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Story Four ~ Kathryn H is skin was marble smooth. A fine coat of dust covered his chest; tiny pebbles stuck to the coffee-colored skin where his back lay flat against the dirt. Levi’s hung loose around the long outstretched legs. His face was turned to the sky, a carpet of black eyelashes holding down the eyelids. The lips were slightly parted. Although the sun stabbed his body like a thousand ice picks, there was no moisture on his skin. I wondered how he looked with his eyes open. I wondered how he looked when he laughed. I wondered what his voice sounded like when he sang. I wondered if he danced. I wondered who loved him. But surely those were illegal thoughts. If the eleven Border Patrol agents standing around us could read my mind, I might have been arrested. In a culture that says, “We’ve apprehended nine bodies,” there is little room for passion. Consorting with an “alien” is fodder for arrest. Does wondering about one make me culpable? Although, the truth of the matter is, they didn’t see us. Even the six feet two Rock Hudson lookalike , holding up the plastic IV bag that dripped fluids into the man lying by my side, forgot we were there. He was telling his buddy how yesterday they had arrested a migrant for throwing rocks. We were not important. We had been driving south on Route 286, headed for the trails off Elkhorn Road, when we came upon two Border Patrol vehicles. Three agents had five men in custody, all sitting in the dirt. As per Border Patrol requirement, we asked permission of the agent in charge if we could give water to the migrants. Agent Ramirez said sure, he was already out of water. It was a hot June day, 100 degrees at 9:30 a.m. We were working under a killer sun. Ramirez didn’t object when Susan, our nurse, asked to check the men’s vital signs. Everyone was dehydrated and had muscle cramps. When she got to the last man, he was inert, sitting slumped over, arms folded across his knees. She asked his name. Aurelio, he whispered . She said to me,“This guy doesn’t look good.” Susan didn’t speak Spanish and asked if I would find out if he had vomited or had diarrhea. He never spoke, kept his eyes shut, and shook his head. He nodded when asked if he was nauseated. She took his blood pressure. It was low, 80/40. We had him lie down. She felt for his pulse and took his blood pressure again. It was still low, only 90/40. She couldn’t feel his pulse at the wrist, so listened to his chest with the stethoscope. She said he needed an IV. I asked Ramirez if we could take him to St. Mary’s Hospital, that we could be there in forty minutes. He said, “No, they’re in custody.” Shortly, another Border Patrol vehicle stopped, and three agents walked over to talk with Ramirez. He wanted them to take Aurelio to the hospital . They said he was just dehydrated, didn’t look bad enough. Ramirez and another agent argued. Ramirez called Border Patrol Search,Trauma, and Rescue. BORSTAR was organized to help agents who had been injured in the field but is now called for emergencies with migrants. It was 10:00 a.m. Twenty minutes later, three BORSTAR agents drove up, not in the blaze of action that their fire-engine-red shirts might imply. They casually got out of the van. The female agent greeted the other agents, filled out charts, checked Aurelio’s vital signs, and said, “Start an IV.” There were now nine agents at the scene. They stood in several groups, talking. The four other migrants were quiet, still sitting on the ground. The sun had moved, and now a mesquite tree offered them a little shade. When the IV was finished, the tall, dark-haired agent turned his back to us and dropped his arm down, holding the IV bag like a purse. I sat on the ground by Aurelio. “Where were they throwing the rocks?” asked the one agent. “Near Naco, from this side of the fence,” said the other. “How many?” “Two.” “Who was in charge?” “Smith and Moreno were both there.” Aurelio wasn’t moving; so to keep him alert I asked him where he was from. Instead of answering, he asked...

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