Coyote, Set Me Free
I knew I had to leave my family after my baby sister died in my mother’s arms that dark, dry night. My father knew this. He worked hard every day, but his salary was hardly enough to sustain our entire family. The hard proof was that his third child and youngest daughter died of starvation. It wasn’t only for my survival, but for my younger sisters, as well. I was not only the oldest, but my father’s only boy. My parents never had enough food to feed me, who was growing constantly as a rising fourteen year old, my sisters, and then themselves included.
My father had led me out, away from our house, quietly past the other small houses; our feet shuffling through the dirt, making clouds of dust linger behind us like little shadows in the night. My heart thundered hard within my chest making my ears pound with warm blood, we soon stopped behind a building decaying with age and with broken windows that seemed to have been shattered long before I was ever born. He leaned against the building and pulled a cigarette from his black pants pocket. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his mourning clothes after we had buried her in the ground early that morning. Who was I to judge, I had only just changed out of my shirt because my sweat had soaked through the thin black material, causing me to shiver constantly even though it was ninety-eight degrees outside. Our mourning clothes weren’t fancy or suits, just black clothes we pulled together to give my sister that respect for when we separated her from our family permanently. My parents hadn’t been able to afford a traditional funeral or a casket for my sister’s body, so we wrapped her in a blanket and buried her in the spot where most of the poor buried their dead. The only way to distinguish the dead was if you put up a cross and carved the person’s name on it. At least we did that for my sister. The tip of my father’s cigarette illuminated his face in the dark, showing the lines of fatigue under his eyes just like the dry desert I would soon walk along and the tightness around his mouth as he inhaled the thick nicotine into his lungs and blew out through his nose, the smoked swirled above his head and vanished. He glanced at me and smiled sadly.
“I didn’t want to have to make you do this,” he said. “I thought maybe I could prevent it from happening if I worked harder and longer, but if I do anymore I’ll kill myself. Where would that leave the rest of you, then?” He inhaled the smoke and then shook his head letting the smoke spiral out from his nostrils over to me. I suppressed my cough as I always did when he smoked around me.
I thought maybe he was too tired to stop smoking as he had promised me and my sisters every day, but children are smarter than adults give us credit for. We always know the promises they can’t ever keep. I waited for him to continue, but he leaned his head back against the building and, I heard the crack of the paint breaking behind him from the pressure of his head being pressed against the wall. He looked up at the sky for awhile and I guessed he was counting the stars. After a few moments he continued.
“I’m getting in contact with a friend who knows a good coyote to take you across the border safely. He’s informed me that this man is the best around. Once you get across, you’ll have to find work quickly.” My father never looked at me, not once. He continued to stare at the stars never meeting my terrified face or the shock that was plainly visible even in the dark. No matter how hard I had convinced myself I was going to leave Mexico, leave my family, hearing the truth said aloud, hearing a voice confirm my thoughts, shook me enough to set a ringing off in my ears my stomach to roll feeling like a rock tumbler hastily trying to rub the millions of ugly rocks into beautiful crystalline pieces, but his rocks refused to polish.
Send me away. He was sending me away? Across the border? I tried to think of how many men had tried to go across the border, the ones who failed or were never heard from again. In school, other boys would tell me about how La Migra would catch the wetbacks, people who crossed the border through the river, and send them back to Mexico City if they had a well known coyote with a big boss, who paid the police a hefty sum of what they earned in letting people illegally use their services. Then also of the ones would be sent to jail and never allowed to go into America legally. Crossing the border cost money that we didn’t have, which was obvious to me, but apparently not to my father.
“Where are we going to get the money for me to cross, Dad? What if the La Migra catches me? What does Mom think?” I rapidly spilled these questions out. Sometimes my voice would raise and then quiet down again with nervousness. My hands blurred in the night, as I emphasized my words.
“I’m borrowing some money, don’t worry about that. My friend said this coyote has connections and if you get caught they’ll just send you back here and you’ll try again.” He looked at me then as if seeing me for the first time and said quietly, “Your mother doesn’t know yet. I’ll tell her after you leave tomorrow.”
The last word caught me and everything seemed to blend together in one big swirl, my vision tunneled. Tomorrow? Tomorrow, I would leave my home and my family and go to the United States, where I have never been, never seen, never smelled or never touched. I was scared, but I was fourteen and already considered a man in Mexico.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day flew past with a speed I have never experienced before. I don’t remember what my sisters said to me, only that they bugged me constantly, more than likely trying to get me to play. I think they sensed something was wrong with me, I felt definitely felt different. Nothing seemed important anymore, as I awaited my destiny to arrive, just as swiftly as sundown comes and goes each day. My father had left early for work, well that’s what he told my mother and sisters, but I knew he did not go to work today. He went to meet with his friend’s coyote, to pay him the first half of the money; two thousand pesos. As the hours flew by the reality of the situation settled in; I was leaving home, my sisters and mother whom I loved would be gone from me. I did not want to leave, perhaps if I begged my father he would not send me away. Yes, that is what I will do.
My father arrived home looking just as tired as if he had worked; my mother greeted him by patting his chest softly and asking how work was. He replied that it was fine and that the sun was very cruel to the workers today. I was sitting on the ground leaning against our halls wall, playing jacks with my sisters, who were four and six, when he caught my eye and nodded his head towards the back. My mouth went dry and I forgot to pick up the jacks, as I bounced the ball, my sisters squealed their happiness at winning. I had planned it all out, repeated my speech over and over in my head to get it just right. I even practiced my facial expressions in the mirror, even though I felt stupid when my sister, Teresa, asked me what I was doing. She, of course, immediately began to copy me, making faces in the mirror after I left in embarrassment. I went out back a few minutes behind my father. I opened my mouth to start when my father interrupted.
“I got the coyote. He seemed alright a lot better than the other ones I have heard about. I paid him a little extra so he could take care of you more, or at least keep La Migra off your back if the group gets caught. He’ll be here in a half an hour. He said to pack lightly, so hurry.”
I opened my mouth to beg, to tell the speech I had practiced but no words came out. Nothing. I watched the sun slowly disappear behind my father’s back along with my chance at staying, escaping slowly into the crisp night breeze.
The Coyote wasn’t too intimidating when I first saw him up close. I was just as tall, only 5’10, but he was skinnier than me. His ribs showed through his tight black shirt and he was rather rugged, dirty really. When he got closer to me and my father I could smell him, the stench was over powering, full of lung stuffing second hand smoke. It was true, my father did smoke, but only outside and when stressed, not like this chimney looking me over, from the tips of my shoes to my thin dark brown hair.
I decided not to move under his hard black gaze. Trying not to show my true unhappiness at leaving my family to this strange man because I had to do this for my family; it was my destiny to save them. Like the American comic book characters that I had read when I was younger, the prospect was exciting to me, to be a hero and to save the day. I accepted my fate, but it didn’t mean I would like it any better than before. I still had to deal with the Coyote and La Migra.
“How old is he?” The Coyote’s voice was smooth, flowing like coffee mixed with cream; it was not what I thought it would sound like, expecting something more rough and deep. I realized, he too was very young, no more than nineteen or twenty years old.
“He is fourteen. Fifteen in two months, but he’s always been a smart kid who listens and learns fast.” Well, I at least knew my Dad thought I was smart before I left home. He’s never said that to me before, but it was interesting how he couldn’t say it to me and instead a complete stranger.
“He’ll need to be smart enough, but brains can only take you so far. You need to be quick or you’ll get caught. Not saying he will or anything, cause I have never been caught, but that’s just me. You paid extra to keep him safe, so I’ll do my best, Anton.” The Coyote smiled and flashed us two silver teeth that gleamed in the moons rays.
“Thank you… Will you give me your name or do you just want me to call you Coyote?” my father asked.
“My name is Dencio. I was the tenth son of my mother believe it or not.” He laughed, the rich sound flowing through the breeze and gliding into our ears, as if it were music.
“Thank you, Dencio.” My father shook the coyotes hand firmly in his own, which swallowed it because of the immense difference in size.
My father turned to me smile gone now, replaced by a flat line. What did I do to deserve this lack of emotion from him all the time? He played with my sisters and laughed with them, but never me. I never understood, even now what I did to make my father hate me so much.
“Okay, do you have your bag?” I nodded. “Your money?” he whispered, as if the coyote couldn’t hear him, I thought to myself, but nodded again. “Be careful, Fernando.” I heard his voice change, some rumble of emotion roll off is tongue but by the time I looked up to catch this one special moment, to truly see my father without his barrier up, he was walking away. He never looked back at me as he closed the door to my once was, sealing my fate into the night to my now very real present.
~~~~~
Dencio lead me through the towns keeping me close as he smoked away, somehow having a cigarette everywhere on his body to reach in and light up. I coughed a couple of times to maybe make him feel bad for killing me with his second hand smoke, but it never seemed to bother him.
“Are you okay back there, Ferna?” I stopped walking and stared at his back. Ferna?
“My name is Fernando, not Ferna.” I started to walk alongside him, keeping pace.
“I know, but that is your nickname I have given you. Be grateful, I usually don’t give nicknames to everybody I cross over.” He lit another cigarette this one coming from his blue jeans pocket.
“I wonder why.” I whispered to myself.
“So, Ferna, got any plans when you get to America?” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, waiting for my response. Panic seized me because I had no idea what I was going to do. I had no one, knew no one, I haven’t even ever been to America. How in the hell was I going to survive. He seemed to see right through me.
“Don’t freak. It’s not that bad, its hard yes but eventually you get used to it. It’s a lot easier to go at it alone than have someone tag along with you. But since I like you, because you remind me of me back when I was a kid. I’ll help you out.” I remembered all the stories of how coyotes weren’t great people and how they got paid with or without you crossing the border, but here this guy is helping me for nothing! He was going to help me and he only knew me for a few hours.
“Why would you help me, though?” I don’t know what convinced me to ask him this, but it was already out of my mouth before I could think to take it back.
“No one helped me. I tried crossing nine times before I ever set foot in America. My brother’s all tried to cross also. I was luckier than they were and I got away from La Migra, but my brothers weren’t so lucky. Two died of pneumonia after they crossed the river together, freezing to death at night; three got caught by La Migra and sent to jail. One starved to death before he crossed the border and three had their money stolen or perhaps washed away by the river and were shot.” All of this was said so calmly I got chills that ran through my legs to the back of my neck making the hairs stand at attention. I couldn’t imagine going through those things with my family, with my sisters.
I didn’t know what to say, I think if I said ‘I’m sorry, that sucks.’ It wouldn’t have seemed powerful enough to express my sense of sadness for his tragedies. I decided to just nod my head. He laughed throwing his head back; he struck my back making me lose my balance a bit.
“It was a long time ago, I had time to get over it and I was young. Don’t worry so much though I have crossed so many times I have lost count and you’re my number one priority this crossing. We only have two others coming along. We’re meeting them in Mexico City. In about an hour we should be there.” I nodded again, feeling more comfortable with him now than my own father. He put his hand in my hair and ruffled it. How strange that I had become friends with a coyote.
~~~~~
We arrived an hour in a half later than Dencio predicted, but the sun was slowly creeping its way back into our view, lighting the sky with a shy early morning blue. Dencio was not such a bad guy; he actually turned out to be very funny which made me less nervous for the journey ahead. Mexico City was still asleep, a few early birds sprouting into our view every once in awhile. I saw two older men about forty or fifty sitting on some old wooden steps leaning against the beams of the salon, hats pulled down over their face, slumped as if sleeping. Dencio whistled and both men looked up and pushed their caps back. If I thought Dencio was scary before well these men topped him times a hundred. They had no expression and seemed to look right through you and see every possession you had, examining within seconds the worth of your life over theirs. It seemed, since their scan of me was quick and bored, that I was worth nothing.
“Dencio, what took you so long you said you would be here at 5am?” One man stood up he had a brown old hat on with a tucked in dark blue shirt and blue jeans and worn out brown shoes covered in mud. He was about 6’2 towering over us, making me and Dencio look like baby corn, compared to his big corn size.
“We’re only thirty minutes behind schedule. Are you guys ready, we should get moving.” Brown Hat nodded and behind him Black Hat nodded after, never saying anything. He was similar height to Brown Hat, but thicker, more muscle showed under his black muscle shirt. Both decided not to acknowledge me.
I wondered if we were going to walk the entire way because I could already feel blisters forming on my feet, my mouth begin to dry as the heat rose along with the sun. Sweat trickled down my forehead and back, making mosquitoes fly around me. But I kept my mouth shut afraid these guys would call me a baby or wuss. We didn’t walk very far when we got to this car and Dencio smiled at me.
“What did you think we would walk the entire way? Ferna, cars were made for traveling like this. I’ll be right back.” At the mention of my nickname Brown and Black hat looked at me with raised eyebrows. I turned away, blood creeping up my neck. I decided to ignore them as they had done to me as I watched Dencio go to the driver side of the car, apparently there was someone inside, waiting.
Yelling came from inside the car and I heard my name mentioned a few seconds earlier from Dencio’s mouth. Dencio yelled back, clearly defending me to the driver. I didn’t see what was wrong with me being able to cross? My father had paid the money and even extra, too. Dencio’s face paled and he backed up and looked over at me then said something too quiet for me to catch. Brown and Black hat looked at me again and I looked down when I saw Dencio fish money out of his pockets. My father hadn’t paid after all. I had wondered where my father had gotten the money from before and he had lied to both me and Dencio. I felt embarrassed to let Dencio, my new friend, pay this bill. I would pay him back, I vowed to myself.
I hadn’t been paying attention, too caught up in my own head to see the failed transaction of money. I looked up in time to see the gun gleam as the sun rose over the building, to hear the gunshot whistle loudly through the air and pierce through Dencio’s chest with a thud. Brown and Black hat were gone running in the opposite direction. I stood in place as the car drove off, dirt flying behind the wheels. My backpack dropped from its position on my shoulder. I saw the money float through the air some covered in a vibrant red. My body moved on its own accord. I told my feet to stop, that I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know, but they kept moving; each step felt heavier than the next, as if I was stepping through quicksand. The blood had spread to the dirt making a giant puddle that was thicker than water as it moved slowly under my shoe. Dencio’s face is what I never will forget, for he was not dead when I looked down at him. His eyes, now glazing slowly over, turned towards me and then he smiled weakly. His eyes showed me one expression of which I knew I held as well; I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what I can do. He features froze, his eyes still half open and I bent down and closed them gently. The green bills rustled with the wind and I bent down and picked them up, blood stained and all. I would cross the border and never return to Mexico, I would try till I died.
