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.
The next night, when the sky was cloudy and no stars were visible, Cabrera’s contact showed up. He was a short, bony man, with yellow skin and the vague gaze of a hardened addict, who introduced himself as the Expert. Cabrera assured them that despite his doubtful appearance no one was better qualified. He might have been a poor devil on land, but in the water he could be trusted completely: nobody knew the currents and whirlpools like him. When he wasn’t high he spent his time studying the movement of the patrols and their powerful searchlights. He knew when to enter the water, crossing between two sweeps of the beams, and how to reach a precise spot among the weeds so as to remain unseen. He charged in dollars and per person, a cost the coyote had to pay because without the man’s knowledge and confidence it would be almost impossible for them to reach the United States. “Can you swim?” asked the Expert. None of them could give a positive answer. He said that if they still had any possessions they could not take any of them, only their identity documents and money. He told them to take off their clothes and sneakers and put them in black plastic garbage bags, which he then tied to the inner tube of a truck tire, which was to be their raft. He showed them how to hold on with one arm and swim with the other, trying not to splash to avoid making any noise. “Anyone who lets go is screwed,” he warned.
Berto said goodbye to his group with hugs and final recommendations. Two of the men were the first to enter the water, in their underpants. They clung to the tire and headed off, guided by the Expert. They were soon out of sight in the darkness of the river. Fifteen minutes later, the Expert reappeared on the bank pulling the inner tube behind him. He had left the two men hidden among the reeds on a small island in midriver to wait for the rest of the group. Berto Cabrera gave Evelyn one last regretful embrace: he doubted the poor girl would overcome all the obstacles she faced. “I can’t see you able to walk eighty-five miles across the desert, little one. Follow my associate’s instructions, he’ll know what to do with you.”
THE RIVER WAS MORE DANGEROUS than it looked from the bank, but none of them hesitated: they had only a few seconds to avoid the search beams. Evelyn tiptoed into the water in her panties and bra, with her male companions on either side of her and the Expert ready to help if she faltered. She was afraid she might drown but was even more worried they might all be discovered through her fault. Stifling a cry of alarm as she plunged into the cold water, she found that the riverbed was slimy, with branches, garbage, and perhaps even water snakes. The rubber tube was slippery, her good arm was barely long enough to stretch around it, and she kept her other arm tight against her chest. Within a few seconds she could no longer touch bottom and the current sent her tumbling. She went under, then resurfaced swallowing water and trying desperately to cling on. One of the men managed to grab hold of her waist before the current swept her away. He motioned for her to use both arms to hang on, but Evelyn felt a stabbing pain in her sore shoulder. Her companions lifted her and laid her facedown on the tire. She closed her eyes and let herself go, abandoning herself to her fate.
The crossing took very little time, and they soon found themselves on a small island, where they met up with the other two. Crouching among the bushes on sandy ground, they stared at the riverbank on the US side. It was so close they could hear the conversation between a pair of patrolmen standing guard next to a vehicle with a powerful light aimed directly at their hiding place. More than an hour went by without the Expert’s showing any sign of becoming impatient. In fact he seemed to have fallen asleep, while their teeth chattered with cold and they were only too aware of the insects and reptiles crawling over them. Around midnight, the Expert roused himself as if he had an internal alarm, and at that precise moment the patrol vehicle switched off its beam and they heard it move off. “We have less than five minutes before their replacement arrives. There is less current here, we’ll go together and splash our way across, but on the other bank you mustn’t make the slightest noise,” he instructed them. They plunged into the river again, clinging to the inner tube, which sank level with the water because of the weight of their six bodies, and propelled it straight ahead of them. Soon they could stand and used the reeds to pull themselves up the muddy bank, all of them giving Evelyn a helping hand. They had reached the United States.
Moments later they heard another vehicle engine, but by now they were protected by the undergrowth, beyond the reach of the searchlights. The Expert led them to dry land. They stumbled forward in single file, holding hands so as not to get lost in the darkness, pushing their way through the reeds until they came to a small clearing. Their guide switched on a flashlight. Pointing it at the ground, he gave them their plastic bags and indicated for them to get dressed. He took off his wet T-shirt and used it to bind Evelyn’s arm against her chest: she had lost the bandage in the river. It was then she realized she no longer had the plastic folder with the papers Father Benito had given her. She searched for it in the feeble gleam from the flashlight, hoping she might have dropped it there, but when she could not see it, she understood it must have been carried away by the current when her companion rescued her. The belt with the folder must have come loose when he grabbed her by the waist. She had lost the prayer card blessed by the pope but was still wearing around her neck the jaguar goddess amulet that was meant to keep her from harm.
They were just finishing getting dressed when out of nowhere Cabrera’s associate appeared, like a phantom of the night. He was a Mexican who had lived in the United States so many years he spoke Spanish with a strange accent. He offered them thermoses of coffee with added liquor, which they drank in grateful silence. The Expert slipped away without a word of goodbye.
The Mexican told the men to follow him in single file but said Evelyn should walk on her own in the opposite direction. Horrified, she tried to protest but could not make so much as a sound, rendered mute at having gotten this far and then being betrayed. “Berto told me your mother is in the States. Give yourself up to the first guard or patrol that comes across you. They won’t deport you, because you’re a minor,” the Mexican told her. He was sure no one would think she was more than twelve years old. Evelyn did not believe him, but her companions had heard this was the law in the United States. They embraced her briefly, then followed the Mexican, and were quickly swallowed up by the darkness.
WHEN EVELYN MANAGED TO REACT, all she could think of doing was to curl up shivering among the bushes. She tried to pray but could not remember any of her grandmother’s many prayers. One, two, maybe three hours went by; she had lost all sense of time and even the ability to move. Her body was stiff and she could feel a dull ache in her shoulder. Suddenly she sensed a furious beating in the air above her head and guessed it must be bats flying in search of food, as they did back in Guatemala. This made her shrink back still farther into the vegetation, because everyone knew bats sucked human blood. In order not to think about vampires, snakes, or scorpions, she concentrated on a plan to get out of there. Other groups of migrants must have been coming through; it was simply a question of staying awake so that she could join them. She invoked the mother jaguar and the mother of Jesus, as Concepcion had taught her, but neither came to her aid. These holy women must lose their powers in the United States, Evelyn thought, feeling utterly abandoned.
There were only a few hours of darkness left, but they stretched out interminably. Slowly, Evelyn’s eyes grew accustomed to the moonless night that at first had seemed to her impenetrable, and she began to make out the vegetation around her: tall, dry grasses. The night was one long torment for Evelyn, until finally the first light of day came. All this time she had been unaware of either migrants or border guards anywhere near her. As the sky lightened, she plucked up her courage to explore around her. She was so stiff she found it hard to get to her feet and walk a couple of steps. Although she felt hungry and thirsty, at least her shoulder no longer hurt. She got some idea of how hot the day would be from the mist rising from the ground like a bridal veil. The night had been silent, interrupted only by warnings from loudspeakers in the distance, but at dawn the land awoke in a buzzing of insects, the crackle of twigs beneath the tiny paws of rodents, the rustle of reeds in the breeze, and a constant coming and going of sparrows through the air. Here and there she saw splashes of color among the bushes: the vermilion of a flycatcher, a yellow warbler, or a jay with its bright blue feathers. All of these were modest compared with those of her Guatemalan village. She had grown up amidst a profusion of birds, plumages of a thousand colors, seven hundred species: according to Father Benito, it was a bird-watcher’s paradise. She listened for the severe warnings in Spanish from the loudspeakers and tried in vain to calculate the distance to the border posts, the watchtowers, and the road, if there was one. She had no idea where she was. One by one, her mind filled with the stories passed by word of mouth among migrants: the dangers of the north, the merciless desert, ranchers who shot randomly at anyone entering their properties in search of water, guards with heavy weapons, attack dogs trained to detect the smell of fear, prisons where years could go by without anyone hearing of you. If they were like the ones in Guatemala, Evelyn would rather be dead than end up in one of those cells.
The day crept by hour after hour, with awful slowness. The sun climbed in the sky, burning the land with a dry heat like hot coals that was very different from what Evelyn was used to. She was so thirsty that she no longer felt hungry. As there were no trees to provide her with shade, she scraped a hole in the ground among some bushes, using a stick she found to scare off the snakes, and settled there as best she could. Then she drove the stick into the ground so that its moving shadow could show her the passage of time, as she had seen her grandmother do. She heard vehicles going by at regular intervals, as well as low-flying helicopters, but when she realized they always followed the same path she stopped paying attention to them. Confused, her head woozy, she could feel thoughts racing through her brain. Thanks to the stick she guessed it was midday, and that was when the first hallucinations began. They had the shapes and colors of the time she had been given the ayahuasca potion: armadillos, rats, jaguar cubs without their mother, Andres’s black dog that had died years earlier but now came to visit her in perfect health. She dozed off, exhausted by the brutal heat, dizzy from weariness and thirst.
The afternoon passed slowly by without any drop in temperature. A long, thick, black snake crawled over her leg in a ghastly caress. Petrified, she waited without drawing breath as she felt the reptile’s weight on her, the brush of its satiny skin, the undulation of every muscle of the hoselike body that slid lazily across her. It was unlike any snake she had seen back in her village. When the reptile finally moved on, Evelyn jumped to her feet and gulped down mouthfuls of air. Terror made her feel giddy; her heart was pounding. It took hours for her to recover and relax her guard; she no longer had the strength to stay on her feet scanning the ground. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, her tongue was a swollen mollusk in her mouth, her skin burned with fever.
At last night fell and it began to grow cooler. By now Evelyn was exhausted. She no longer cared about snakes, bats, armed guards, or nightmarish monsters; all she felt was the overpowering need to drink water and rest. Curled up on the ground, she gave in to despair and solitude, wishing only to die soon, in her sleep and never have to wake again.
EVELYN DID NOT DIE ON THAT SECOND NIGHT on US territory as she had feared. Awaking at dawn in the same position, she was unable to remember anything about what had happened since she left the camp at Nuevo Laredo. She was dehydrated and it took her several attempts to stretch her legs, get to her feet, put her sore arm in the sling, and totter a few steps like an old woman. Every fiber of her body ached, but what most dominated her was thirst. She had to find water. She could not focus her eyes or think properly, but she had always lived in the midst of nature, and experience taught her water must be nearby: she was surrounded by reeds and undergrowth, which she knew grew on damp soil. Driven on by thirst and anxiety, she set off aimlessly, leaning on the same stick that had previously served as a sundial.
She had only zigzagged some fifty yards when she was halted by the sound of an engine very close by. Instinctively, she threw herself down and lay flat among the tall grasses. As the vehicle passed by she could hear a man’s voice speaking English, and another answering voice, crackling as if it came from a radio or telephone. She stayed without moving for a long while after the sound of the engine had died away, but finally thirst forced her to crawl on through the bushes in search of the river. Thorns scratched her face and neck. A branch tore her T-shirt and jagged stones cut her hands and knees. She stood up but kept low, feeling her way as she did not dare raise her head to find out exactly where she was. It was early morning, but the glare from the sky was already blinding.
Suddenly she heard the rushing of the river as clearly as if it were another hallucination. This encouraged her to speed up and abandon all precaution. First she felt the mud under her feet and then, pushing apart the reeds, she found herself on the bank of the Rio Grande. She cried out and waded into the water up to her waist, drinking desperately from her cupped hands. The cold water trickled inside her like a blessing. She drank mouthful after mouthful, oblivious to the dirt and the dead animals floating in these waters. Where she stood the river was shallow, and so she could bend down and completely submerge her body, feeling an infinite pleasure as the water flowed around her cracked skin, bad arm, and scratched face. Her long black hair floated out around her like seaweed.
She had just clambered out of the river and was slowly recovering on the bank when the patrolmen found her.
AFTER BEING DETAINED, Evelyn was interviewed by a female immigration officer in a small cubicle. The woman found herself confronted by a timid, trembling young girl who refused to look up and had not touched the fruit juice or crackers she had put on the table to win her trust. She tried to reassure her by briefly stroking her head, but this only frightened the girl further. She had been told that the detainee had mental problems and so she had asked for extra time to conduct the interview. Many of the minors who passed through there were traumatized, but without an official order it was impossible to carry out a psychological evaluation. She had to trust her intuition and experience.
Faced with the girl’s stubborn refusal to speak, the official at first thought perhaps she spoke only Mayan and wasted several precious minutes until she realized Evelyn understood without a problem but had a speech impediment. She gave her paper and a pencil to write down her replies, praying she knew how to write; most of the children who arrived at the detention center had never been to school.
“What is your name? Where do you come from? Do you have any family here?”
In clear handwriting, Evelyn wrote her name, those of her village and country, her mother’s name, and a telephone number. The officer gave a sigh of relief.
“This makes things much easier. We’ll call your mother so that she can come and get you. You’ll be allowed to go with her temporarily until a judge decides on your case.”
Evelyn spent three days in the detention center, without speaking to anyone, despite being surrounded by women and children from Mexico and Central America, including many from Guatemala. They were given two meals a day, milk and diapers for the youngest children, camp beds, and military blankets. These were essential because the air-conditioning kept the building at a frigid temperature that led to a constant epidemic of coughs and colds. It was a transit facility: no one stayed there very long and the detainees were transferred as quickly as possible to other facilities. Those minors who had relatives in the United States were handed over without any serious investigation, as there was not enough time or staff to examine every case.
It was not Miriam who came to look for Evelyn but a man called Galileo Leon, who said he was her stepfather. She had never heard of him and resolutely refused to go with him, because she knew about pimps and traffickers who lay in wait for juveniles like her. Sometimes children were claimed by perfect strangers, who took them away after simply signing a form. An official had to call Miriam on the phone to clarify the situation, and this was how Evelyn learned that her mother had a husband. She was soon to discover that as well as a stepfather she had two half brothers, aged four and three.
“Why didn’t the girl’s mother come to fetch her?” the duty officer asked Galileo Leon.
“Because she would lose her job. And don’t think this is easy for me either. I’m losing four days of earnings thanks to this kid. I’m a painter and my clients won’t wait,” the man replied, in a humble tone that contrasted with his words.
“We’re going to hand over the girl to you under presumption of credible fear. Do you understand what that means?”
“More or less.”
“The judge will have to decide if the reasons why the girl left her country are valid. Evelyn will need to prove a specific, concrete danger, for example that she was attacked or had been threatened. You can take her with you on parole.”
“Does that mean I have to pay?” the man asked in alarm.
“No. It’s a nominal amount that gets written in the book but that the migrant is not charged. She will be told by mail at her mother’s house when she has to appear in front of an immigration court. Before the hearing Evelyn will have a meeting with an asylum counselor.”
“A lawyer? We don’t have the money for one . . . ,” said Leon.
“The system is rather slow because there are so many children seeking asylum. The reality is that not even half of them get to see a counselor, but if they do, it is free.”
“Outside I was told they could find me one for three thousand dollars.”
“Don’t believe them, they’re traffickers and swindlers. All you need to do for now is wait for the notification from the court,” said the duty officer, considering the matter closed.
He took a copy of Galileo Leon’s driver’s license to add to Evelyn’s file, even though this was next to useless because the center did not have the capacity to follow the trail of every child. Then he said a rapid goodbye to Evelyn; he had several more cases to deal with that day.
GALILEO LEON HAD BEEN BORN in Nicaragua. At eighteen he had immigrated illegally to the United States, but had obtained residency thanks to the 1997 amnesty law. He was a small man of few words and rough manners. At first glance he did not inspire confidence or affection.
Their first stop was at a Walmart to buy Evelyn clothes and toiletries. She thought she was dreaming when she saw the size of the store and the infinite variety of goods on offer, each in different colors and sizes, a labyrinth of aisles crammed full to overflowing. Fearing she might get lost forever, she clung to her stepfather’s arm. He found his way around like an experienced explorer and led her directly to each section, telling her to choose underwear, T-shirts, three blouses, two pairs of jeans, a skirt, a dress, and proper shoes. Even though she was not far from her sixteenth birthday, her size corresponded to that of a ten- or twelve-year-old American girl. Bewildered, Evelyn always wanted to choose the cheapest item, but since she was unfamiliar with the currency she took far too long.
“Don’t look at the prices. Everything here is cheap, and your mom gave me money for clothes,” explained Galileo.
From there he took her to a McDonald’s to eat hamburgers with French fries and a huge sundae topped with a cherry. In Guatemala it would have been enough for an entire family.
“Did no one ever teach you to say thank you?” asked her stepfather, more out of curiosity than as a reproach.
Without daring to look at him, Evelyn nodded, licking the last spoonful of ice cream.
“Are you scared of me or something? I’m no ogre.”
“Than . . . thank . . . I’m . . . ,” she stuttered.
“Are you stupid or do you have a stammer?”
“Stam . . . stamm—”
“Okay, I see. Sorry,” Galileo interrupted her. “If you can’t even talk Spanish properly, I don’t know how you’ll manage in English. What a mess! What are we going to do with you?”
They spent the night in a motel for truckers next to the highway. The room was filthy but had a hot shower. Galileo told her to get washed, say her prayers, and go to sleep in the bed on the left. He always slept nearest to the door; it was one of his little obsessions. “I’m going out for a smoke, and by the time I get back I want to see you asleep,” he said. Evelyn obeyed as quickly as she could. She showered rapidly, then crept into bed fully dressed and wearing her sneakers. She pulled the bedcover up to her nose, pretending to be asleep and planning to escape the moment he touched her. She felt very tired, her shoulder ached, and her chest was tight with fear, but she prayed to her grandmother and that gave her strength. She knew her grandma would have gone to the church to light candles for her.
After more than an hour, Galileo returned. He took off his shoes, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. Evelyn heard the toilet flush, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him come back into the room in his shorts, undershirt, and socks. She got ready to leap out of bed. Her stepfather draped his trousers over the only free chair, bolted the door, and switched off the light. The blue reflection of a neon sign with the motel’s name shone in through the net curtains, and in the semidarkness Evelyn saw him go down on his knees next to the bed he had chosen. Galileo Leon murmured prayers for a long while. By the time he eventually climbed into bed, Evelyn was sound asleep.