Crossing with the Virgin: Stories from the Migrant Trail

Story Thirty-three

Story Thirty-three T ick-tick-tick. One second at a time. One thought at a time. Epifanio couldn’t make it happen faster. He knew they should move, but it was so hot. He touched his wife’s face. It burned. Marcela was sitting with her back against the trunk of a mesquite tree with her head back, eyes closed. She was ill and could not keep the fast pace of the group. In the night, the others walked on, leaving Epifanio, his fourteen-year-old daughter, Mica, and his wife behind. He was hoping that when it got cooler, they could walk more. He had no idea where they were but thought they could continue following the trail north. For seven years, they had tried to get a visa to come to the United States to visit grandchildren they had never seen. But after seven years, the web of government red tape was so dense that the visa still had not come through. The final solution was to cross the Arizona desert and connect with a ride to Tennessee. Epifanio heard a noise . . . zzzz . . . like a swarm of bees. As it got louder, he knew it wasn’t insects. He jumped up to move his family to the bushes, but it was too late. Two men on all-terrain vehicles came down the hill, a cloud of dust behind them, speeding toward Epifanio. He felt a wave of alarm. The men were not dressed to protect, they were dressed to kill. They were wearing slate-gray uniforms, black gloves, and tall boots, their heads covered in black and gray helmets with smoky curved plates covering their faces. Epifanio could see no part of a human body. They wore heavy vests and were protected by knee and elbow pads, with low pockets on the legs full of heavy objects. On the belts hung pistols and mace. 172 stories from the migrant trail “¡Papá!” cried Mica, who knelt beside her mother. Roaring through a wall of dust, the ATVs arrived. One circled the family. The other ATV stopped. A man jumped off, running toward them, shouting “¡Híncate!” Get on your knees. Epifanio knelt in the dirt. The man yelled, “¿Cual es su nacionalidad?” “What’s your nationality?” Epifanio could see the Border Patrol emblem and the U.S. flag on his jacket.“¿Dónde están los otros?”“Where are the others?”“Se fueron.” They left. The agents called in on the radio. Epifanio could hear only part of what they said. He heard a voice say “bodies” in English. He thought that meant they were going to be killed. His heart raced. Mica moved in front of her mother to protect her. The agents spoke to each other in English but to Epifanio in Spanish . After more questions, one agent said “Levántense.” Get up. “My wife is sick. She can’t walk,” Epifanio said. The agent walked to Epifanio and shouted at him to get moving. Epifanio moved to his wife, kneeled, and said, “We have to go. Can you make it?” She stood. Mica grabbed her mom’s arm. Epifanio picked up the backpacks, Mica’s lotería lottery cards falling to the dirt. She looked back at the cards. She cried out “¡La Sirena!” The mermaid. She moved toward the cards. Her father took her by the hand and turned her forward. They began to walk. The trail widened into flat sandy desert, no shade for miles. Epifanio asked an agent for water. The agent took a bottle out of his pack, drank, put it back in the pack. Driving close to Epifanio, he pushed the family forward with his ATV. After an hour of forced walking, Marcela fell to the ground. One agent got off his ATV and told them to keep walking. Marcela lay on the ground, her face in the dirt. The other agent drove toward Marcela, veered close to her body, riding doughnuts around and around Marcela. He slowed, reversed, circled, decreasing the circumference of the circle with each turn. He smiled, satisfied with his ride. He slid sideways over to the other agent. “Did you see that? I got this baby under control, bro! Handles almost like a dirt bike. I was bored a while ago, but this is turning out to be fun.” Epifanio ran to his wife and shouted for water. The agents ignored him. He kept shouting. Mica cried. The ATV rider said,“These guys are gonna...