Scratchgravel Road A Mystery

ELEVEN



“Well done, my friend. Well done!” Sergio hugged Josie and patted her back, laughing into her ear. Josie stood about six inches taller, but Sergio was powerfully built. He had the kind eyes and smile of an old-world gentleman, and a demeanor that put everyone around him at ease.

Marta had grown up with Sergio in Mexico and had been gently pushing away his advances for many years. Josie thought the two loved each other, or at least deeply cared for one another, and couldn’t understand why Marta accepted only his friendship.

The landscape was rocky, with mountainous desert sprawling south into Mexico. The hour-and-a-half-long drive back to Ojinaga took them along a canyon road high enough to avoid most of the flooding. One small detour took them around a tributary that flowed into the flooded Conchos River. Sergio said that at least twenty residents had drowned in the Conchos after they refused to evacuate their homes along the river. Sergio said the International Bridge wasn’t flooded, it was the street in Ojinaga that the bridge fed into that was currently underwater. He expected the water to recede within the next several hours, and for the bridge to reopen by daybreak.

Sergio spoke fluent English, occasionally mixing the two languages, but Josie had no trouble understanding him as he filled her in on the local feuds and battles that sounded identical to stories she heard about Presidio, the city across the border from Ojinaga and just to the south of Artemis. Mostly though, Sergio talked about Marta, and their childhood growing up together.

“As small children we lived in Barrio Montoyam, along the canyon. We spent our childhood in the river, scrabbling up and down the rocks and valleys. Thirteen kids between our two families. It was a good life. Then both our fathers took jobs in Ojinaga at the new maquiladora. That’s when Marta met Javier.” Sergio looked at Josie and smiled, shrugged, giving a look that said, What can you do?

“Was Javier always trouble?”

Sergio hesitated. “Marta was always spiritual, even as a child. She looked to the angels and the saints in place of her mother. I used to tell her, ‘Marta, your home is here. Make better use of your time here, instead of wishing away for something you can’t know.’ When we settled in Ojinaga we were both sixteen. I was in love with her, but too proud to risk the truth of her knowing. Then, she met the Lazoyas and I lost her to Javier. His father was a curandero, a spiritual healer. Very respected in the region. Javier has the gift as well, but he never grew comfortable with his sight.”

“Why is that?”

“He was afraid of the responsibility. He was a coward, and I told Marta. It just made her angry with me. She thought she could fix him. That’s always been Marta’s goal in life, fixing up people. She says that’s why she could never love me. Nothing to fix.”

Sergio glanced at Josie and smiled sadly. “Marta was too kind to give me the truth, but I knew. Her heart was with Javier.”

Josie sat quietly a moment, watching the waterlogged desert pass by them, thinking about Marta’s life growing up along the river. “Would Javier have been considered a priest?” Josie asked, not entirely certain she understood Sergio’s explanation.

Sergio laughed. “No, no. The curanderos learn their art from the Indian shamans of hundreds of years ago. A gift passed down, an understanding of the spirit world. Javier’s father was consulted when the brujas, or the witches, brought harm or mischief to families. He heals with herbs and potions. People still seek out his remedies, but he’s old and tired. Javier is a great disappointment to the family.”

“What kind of healing?”

Sergio lit a cigarillo as he drove and rolled his window down to the warm evening outside. “Curanderos say prayers to bring you luck in bingo, to help you find your lost husband, to get rid of warts and cancer and diarrhea. You think of it, they have a saint and a prayer to help you through the problem.”

As they approached the city the sun had fallen enough to cut the harsh glare from above, and the city’s edges were not so rough. It was 6 P.M. and Josie hoped there were enough daylight hours left to find Teresa and get her in a safe place for the night. However, the daylight also left Josie more exposed. As an American police officer in the country illegally, she was very cognizant of her situation.

Josie had only visited Ojinaga a few times, and was always struck by the angular shapes: the buildings were cubes with square windows and rectangular doorways stacked atop each other like kids’ building blocks. The stucco and arches she associated with Mexico were not found in these neighborhoods, but the brightly painted blues, reds, and oranges turned the streets into a kaleidoscope.

Sergio pointed out a small Catholic church with rooms to rent and said a room had been prepared with two twin beds. A tall stone wall encircled the church for protection. Josie thanked him for the arrangements and hoped she and Teresa were inside their room by sundown.

Javier’s house was in a tumbled row of flats with power lines draped precariously along the rooftops, dangling almost to street level in between. The street had a dusty, slapdash feel to it, but Josie noted how clean of debris the area was. Sergio pointed to a small brown apartment, no more than a box perched atop a bright blue building with a large advertisement painted in yellow and red across the storefront: AGUA CHILI!

“You’re sure this is Javier’s place?” she asked.

Sergio frowned. “No doubt. His father has begged him to move home, but what can you do?” He turned the engine off and removed the key. “I’ll walk up with you, make sure he doesn’t give you trouble. If Teresa is here you can get her, and I’ll take you to your room for the night.”

“And what if I can’t get her to come with us?” The question had troubled Josie since she first decided to cross the border.

“After spending the day here, she’ll be ready for her mama. That’s my prediction.”

Sergio opened a street door on the building. The door led up a dark, narrow set of stairs nailed together with no regard to conformity. A tape measure and plumb line had not been part of the building process.

“Watch your step,” Sergio called. The street door slammed behind them as they started up the stairs. He turned on a pocket flashlight to illuminate the stairwell. Cockroaches scurried from the light.

At the top of the stairs Sergio shone his flashlight on a narrow wooden door. The landing wasn’t large enough for Josie to stand on as well, so she remained behind him. He knocked, but after several minutes no one answered and neither heard any sound from inside.

“Teresa? It’s Sergio. Come answer the door.” He listened again, ear to the door. “I just want to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

A half a minute later the door opened three inches, as wide as the door chain would allow. Even in the dim light Josie could see Teresa’s smile at the recognition of her mother’s friend. The door closed and opened again, with Teresa stepping into Sergio’s warm embrace. She stepped back, suddenly noticing Josie. Her eyes were wide and she looked down the stairs as if for her mother, or a police force come to collect her.

“Chief Gray?”

“Your mom’s pretty worried. She sent me looking for you.”

She looked confused. “But they closed the bridge.”

Josie noticed her red eyes and could tell she had been crying.

Sergio gestured toward the apartment. “Can we come in?”

Teresa looked back into the dark space and nodded reluctantly. “He’s sleeping. But he won’t wake up.”

She flipped a light switch on the wall and the room was bathed in the light from a bulb hanging bare from the ceiling. There were no windows in the room. Javier lay in a drunken stupor, curled on his side, passed out on a frayed dark green couch. He snored quietly and one arm dangled to the floor. Teresa looked around, as if noticing there were no seats. A twin-size mattress lay on the floor opposite the couch, and a sink and toilet against the other wall. A small refrigerator was in one corner of the room while the opposite corner was a makeshift shrine filled with statues and trinkets and candles all arranged neatly on a small table covered with a lace cloth. Josie noted several candles were lit. It was an oddly personal touch in the dirty, forsaken space. She wondered how much Teresa understood of her father’s unused spiritual talents.

Sergio said, “I’ll wait outside while you two talk. I’ll call your mother.” He gave Teresa a stern look. “You’ve put her through torture. She’s very worried about you. And this woman risked her own life to come check on your safety.” He walked over to Teresa and placed her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. Her eyes softened, but her expression remained resolute.

Sergio shut the door quietly behind him as he left.

Teresa sat on the mattress and Josie sat down beside her, her legs bent at the knees and crossed in front of her. Teresa wore a pair of shorts and a bright yellow top covered with a man’s grease-stained plaid flannel shirt. She smelled of engine oil and cigarette smoke. She stretched her long brown legs before her and Josie noted she was at that awkward age, stuck somewhere between a woman and a girl, that made grown men uncomfortable. Her black, sleek hair hung down, partially covering her face. She wouldn’t make eye contact.

“How did you get here?” Teresa asked.

“I crossed the river on a footbridge. Your mother tried to come with me, but I wouldn’t allow it. The current is too fast. Sergio found a room for us at a church. We can stay the night there and hopefully cross the International Bridge in the morning.”

She nodded slightly, her eyes toward the floor. Josie was relieved there apparently would be no fight about leaving.

“I’m sorry I did this to you. I just wanted out of my life, away from my mom. I didn’t mean to drag anyone else into this.”

Josie paused, feeling like she had the bruised soul of a child in her hands, with no idea how to hold it.

“You know, you have a lot of people who care about you.”

Teresa let her head drop as if the topic had been discussed too many times. “Yes, I know. All of Artemis is looking out for my well-being. Everyone wants the best for poor little Teresa. You watch. I’ll have a tracking bracelet on my ankle by tomorrow so you can watch me easier.”

“Why do you want people tracking you down?”

She faced Josie, her eyes wide and angry. “I don’t! I wish she’d leave me alone!”

“So you can live like this?” Josie regretted the words as soon as she’d said them.

Teresa’s dark eyes fixed on Josie. “You’re just as bad as she is. You think because Daddy drinks he’s bad. She doesn’t even give him a chance. You ought to hear the way she talks about him.” She looked toward the couch and lowered her voice to an angry whisper. “He treats me a hundred times better than she does! At least he believes in me. He tells me how smart I am, how pretty I am, how good I am.”

Josie sighed and stared at Javier, his body diminished by a life of alcohol and poverty. He lay on his side, his mouth open, his face covered with several days’ worth of patchy beard. He had a thick head of hair plastered to his head and wore a dirty flannel shirt similar to the one Teresa wore. It was difficult for Josie to imagine what Marta had seen in him, or what possessed Teresa’s loyalty. Was it pity, or simple love for a father?

“You don’t think your mother believes in you? Thinks you’re pretty and smart?” Josie asked.

“What does she say? I’ve embarrassed her again.” She stood up from the bed and faced Josie. “No. That’s not what she’ll say. I’ve disgraced her and her good name. That’s fine. I’ll just live here where I won’t bring her so much goddamned shame.”

She turned from Josie and faced the wall, hands on her hips, her shoulders rigid. Josie ran her hands over her face. She was frustrated, tired, and in a drunk man’s house in a foreign country. She wanted a bourbon and her own bed.

“You know how hard it’s been for your mom to work her way up to the job she has now? A woman serving as a respected police officer in a town like Artemis? There’s a group of men in town who still expect their wives to serve them dinner barefoot. Your mom’s worked her ass off to get where she is, and it wasn’t to prove something to herself. It was to make a better future for you. Then she has to sit back and watch you piss it all away on some drug dealer who’s playing games with your mind. You’re a pawn in his game, Teresa.”

Josie forced herself to quit talking. Teenagers were way past her area of expertise. The last thing she wanted was to make her so angry she would refuse to leave her father. At the same time, she was tired of watching the girl run all over Marta.

Teresa walked over to the candles and stood staring down at the flames. She ran a finger through the fire several times, each time spending longer in the heat. “Half the shit my parents say isn’t even directed at me. They use me to get to each other.”

Josie stared at the girl’s back and could think of nothing to say.

“You know where Enrico went after he got bail? He left. He went to hang out with that jerk at the pawn shop. No ‘thank you.’ Nothing.”

“This is what I don’t get. Who is the one person who stands by you, day after day, and still only wants what’s best for you?”

Teresa turned finally to face Josie. “So, why are you here? Did you come to take me home?”