New Border Voices: An Anthology

Southbound

Southbound GENARO GONZALEZ “Is this what you college kids were looking for?” The Border Patrol agent handed his field glasses to Carlos, sitting shotgun in the patrol vehicle, and indicated the Mexico-bound pedestrian lane of the bridge. “Check out the three Mexicans in work shirts, behind the snow birds.” Carlos trained the binoculars on the flock of Midwest retirees until the men in question entered the field of view. Through the unforgiving gaze of high-powered lenses the trio bore the weary, weather-beaten look of men who had been on the road too long. The elderly one bringing up the rear seemed on his last legs yet somehow matched the pace of his younger companions. Carlos offered the field glasses to his classmate Mando, sprawled in the backseat with a bored, faraway expression that remained unchanged even as the heavy binoculars began to strain his friend’s arm. “Too bad they’re southbounds,” added the agent. Mando seemed peeved. “You said they were undocumented.” “Oh, they’re wet alright. But that won’t matter once they cross over.” “But if they’re still on this side,” he insisted, “they’re still illegal. You pop them, and we get our interview.” The patrolman’s drawl told them he was in no particular hurry. “Just look at them, especially the old one. If I opened the door they’d fight to get in first. It’s like bagging game someone else wounded and taking credit for the kill.” Carlossquintedthroughtheglassesagain.“MaybetheywereshoppingintheUS?” The agent grunted his disagreement. “Look what they’re lugging. Travel bags, not shopping bags.” “So why are they returning?” “Could be a death in the family, or else things not turning out how they expected. Many think they’ll be wealthy in a few weeks.” He regarded the elderly laggard again. “Even the old-timer’s held together by Chiclets and chicken wire.” He shook his head with an uncomprehending but grudging respect. “Yet they keep returning, until they can’t.” The patrol vehicle sat half camouflaged under a massive willow with limbs that almost grazed the earth. As the lead man neared the bridge turnstile, he suddenly noticed them and froze like wild prey. The second one followed his stare and held his ground too. “Scat!” muttered the patrolman. “Nobody wants you anymore.” ♦ ♦ ♦ 62 ♦ Genaro Gonzalez Finally they both bolted but could not hurry the old man, who continued at his own pace, sensing he was an unlikely target. “Let’s follow them,” said Carlos. “Dr. Garza didn’t say to interview any returning on their own.” “She didn’t say not to. Our interview will stand out from the rest.” “Sure, like a sore thumb.” “Go ahead,” urged the agent. “I’ll be here when you get back, unless I die in the line of duty . . . from boredom.” Since the rear doors didn’t open from the inside, he got out and roused Mando’s large frame. Carlos was glad to recover his walking legs after sitting in the SUV all afternoon . Their assignment with the affable agent had started early and promising, patrolling remote back roads along the river while he showed off his skills at cutting sign. His pidgin Spanish with an East Texas accent was less impressive, but he was as proud of it as his leathery, outdoor complexion, proof of professional commitment. For Carlos and Mando the outing began as an adventure, but around noon the agent had received coded instructions to proceed to the bridge. There, after several hours, Mando’s enthusiasm had enervated. His inertia was still apparent as they approached the bridge. “Let’s just interview my father’s compadre. He was once an illegal.” Carlos slowed down. It had been his brainstorm to go beyond the original assignment and finagle a more complicated tagalong with an agent, and he felt responsible for its failure. “Where’s his compadre live?” “Well, officially, nowhere.” When Carlos stopped, Mando explained, “He’s dead.” Now Carlos walked faster than before, as his friend added, “My point is: we could make up an interview. A couple of students did just that.” “That’s why we have to do this: to get the facts and set the story straight.” After some effort he spotted the trio among the weekend crowd. He felt the excitement of pursuit the agent had mentioned, but fearing they had spied him by the truck, he kept his distance until they stepped on Mexican soil. Then they disappeared again, until reappearing...