Across the Great River (2 page)

I peep into the water around me, searching for Mama and Papa. Then, I glance up at the huge man in the boat. He crouches low, letting the boat drift, rocking itself back and forth. Suddenly, they pop up beside us, and Papa shoves Mama into the boat.

“Go! Man, go quickly!” Papa yells.

The man shakes his head. “No, it's too far for you to swim. Come with us.”

Small splashes of water again sprinkle around us and the whizzing noises start again. “Go! I will swim!” Papa demands before he goes under.

The boat lurches forward. I look to see that the river is now carrying Papa further away, but our boat moves in the opposite direction with greater speed. Soon, I cannot see Papa at all.

Once in a while a moan escapes from Mama's lips and she stirs. I look up at the big man with the gleaming eyes. He is sweating and the muscles on his arm
jump as he rows. As the time passes, I grow tired of searching for Papa and I sigh, feeling very lost without him. I glance down at Pablito, who is sleeping against my arm. I wish I were he. He doesn't worry. He just sleeps and eats.

The man stops rowing and sits. Soon the rocking of the boat hushes me into drowsiness, but I force myself to stay awake as the boat glides through the water like a floating log. It soon stops against some tall brush sticking out of the water, and there we wait.

After some time, a voice from the river bank breaks the silence that surrounds us. “Chente,” it says, “it is clear now.”

The man in the boat pulls out the oars and rows, guiding the craft through high brush which gives way to land. He pulls in the oars and says, “Compadre, we had trouble this time. The woman is hurt and the children are wet and cold. Their man went under, trying to swim the river.”

“Rotten luck!” answers the man on the bank who emerges from the shadows of a tree. He catches the rope that is thrown to him, then pulls in the boat and ties the rope around the tree. The man called Chente jumps out of the boat into the water. It comes to his waist. He turns and holds out his arms for the baby. “Pass him to me so that I may take him ashore.”

I give him Pablito and he wades ashore and hands him to the other man. Then, he returns for me. He is strong and lifts me easily, then he carries me to the shore.

Mama moans loudly as he picks her up in his arms. It seems that they will fall into the cold water, but the man holds fast. When he reaches the bank of the river, he gently lays her on the ground. “She's in bad condition. We must get her to Doña Anita's right
away.” He lifts his head from Mama's chest. “Are you children, okay?” he asks.

I nod yes.

“Bueno. Good. We must be on our way to get help for your mother.” He lifts Mama into his arms and motions for me to follow with Pablito. When I do not, he turns back. “Come!” he commands.

I cross my arms and stand frozen. “Papa is still out there!” I shout as I point back to the river we have just crossed.

“My friend will wait for your Papa. We must get help for your mother or she will die.” He hurries up the steep path, and I follow him carrying Pablito. I catch him on top of the hill and I ask, “Where are we?”

He keeps walking, but answers, “No longer in Mexico, niña.” His breathing is heavy. “You are in the land of good opportunity.”

“But, what does that mean?” I ask, very puzzled.

He chuckles, “You are in the United States of America. The river we just crossed is called the Rio Grande. You are now in Texas.”

“Is that good?” I ask, still curious.

“Si, yes. It is very good. You shall see.”

We make our way to the other side of the hill where a truck is parked. The bed of the truck is filled with hay, on which he lays Mama, and then he puts Pablito beside her. I climb in by myself.

“The ride will be bumpy because I must drive fast. You must hold tight or else you will fall out,” he instructs. He goes to the front of the truck and cranks up the engine, which coughs several times before it starts.

With its first jerk forward, Pablito rolls backwards like a ball, Mama cries out and I bump my elbow against a metal tool box. As we bounce, I manage to grab Pablito and pull him over to Mama, where I put her skirt into his little fist. “Hold here, Pablito.” We will all die from this ride, I think, as I hold tightly to Pablito and to the rail of the truck.

The road soon becomes smoother and the man drives even faster. The wind slaps my wet hair against my face and Mama cries out in pain. I call to her, but she does not speak. Pablito hugs her body for warmth and I decide to do the same. I put my arms around her waist and touch a lump. It is the pouch tied under her skirt. I decide that it must be important or she would not have hid it, so I lift her skirt and undo the pouch, then retie the rough leather straps under my own skirt.

The truck streaks past a wire fence and pulls to a stop in front of an old wooden farm house. There are no lights from within. The man jumps from the truck and bangs on the door, then he hurries back to Mama. “Come, señora,” he mutters. “Perhaps Doña Anita can help you.”

A bulky woman, carrying a small lantern, steps out onto the porch. Her massive body is covered by a long white gown. She quickly raises the lantern and peers out. I can see one big eye that opens and shuts like that of an owl, and I grab Mama tightly.

“Eh? What goes on here?” asks the woman.

“Doña Anita, this woman was hurt crossing the river. Do what you can for her. These are her children. I must return to the river for my compadre, because he waits to see if her husband makes it across.”

“Ah … Chente! The things you get into! What am I going to do with the little ones if she dies?” she shouts.

“We will worry about that later. That I promise, Doña Anita. I shall return.” He makes the sign of the cross upon his heart, then races to the truck, which coughs and sputters as it speeds out of sight.

The woman has no trouble carrying Mama into the house. I follow with Pablito. She grumbles as she lays Mama on the only bed in the room, then she motions for us to sit in the corner. As I move to the dark corner, she throws a blanket which hits me on the back of the head. I pick it up and pull Pablito over to the corner.

For a few minutes Pablito sits quietly beside me, staring at the woman's giant shadow against the bare wall. When he falls asleep, I leave him and go over to the bed to see what this horrid woman is doing to Mama.

“She's a pretty one,” she mutters as she removes Mama's wet clothes.

I watch her every move. Into her hands she rubs a smelly lotion, then with her thick fingers she digs into the wound and blood flows out. She presses harder and the blood trickles down Mama's side. She picks up another
bottle and pours it over the blood, and then she sighs heavily. I do not like the idea of this strange woman touching Mama.

She stops working and stares at me. “Be of use, girl! Get me a pail of water. Move!”

Her foul breath almost knocks me over, but I cross my arms and refuse to move. “No!”

“You want your Mama to live?” she asks. Her twisted face makes my heart jump to my throat.

Frightened, I turn to where she points. I find a pail of water much too heavy, so I take a small pan and fill it. I return and hand her the water and it is then that I notice that she has removed all of Mama's clothing. She covers her with a blanket. I look at Mama's clothes heaped on the floor and I feel I should hang them neatly so that they will be dry for her to wear in the morning.

The woman pulls the lantern closer and hunches over Mama. “Ah, the shot went through. It's good, if she has not lost too much blood.” She holds out her hand and orders, “Give me a towel, a wet one.”

I stare at Mama's wound, which seems to be a small hole, all swollen and blue. “Shot? Did you say shot?” I stammer.

“Yes. Now, will you give me a towel!”

I start to shake and then I scream, “Mama will die!”

She moves around the bed and slaps my face. It stings like a thousand bees attacking me. “Girl! Stop it! I need your help. Get control of yourself and give me that towel!”

Her shouts move me into action. I must help Mama. “Si, yes, señora!” I turn to fetch the towel.

I stand watching the old one work. Her hands move rapidly from one jar to another and never seem
to stop. I marvel at her speed for such a fat woman. Occasionally, she closes both eyes and bends down to listen to Mama's chest, then she grunts as if she were about to throw up. Never once does she look up from her work, and I watch very closely as her healing hands tend to Mama's wound. She truly has a gift from God, I decide.

“Hand me that whisky that sits on the table!”

I fetch it and watch as she pours it over the wound and over the pricks that scar Mama's arm.

“That should do it. Now, all we have to do is pray.” She bandages the wound. “Do you know how to pray, girl?”

“A little,” I mutter, backing away from the breeze of her stinking breath and the ugly blood-shot, blinking eye.

“Good. You must pray for your Mama,” she snaps while wiping her hands on her skirt.

I have Mama's beads, so I go to the corner to pray. “Hail Mary, full of grace,” I say over and over until I cannot remember a thing.

It is the crowing of the rooster that wakes me to find Pablito sitting on the old one's lap, eating a tortilla. The hag seems to enjoy playing with him while she urges him to eat more.

“Ah, you are awake, girl. You must have been very tired.”

I rise and go over to the table. She is uglier now than last night. With one eye she stares straight at me and she stares down at Pablito with the other blinking one. It seems as though she looks two places
at one time. I look away from her twisted face. “Mama? How is Mama?” I go over to the bed and Mama seems very pale in the daylight.

“She has not stirred. I forced some soup down her, but not very much. Perhaps by this evening she will come out of it.”

She puts Pablito down on the floor. “Come, eat something or you will faint.” She puts a plate of beans and rice on the table. Each time she moves I notice that the fat on her body swings in different directions. It seems she has no bones. She heats a tortilla and she brings it to me with a cup of hot coffee.

I eat as if I've never seen food. I want to lick the plate, but she stands there watching like a vulture. After I finish, she removes the plate and sits in the chair across from me. I shrink as far back into my chair as I dare go.

“We must talk. What's your name, girl?”

“Katarina Campos.”

“Bueno. Good. I shall call you Kata. Where do you come from?”

“San Carlos, Mexico. Do you know where it is?” I ask.

“Yes, it's a little village across the border. Now you are just outside Eagle Pass, Texas.”

“Do you know anything about Papa?” I blurt out.

“No, not yet. Perhaps, we shall soon hear.”

I turn sideways in my chair. I do not want to cry in front of the witch, so I bite my lips hard.

“That fellow, Chente, has not returned. Such a foolish man! How much money did your Papa give them to smuggle your family across?”

“Smuggle? What is that?”

Her laughter boxes my ears and I feel faint from the sight of the grey covered eyeball which blinks open
and closed.

“Girl! It's illegal to cross the border without papers. Do you have papers?”

Not knowing anything about papers, I say nothing.

“You and your family have broken the law. Do you know what that means?” She watches me like a hawk. One good eye is staring straight into me and the grey covered one is blinking rapidly. “No!” she boldly answer herself. “You are but a child, but your Mama and your Papa know! If they find you, they will send you all back to Mexico. First, you will have to spend time in jail. It's a penalty for breaking the law.”

“Jail!” I shout. “Papa would not let that happen.”

She rises, muttering curses to the devil, then goes out the front door carrying the pail.

How could Papa let this happen? Did he make it across the river safely? How will he know where we are? Tears fill my eyes and this time I cannot stop them from flowing. I pick up Pablito and hold him tightly. “Pablito, it's you and me … at least, until Mama wakes up, and I will be glad when she does.” I squeeze him hard, and he cries out.

I sit on the edge of the bed, holding Mama's cold hand and staring at her frozen face in which I cannot see any movement. I pull the blankets up tighter around her and bend to kiss her cheek.

The old one mentioned papers. I remember the pouch, so I go to the door and look out to see that the witch is in the garden hoeing. I lift my skirt and undo the straps of the pouch. In it I find some paper money, a few Mexican coins that fall onto my lap and the yellow stone that the shadow so greatly admired. I take the stone and it feels rough in my fingers. It is unusual in that it has smaller rocks of a different shade
planted in it. I shake the pouch, then look inside, but there are no papers with writing on them.

“What are we going to do now?” I stuff everything back into the pouch, then I tie it around my waist. I straighten my skirt and peek out to the garden where the witch is still hoeing.

Shortly, she returns to the house. She grunts as she lays the hoe against the porch, then lifts her skirt over her wrinkled ankles to enter the house. Cutting a path to Mama, she stands there studying Mama's face for several moments, then turns abruptly and motions for me to follow.

“There is no sense in wasting the day, girl. Come! There are many things to do around this ranchito.”

“Like what, señora?” I ask, keeping a safe distance from her.

She stops in her tracks. “Like feeding the chickens, gathering peppers and tomatoes and then watering the garden.” Her arms move in a wide sweeping motion. “And if you are still not tired by the time the sun falls, you can sweep the house.”