notes. “If we get caught, and we plead asylum, we’ll be sent to a detention center while we wait for a hearing in front of an immigration judge. That can take months and even years.”
“What are the detention centers like?”
“Well, they’re kind of crowded and not all that pleasant from what I can tell, but some people get released if they have someone in the U.S. who can vouch for them. People even get work permits while they wait for their hearing.” She puts the notebook down. “That’s how Papá will get a chance to make himself useful: He can vouch for us.”
“You get released if someone can vouch for you?” Emiliano asks skeptically.
“Sometimes a bond is required. And not everyone gets released. It looks kind of arbitrary, who gets released, who gets deported, and who can stay, but the main thing is that it’s a chance. Even if we make it to Chicago, we can still apply for asylum later.”
Sara expects him to correct her and say that it would be her and not “we” who would be applying, but he doesn’t mention it. “So,” he says, thinking, “we need to ask Brother Patricio to take pictures of our house full of bullet holes, and maybe get some statements from the neighbors, and you need to get ahold of your threatening e-mails, and have all that with you so you can give it to the Border Patrol if we’re caught.”
“I was thinking that I would leave all that with Brother Patricio. They’ll let us make a phone call if we’re caught, won’t they?”
“Put everything on a flash drive and bring it with you, and leave a copy with Brother Patricio. I wouldn’t count on the Americans letting you make any calls. Now let me go back to my list.”
“What about my friend at the FBI? I could call him if we get caught. He would help us with an asylum request and testify on our behalf. He knows who’s after us.”
“Listen,” Emiliano says, looking straight into her eyes. “The key to survival is to assume the worst and prepare for it. We’re going to a place where we’re not wanted. Not only are we not wanted, we are hated by many. Get that through your head.”
Then he lowers his head and continues working on his list.
By the time Brother Patricio shows up, Sara has transferred all the threatening e-mails from her account as well as all her articles about the Desaparecidas onto a flash drive. Emiliano perks up when Brother Patricio arrives. They close the door to the back room, and after Sara and Emiliano recount again the details of the threat and the events of the previous night, the three of them look at the map of Big Bend National Park that Brother Patricio brought. He’s marked the proposed route in red.
“The best place to cross is here,” Brother Patricio says, pointing to a red dot in the Rio Grande.
“Boquillas,” Emiliano says, peering at the map. “How do we get there?”
“Getting there might be even harder than crossing through the park,” the brother says. “There’s no direct road from Juárez. We need to go south to Chihuahua and then take the highway north.”
“We?” Emiliano beats Sara to the question.
“I’m going to drive you,” Brother Patricio says firmly. “Tomorrow morning if that’s okay. I already got Mr. Salas to take my classes.”
“But …”
“I’m afraid that’s not up for discussion. Your mother can travel with us to Chihuahua and take a bus to León from there. You get to spend a few more hours with her and we bypass the bus terminal in Juárez, which may be under observation by the very same people who are keen on exterminating you.”
“Thank you,” Sara says. Emiliano silently bites his lip. Sara remembers that even as a child, Emiliano bit his lip when someone did something nice for him. It’s as if he doesn’t hold himself worthy of the kindness offered to him.
Brother Patricio carefully folds the map of Mexico. “Now, let’s talk about the route.”
The route that Brother Patricio has marked will take them from Boquillas to a dirt road on the eastern boundary of the park. The road ends about ten miles from the north entrance to the park. That’s where the hardest part of the trip will begin. They need to head east past the boundary of the park, on open desert and mountainous terrain, to a place beyond the last Border Patrol checkpoint.
“So,” Brother Patricio says, a worried look on his face, “you’re looking at maybe forty miles of hiking within the park and another forty to get to Sanderson, Texas. I recommend going all the way to Sanderson and having your father meet you there. You can stay at the Catholic church there until he arrives. I already talked to one of the deacons. Going all the way to Sanderson instead of getting picked up somewhere close to the Border Patrol checkpoint will mean another half day of walking, but it’s better than trying to coordinate a meeting point and a precise meeting time with your father.”
Emiliano studies the map with unconcerned concentration. “What’s here?” He points to the place where Brother Patricio’s red line ends.
“That’s the place that I’ve confirmed is beyond the Border Patrol checkpoint. Sanderson is only twenty miles east of that.” Brother Patricio takes something that looks like an old-fashioned cell phone out of the backpack he carried in.
“I can’t take that,” Emiliano says instantly. “The Jiparis need that. You know how much we had to save to buy it.”
“What is it?” Sara asks.
“It’s a handheld GPS device. And yes, of course you are taking it. If you wish, you can mail it to me from Chicago.”
Sara turns to look at Emiliano. He has not told Brother Patricio that he’s coming back? Why? It gives her hope that maybe he has changed his mind—until Emiliano dashes it with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Emiliano and Brother Patricio go over every minute detail of the equipment and the route over and over again. They are engineers carefully constructing a delicate, complicated bridge, accounting for every nut and bolt. Sara has never seen Emiliano like this, protractor and compass in hand, calculating distances and directions.
At three p.m. she excuses herself, goes to one of the terminals, and writes an e-mail to Ernesto on a newly created e-mail account. In the subject line she writes: Grateful.
It’s me. Are you there?
She hits SEND and waits.
I’m here. Are you safe?
Yes. Thanks to you. That was a close call yesterday. I still can’t believe Juana would give them my address.
That was a surprise even for a cynic like me.
Ernesto, what should I do about the phone?
Hold on to it for a while. I’m being watched. You won’t believe how many people are looking for you. For me too, but mostly for you. What are your plans?
I’m going to the U.S. with my brother, Emiliano. The undocumented way, as they say.
Oh. That’s good. That’s very good, actually.
Why?
The Jaqueros have connections in the U.S. who can help with the phone. They’re even better than us. I know, hard to believe, huh? They have more resources than us, anyway, and it will be easy for them to get inside the phone.
Sara has to wait for a few minutes for the next message.