“It could be worse. That’s what we all say in here. It’s true, you know.”
Sandy sighed. Then, changing the subject, “My dad tells me that Gustaf Larsson has grown quite fond of Emiliano. Apparently, he’s a big help to him around the ranch. I know your father was going to pick him up this morning and …”
I raised my hand to my mouth and glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room, leaned, and whispered, “It’s very important that no one know where he is or where he is going. No one should know that he is still here in the United States.”
“The people who attacked you in Big Bend?”
“Yes. They could still be after the phone.”
“Do you know for sure?”
“Not for sure. But these are not the kind of people who give up easily.”
“But are you safe here?”
“Yes. I am. If they found out I was here, they would know that I don’t have the phone with me. Everything I had was taken from me when I was admitted. It’s Emiliano I’m worried about. Not just from the people who want the phone but … if he gets caught by ICE and deported. He’ll be killed if he is sent back to Mexico. I wish I could talk to him … before he leaves with Father.”
“Why don’t you call him? I’d let you use my cell, but they confiscated it when I came in. Can’t you call him from the public phones they have here?”
I sighed. “The women here all swear that phone calls are monitored. ICE listens in to find out where undocumented relatives live. I don’t want to take a chance. I can’t sleep, thinking about Emiliano getting caught. How he’s going to make it across the Border Patrol checkpoints.”
“He’ll figure something out. Did you have a message for him? I could call him as soon as I leave here.”
I thought for a moment. What could I tell Emiliano that would not worry him? “No … I think it will be all right.”
“Tell me.” Sandy reached over and tapped my hand.
“Last night I was remembering something that Father said while he was here. I told him about how we were attacked in the desert and he got really nervous. He started talking about his wife and his father-in-law and how afraid they were to be harboring an illegal immigrant. I didn’t tell Father the reason we were attacked. I didn’t say anything about Hinojosa’s phone and I’m glad I didn’t, because that would have made his family even more hesitant to take in Emiliano. Anyway, I wanted to warn Emiliano not to tell Father that he is carrying Hinojosa’s phone.”
“Do you want me to call him and tell him?”
I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to protect Emiliano but I also didn’t want to influence his relationship with Father’s family. “No.” I finally decided that Emiliano had good instincts. He’d know whether to tell Father about the phone or not. He had to feel his way through that. How much could he trust Father? That was something he had to determine on his own.
“Your father is quite the go-getter,” Sandy said, smiling. “He tried to install an air-conditioner system in my dad’s law offices while we waited to hear about the bond. My dad tactfully declined, but your father gave him his business card and told him he’d come over and install it anytime.”
“That sounds like my father, all right.” I remembered the fancy business card he had shown me. “He likes being Bob Gropper.”
We laughed.
Sandy said, “I’m sorry … all of this is so hard.”
I stared out the window and shook my head. Then I said slowly: “What’s so hard is that it doesn’t make sense. The whole process of who gets asylum and who gets detained, who gets a bond and who gets released, who gets a visa and who gets deported. I mean, it’s not as rational as I imagined it would be.”
“I don’t think acting rationally is a top priority for the politicians running this country.” There was a touch of anger in Sandy’s voice for the first time. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, but also firm. “But you need to believe that somewhere along the line, people will do the right thing. My father will make sure that they do.”
I was grateful for her confidence just then. Her faith was stronger than mine. “Is it bad for me to doubt and to be afraid? For me, for my brother?”
“I think that it is very normal for someone who has gone through what you have gone through, both in Mexico and after you crossed over, to be afraid and to not trust.”
“Wrap it up, folks! Start saying your good-byes! Five minutes!” a guard shouted into the room.
“Hang in there, Sara.” Sandy leaned over, grabbed my shoulders, and shook me, as if to awaken me. “Keep the faith. And don’t be afraid to be angry. Anger can help you be the Sara I picked up on that dusty road, the one who believes in doing good no matter the cost.” We stood at the same time and faced each other. Sandy took a step toward the door and then turned toward me. “Remember when I offered to introduce you to my father and said that he could help you with your asylum petition?”
“Yes.”
“Remember when you asked me why I was helping you?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t answer you then. But the answer is because I don’t know if I have ever met anyone who believes in doing good regardless of the personal cost as much as you do. That’s who you are. I know it is easy to forget who you are in a place like this. But I’ll be here to remind you. Don’t lose your faith in this country. We want people like you here.”
“Yes. Yes. I will keep the faith.”
I heard a clanking. It was the doors of the trailer opening. How many seconds did I have before I was found? How many hours or days before I was sent to Mexico? How long after that before I was found by Hinojosa’s men? How long did I have left to live? The seconds after the doors opened were happening so very slow. They were crawling up the Sierra Madre mountains, it seemed. I tried to swallow but there was no saliva. Then there was Gustaf’s voice.
“You’re one of Antonio Lopez’s boys, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Raúl Lopez.”
“I thought I recognized you from your high school days. You played football with my son. Jimmy Larsson.”
“Sure, Jimmy L.”
“You were the best defensive end the Eagles ever had.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Careful. Don’t stand right in back of him. He’s ornery. I better take him out if you want to go in and look.”
“No, that’s all right. You go on ahead. Have a good day, Mr. Larsson. Sorry for the stop. We have orders to stop everyone today.”
Then there was movement again. Was that it? I imagined the Border Patrol officer remembering Jimmy Larsson, waving Gustaf on. I made it! I escaped detection. I laughed to myself. Three weeks before, you could not have dragged me into the United States and now here I was, rejoicing to have made it in. We traveled on for another twenty minutes and then another stop. I heard the back ramp open and Gustaf’s voice: “You can come out.”
I rose out of the hay and placed my hand on the horse’s forehead.
“Gracias.”
I lingered a moment in that touch and then moved away.