This is madness, he decided. He wanted to talk to her, clear things up, find out if she felt the same, but he was not going to rush into it; that might scare her off, ruin everything. Besides, with Evelyn present there was very little they could say, yet the wait was becoming impossible: by the next day they might no longer be together and the moment would have gone to say what he had to say. If he had the courage, he would have come straight out and told her he loved her, that last night he had wanted to hold her and never let her go. If only he had the slightest idea of how she felt, he would tell her. What did he have to offer? He was bringing a huge burden with him, and although at his age everyone brought baggage, his weighed as much as a slab of granite.
This was the second time he could observe Lucia sleeping. She looked like a child and had not even noticed he had gotten up, as if they were an old couple who had shared a bed for years. He wanted to wake her with kisses, ask her to give him a chance, beg her to take him over, move into his house, occupy every last inch of his life with her ironic, bossy affection. He had never been so sure of anything. He imagined that if Lucia were to love him it would be a miracle. He wondered how it had taken him so long before he became aware of this love that now overwhelmed him, filling every fiber of his being: What had he been thinking of? He had wasted four months by being such an idiot. This torrent of love could not have suddenly come into being, it must have been growing ever since she came to New York in September. His chest was aching with fear, like a delicious wound. Bless you, Evelyn Ortega, he thought, it was thanks to you this miracle happened. A miracle, there’s no other way to describe what I feel.
Richard opened the door to get some cold air and try to calm down: he was being swept away by this sudden, uncontrollable avalanche of feelings. But he had not even taken a step outside before he came face-to-face with a moose. He was so startled he fell backward with a yelp that woke Lucia and Evelyn. Apparently not as shocked as he was, the animal lowered its huge head to try to get inside the room, but the size of its flat antlers made this a difficult maneuver. Evelyn, who had never seen such a monster, curled up in terror; Lucia searched desperately for her cell phone to take a photo. The moose might have succeeded in getting in had it not been for Marcelo, who took charge of the situation with his gruff guard-dog bark. The moose retreated, shaking the foundations of the wooden building when its antlers collided with the doorway, and then trotted off, accompanied by a chorus of nervous laughter and furious barking.
Sweating from the discharge of adrenaline, Richard announced he was going for coffee while they dressed. He did not get very far. A few steps from the doorway, the moose had deposited a pile of fresh excrement: two mounds of soft brown balls into which his boot sank to the ankle. Cursing, Richard hobbled on one foot to the reception, which fortunately had a window that faced the parking lot, to ask for a hose to clean himself. He had been so careful about no one seeing or recalling them on this rash pilgrimage of theirs, and now this nosy animal had brought all his plans crashing to the ground. If there is one thing that’s memorable, it’s an idiot covered in crap, Richard concluded. This was a bad omen for the rest of their journey. Or would it be a good one? Nothing bad can happen, he decided, I’m protected by the ridiculousness of having fallen in love. He burst out laughing, because if it were not for the discovery of love, which painted the world in the brightest colors, he would have imagined there was a curse on him. As though the question of poor Kathryn Brown were not enough, he had come up against atrocious weather, fleas, food poisoning, his ulcer, and his own and the moose’s shit.
Evelyn
Mexico–US border, 2008
Faced with the boredom and suffocating heat of Nuevo Laredo, the days seemed endless to Evelyn Ortega. But no sooner had night brought cooler air than the camp was transformed into a den of clandestine activity and vice. Cabrera had warned her and the others not to mix with anyone and to be careful not to show any money, but that proved impossible. They were surrounded by migrants like themselves, but in much more desperate straits. Some of them had been there for months suffering hardships: they had tried to cross the river several times without success, or had been arrested on the other side and deported back to Mexico, since sending them to their countries of origin in Central America would have been more expensive. Most of them could not pay a coyote. The most pathetic were the children traveling on their own; not even the meanest person could refuse to help them. Evelyn’s group shared their provisions and fresh water with two of them who went everywhere hand in hand: a boy aged eight and his sister, a girl of six. A year earlier in El Salvador they had escaped from the house of an uncle and aunt who abused them, then wandered through Guatemala living off charity. They had been going from place to place in Mexico for months, joining with other migrants who adopted them for a while. They were hoping to find their mother in the United States but had no idea which city she lived in.
At night, to avoid being robbed of all they had, Cabrera’s group took turns to sleep. On the second day, a Saturday, there were rain showers that soaked their cardboard roof, so that they were left in the open like the rest of the wretched itinerant population. When the moonless night arrived, the camp seemed to waken out of its lethargy, as if this was what everyone had been waiting for. While many migrants prepared to confront the river, the criminals and police swung into action. Fortunately, Cabrera had negotiated a safe-conduct for his group with both the gangs and the men in uniform.