Guatemala City, according to Uncle Enrico, is about 280 kilometers away. If we left very soon, we could make it before dark. The border between Honduras and Guatemala was poorly guarded and was a routine crossing. He had made the trip often for supplies and materials he used. It was mostly a main highway, and we would blend in with the other commercial traffic. We would travel all together at least that far. The railroads heading northeast would carry Luis, Carlos, and me from there.
Most highways heading up into Mexico were patrolled by the authorities, and many drug enforcement stops were along this route. Uncle Enrico would drive toward Mexico City. The four of them would appear to be just poor immigrants traveling north.
The money was easy to hide, but the drug’s scent would attract drug enforcement dogs if they were ever stopped. Uncle Enrico had me wrap the duffel bag several times in layers of trash bags. He worried that even the residue smell might alert dogs to the truck’s contents even after we had split up. He didn’t want the authorities to have any suspicions about them. A search of the truck might find the money instead.
Within the hour, we were bouncing down the rough roads of town. Luis, Carlos, and I huddled in the rear among our family’s only portable possessions.
I never even got to have one last look at the place I had called home for my entire life, but I kept quiet. I knew that everyone else was probably thinking the same thing, and it was all because of me.
I kept the duffel bag on my lap in order to keep the scent from mixing with the rest of our possessions. It would be about a six-hour drive. If we make it, it could be the first step toward a better life for all of us.
Staring at the wrapped duffel bag was a constant reminder of the attack. My only solace was the knowledge that, in the next few days, Barrio 18 would be no more. The hardest part would always be not knowing exactly what happened back home. We could never go back, and I would always wonder who survived. Friends, neighbors, and those who knew us might suffer terribly.
Uncle Enrico was a man of his word. If he told you something would happen, you could trust it to be true. Yet, the not ever knowing would always haunt me.
Each hour ticked by slowly. Each one meant our chances were better. We stopped for petrol once we were well into Guatemala. We might have been leaving the reach of the gang, but the danger of the cartel would always surround us. Uncle Enrico knew Guatemala City well. He had business contacts there. He felt the need to rent a different truck. He reasoned that every time we could cut a trace back to us, it was a good thing.
It was a warm evening, and he had gotten us enough food for a meal. Uncle had also bought some wrapped food for us on our journey.
While Momma and Aunt Sofia were laying out our meal near the rear of the truck, I noticed Uncle Enrico approach Luis. He quietly took him out of hearing range of his mother and aunts. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small object. I was near enough to hear his words. My uncle passed a small pocket compass to Luis. He stood squarely in front of him, proudly, his strong hand firmly grasping his son’s shoulder. I could clearly see tears welling up in his eyes.
“Norte, Norte, always Norte,” he quietly told him.
Uncle was speaking like he was not expecting to ever see his son or us again. I had to turn away. Tears flooded my face. Uncle Enrico was a man who rarely showed his emotions.
We sat in the dusty truck rental place, eating our food. We were all staring at each other as if we might not ever be together again. Momma broke down several times, sobbing. I could hardly eat either, but I knew we needed to do so when we had the chance. We transferred the load of the truck into the new one and sort of stood there not wanting to face the next thing.
My grandpapa used to tell me about a type of bird, I have forgotten its name. He said that if the bird’s nest or the young ones were threatened, the mother bird would feign injury and run across the ground as if crippled. She would flap her wings and drag herself to draw predators away from her young.
I loved and trusted my uncle. I knew that he wanted us all to succeed, but I couldn’t help feeling that he was putting Carlos, Luis, and my lives ahead of theirs. I believed in my heart that this was what he was really doing. Uncle Enrico was leading the danger away from us.
He had already told us the cartel’s strongest hold was on the western routes heading north. Our path would lead us away and eastward along the less obvious Gulf Coast. Their route would lead them right into the region that Sinaloa controlled the most. I walked up to Uncle Enrico and put my arms around his shoulders. I kissed his cheek and told him how much I loved him.
Uncle knew where the migrants usually hung out. The rail-yards were closely watched, and only if you contracted with and paid locals could you get in the line moving north. It would just be the first of many controlled illegal routes one had to pay to use. Luis, Carlos, and I split the drugs equally among us. We buried five packages in each of our backpacks and hid lower-denomination bills among our clothing. Uncle felt it would be more normal for us not to have larger bills. It might seem like a trail if we used hundreds all along the way.
I could hear Momma crying softly. I couldn’t bear to look at her. I had hoped to see and remember her smiling. Aunt Sofia eventually broke down in tears, too. Uncle Enrico drove us only a little bit before pulling to the side of the road.
We climbed out of the back of the truck and approached the cab. Momma’s head was buried in her hands. Her body was heaving as if her heart was being ripped from her. I climbed over my aunts to Momma. I hugged each one as I made my way back out. My brother and Luis did the same. Carlos and Luis promised to look out for me, and just like that, we watched them drive away.
Trucks were available for hire to haul people to the train yards, which were forty miles north of the city. Groups of twenty to thirty people were awaiting their turns. Small groups were assembling down at the other end of the street. As we approached, I noticed something. There were no families, no wives, and no children—only young men! I couldn’t pick out a single girl from among any of them.
This was a shock. Only young men seemed to be awaiting the trucks’ arrivals. A sick feeling was starting to wash over me. This was not what any of us had envisioned. I had assumed groups of families, all happy and cheery at the prospect of a new life, would be milling around. Instead, seedy bunches of young men stood around smoking, all trying to look tougher than the next group.
Luis acted quickly. He pushed Carlos and me into a darkened alley. He backed me up to a wall and started looking around. I had thoughtlessly sort of made-up for meeting new people, new friends. My perfume was noticeable, and my snug-fitting jeans showed the hips of a young girl. Luis reached into a pile of garbage and began rubbing my face with a rancid scrap of newspaper. Stains of “God only knows what” were impregnated into that paper. He pressed it into my face and began scrubbing. He dipped it into the stagnant water on the ground and continued smearing the filth across my cheeks and forehead.
Tears welled up in my eyes as the stench entered my nose. I began crying. I knew that what he was doing was necessary, but that didn’t make it any easier. Carlos was totally clueless and tried to stop Luis from this assault. With tears flowing down my cheeks, I pushed my brother away. I knew why Luis had to do this, and I was determined to bear this out. My face was being covered with the filth and grime from the dirty alley floor.
Luis tugged again and again at the stretchy material of my hoodie, trying to conceal my breasts. He then pulled the hood up, covering my head, and released the straps of my backpack. He lowered it, trying to cover my butt. It now hung loosely, deflecting attention from my hips. Luis cradled my face firmly. His nose was only inches from mine. He shook my head.
“Stop crying now!” he whispered firmly. “You stop it!”
I wiped my eyes and steeled myself. I blinked a couple times and inhaled the foul odor he had covered me with. I ended my emotional outburst instantly. I pushed my hair behind my ears and back into the hood. I lowered my head and shoulders, and I never looked up. I followed Carlos and Luis out of that alley, walking as “manly” as I could.
We crossed the street and picked the smallest group standing near the road. I never looked up or spoke. We just waited near the others. Luis and Carlos didn’t smoke, so there was no reason to address anyone else. Shortly, a couple of box trucks turned onto the street and headed towards us. They cut their headlights as they approached.
So began our journey.
Chapter 4
We had to wait nearly two hours for our turn. We handed over the toll and squeezed into the back of the truck with maybe thirty other guys. The truck shook and lurched forward. It took nearly an hour before we reached our destination. The rear door opened, and we were herded like cattle towards a fence that had been cut. No one spoke. You just followed the person in front of you. A worn dirt path led down into the rail yard. Groups of young men stood around waiting. We were clueless and just stood waiting, too. Bells rang, and occasionally a train horn blew. Luis picked up on the pattern, but sometimes too late.
I saw Luis slip the small compass from his pocket. He was figuring out which trains were pointing north. Uncle Enrico’s forethought had just given us an edge over most of the others there. Bells rang, and occasionally a train horn blew. Luis picked up on the movement, but sometimes too late.
We began drifting over to a line of boxcars. Luis had figured out the pattern and which trains were headed north. He got us near one of the middle cars and suddenly pushed me up the ladder. Up on top were others who had anticipated this train also. Soon the train’s whistle let out a blare, and it jolted the cars. Yes, Luis was right! We were indeed moving in a northerly direction.
Leave a Reply