From the camp they could see the US side, guarded night and day by cameras, lights, and men in military vehicles, launches, and helicopters. Loudspeakers warned anybody venturing into the river that they were in American territory and had to turn back. In recent years the Americans had reinforced the border with thousands of guards equipped with the latest technology, but the desperate migrants always found a way to outwit the surveillance. Seeing the fear on his clients’ faces when they saw how broad and rough the greenish waters were, Cabrera explained that the only people who drowned were the idiots who tried to swim across or get pulled by a rope. Hundreds died this way every year, their bloated bodies eventually caught on the boulders, stuck among the reeds near the banks, or floating out into the Gulf of Mexico. The difference between life and death was information: to know where, how, and when to cross. And yet, as he warned them, the greatest danger was not the river, but the desert beyond. There the temperatures were so hellish they melted stones, there was no water, and they could be preyed upon by scorpions, wildcats, and hungry real coyotes. Getting lost in the desert meant they would die within a day or two. Rattlesnakes, as well as coral, moccasin, and darting indigo snakes, came out to hunt at night, the time when the migrants set off, because the daytime heat was lethal. They would not be able to use flashlights, as that would give their position away: they had to rely on prayers and good luck. Cabrera repeated that they were traveling in luxury and would not be abandoned in the desert at the mercy of the snakes. His own participation ended when they crossed the Rio Grande, but in the United States his colleague was waiting to lead them to safety.
The four men and Evelyn grudgingly settled into the camp beneath a makeshift cardboard roof that offered them some protection against the suffocating heat of the day and gave an illusion of security at night. Unlike other migrants, who slept wrapped in plastic bags and ate once a day in any nearby church, or earned a few pesos doing whatever work they could find, they had some money to buy food and bottled water. Cabrera meanwhile went to seek out an acquaintance, who he thought was probably lying drugged somewhere, to get them across the river. Before leaving he gave them instructions to stay together and not to let the girl out of their sight for a moment: they were surrounded by unscrupulous people, especially the users, who were capable of killing to steal their sneakers or backpacks. There was not much food in the camp, but there was more than enough liquor, marijuana, crack, heroin, and a wide variety of unnamed pills that could be deadly when mixed with alcohol.
Lucia, Richard, Evelyn
Brooklyn
Richard
Brazil, 1985–1987
On the trips Richard Bowmaster had made over the years with Horacio Amado-Castro, they would usually head for somewhere remote that they reached first in the Subaru and then on their bikes, carrying backpacks and a tent. Richard felt the absence of his friend like a kind of death. Horacio had left a void in the space and time of his existence; there was so much he wanted to share with him. He would have come up with a precise and rational solution to the problem of the dead body in the Lexus, and would have carried such a dire task out without hesitation, in a lighthearted way. Richard on the other hand could feel the threatening peck of his ulcer, a frightened bird inside his stomach. “What do you gain by thinking about the future? Things follow their course and you can’t control anything, so relax, brother,” was the advice he had heard a hundred times from his friend. Horacio accused Richard of spending his life talking to himself, muttering, remembering, repenting, planning. He said that only human beings were so focused on themselves, slaves to their egos, navel-gazing, on the defensive even though no danger threatened them.
Lucia argued something similar. She gave as an example the Chihuahua, Marcelo, who lived eternally grateful in the present, accepting whatever might happen without worrying about any future misfortune that might add to all those he had previously encountered in his life as an abandoned dog. “Too much Zen wisdom for such a small creature,” Richard replied when she listed all these virtues. He admitted he was addicted to negative thoughts, as Horacio claimed. At the age of seven he was already concerned the sun would be extinguished someday and all forms of life on the planet would come to an end. The only encouraging sign was that this had not happened yet. Horacio on the other hand was not even worried about global warming: when the poles melted and the continents were submerged, his great-grandchildren would have died of old age or would have grown fish’s gills. Richard thought Horacio and Lucia would get on well together, with their irrational optimism and inexplicable tendency toward happiness. He was more comfortable in his reasoned pessimism.
On his camping forays with Horacio, every ounce of weight counted, and every item of food was calculated to keep them going until their return. A born improviser, Horacio made fun of Richard’s obsessive preparations, but experience had shown how essential they were. On one trip they had forgotten matches and after spending a night stiff and hungry they had been forced to go back. They discovered that making a fire by rubbing two sticks together is a Boy Scout fantasy. With the same care as he had taken in planning those adventures with his friend, Richard now organized the short journey to the lake. He made an exhaustive list of all they might need in an emergency, from provisions to sleeping bags and spare batteries for their flashlights.
“The only thing missing is a portable toilet, Richard. We’re not going to war; there are restaurants and hotels everywhere,” said Lucia.
“We can’t be seen in public places.”
“Why not?”
“People and cars don’t just disappear, Lucia. There’s likely to be a police investigation. They could identify us if we leave a trail.”
“No one notices anyone, Richard. And we look like a mature couple on vacation.”
“In the snow? In two vehicles? With a tearful young girl and a dog dressed like Sherlock Holmes? And you with that outlandish hair of yours. Of course we attract attention.”
Richard placed all their luggage in the trunk of the Subaru, left enough food for the cats, and before giving the order to set off called the clinic to find out how Três was doing. The cat was stable but had to remain under observation for a few more days. Next he called his neighbor to tell her he would be away for a short while, and to ask her to look in on the other three cats. He checked again that the wire holding the Lexus’s trunk was secure and scraped the snow and ice off the windshields of both vehicles. He imagined that the car’s documents were in order but wanted to make sure. In the glove compartment he found what he was looking for, plus a remote control and a key ring with a single key on it.
“I suppose the remote opens the Leroys’ garage.”
“Yes,” said Evelyn.
“And the key is to your house.”
“It’s not from the house.”
“Do you know where it’s from? Have you seen it before?”
“Se?ora Leroy showed it to me.”
“When was that?”
“Yesterday. She spent Friday in bed. She was very depressed, she said her whole body ached. She’s like that sometimes, she finds it impossible to get up. Besides, where was she going to go in that storm? But yesterday she felt better and decided to go out. Before she left she showed me the key. She said she found it in Mr. Leroy’s suit pocket. She was very nervous. Maybe because of what happened to Frankie on Thursday. She told me to check his sugar levels every two hours.”
“And?”
“Frankie was frightened by the storm on Friday, but yesterday he was fine. His sugar was stable. There’s a gun in the car too.”
“A gun?” spluttered Richard.
“Mr. Leroy keeps it for protection. For his work, he says.”
“What is his work?”
“I don’t know. Se?ora Leroy told me her husband would never divorce her, because she knows too much about what he does.”
“An ideal couple, apparently. I imagine he has a permit. But there’s no gun in here, Evelyn. Just as well, one problem less,” said Richard, checking the glove compartment a second time.
“That Frank Leroy must be a real bandit,” Lucia grumbled.
“We ought to leave soon, Lucia. We’ll go in tandem. If possible, keep me in sight, but stay far enough back to be able to brake, the road surface is icy. Keep your headlights on so that you can see and be seen by other drivers. If the traffic gets backed up, put your flashers on to warn those behind you—”