Parte 2
"Pobre México. Tan cerca del cielo, y tan cerca de los Estados Unidos." -Nemesio García Naranjo.
"'Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!' cries she
With silent lips. 'Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'" -Emma Lazarus.
I
Sergio se llevó las manos a la cara, y se talló el rostro, tratando de quitarse de encima la pereza. A su alrededor, ya varios viajeros estaban de pie, bajando sus maletas y cajas de cartón llenas con sus pertenencias, de las rejas de metal arriba de los asientos.
El viaje en autobús había sido largo. Hubiera podido llegar a Nogales un par de días antes, pero Sergio prefirió tomar las corridas que hicieran la mayor parte del trayecto durante el día.
En un par de ocasiones, se había quedado en la parada de autobús, tomando café hasta que fuera la hora de subirse al camión. Una vez en su asiento, Sergio se acomodaba como podía, y se dejaba llevar por el sueño.
El clima del norte siempre le había parecido contradictorio: durante el día, un calor quemante y seco; en la noche, un frío que le calaba hasta los huesos, con un viento que se lo hacía sentir incluso debajo de su chaqueta de mezclilla deslavada.
La ciudad no había cambiado mucho en los siete años desde que el joven la había visitado, pero tenía que reconocer que su visita había sido muy breve. Apenas el tiempo suficiente para bajar del camión de redilas, buscar a un coyote que los llevara al otro lado, y comer algo para no hacer el viaje con el estómago vacío.
Su mochila negra le pesaba en los brazos mientras bajaba del autobús. La había llenado con una variedad de cosas que pensaba que le serían necesarias: un par de jabones, un cepillo de dientes con un tubo de pasta dental a medio usar, un encendedor de plástico rojo transparente, una cajetilla de cigarros medio vacía, un par de cambios de ropa y calcetines, cinco latas de atún fáciles de abrir, y dos botellas de refresco que llenaba con agua cada vez que podía.
Su padre le había dicho que era mejor tener algo y no necesitarlo, que necesitarlo y no tenerlo. Un buen consejo, que les había resultado muy útil cuando estuvieron a punto de morir hace siete años.
Sergio dejó atrás la parada del autobús, y se perdió entre la gente que caminaba por las calles de la ciudad. Eran las ocho de la mañana, de acuerdo al reloj Casio de su padre.
Él vio una tienda de conveniencia en la esquina opuesta, justo al lado de un negocio de cerrajería con una vieja cortina oxidada, y de una tienda que vendía todo tipo de productos de plástico.
Buscó en uno de los bolsillos del frente de su chaqueta, dónde llevaba el cambio, y sacó un par de monedas de diez. El resto de su dinero lo llevaba en varias partes del cuerpo, con la mayor parte oculta entre la suela y las plantillas de sus viejos tenis.
Minutos más tarde, con un vaso lleno de café caliente barato en una mano, y un paquete azul de galletas en la otra, Sergio encontró un pequeño parque donde podría esperar a que fuera la hora de abrir del bar al que iría, si recordaba bien dónde estaba.
Las bancas eran simples asientos de concreto sólido, con un respaldo del mismo material, duro y frío. Su superficie apenas estaba cubierto con algunos restos de pintura de brillantes colores, al igual que los juegos de metal para niños que había en el centro del parque.
No bien se hubo sentado, un niño de 10 años se levantó de uno de los viejos y oxidados columpios, y se acercó a él. El chico llevaba unas sandalias que parecían nuevas, a diferencia del resto de su ropa, con unos pantalones cortos de color verde y amarillo, y una vieja camisa con los colores del PRI, promoviendo a un candidato cuyo nombre no importaba.
-¿Me da una galleta por favor, señor? -preguntó el niño, mientras señalaba al paquete que Sergio tenía en la mano.
-Bueno -accedió Sergio, dejando el café a medio tomar sobre la banca. Tomó una galleta y se la dio al niño, que la comió con prisa, casi sin saborearla. -¿Cómo te llamas?
-Daniel -dijo el pequeño, mirando a Sergio con algo de desconfianza.
-¿No te han dicho tus papás que no hables con extraños? -inquirió Sergio, tomando de nuevo su vaso de café con la mano derecha.
-No, solo que me callara y los dejara estar en paz -respondió Daniel, su expresión volviéndose un poco más triste.
-¿Y dónde están ellos? -dijo Sergio, con curiosidad. Era un Viernes por la mañana, y no había nadie más en el parque a esa hora.
-Mi mamá se quedó en Hermosillo, dijo que me alcanzaría luego -relató Daniel, bajando la mirada. -Y papá no tengo.
-Ya veo -mencionó Sergio. No necesitaba saber más.
Recordaba haber visto otros niños como él, hace años. Incluso un par les habían acompañado, junto con otros migrantes, cuando habían saltado la barda en la frontera. Era un grupo de quince personas, con unas cuantas mujeres muy jóvenes o muy viejas.
Pero casi todos se habían separado tratando de evitar a los vigilantes fronterizos, y nunca supo nada de ninguno de ellos.
-¡Hey Daniel, vente!- gritó una voz infantil, a la entrada del parque.
Un grupo de tres niños, liderado por uno que era algo mayor, hacía señas a Daniel para que se les uniera.
-Gracias. Adiós- se despidió el niño, para luego correr hacia donde estaban sus compañeros.
Sergio se quedó mirando como se alejaban calle abajo, perdiéndose al dar vuelta en la esquina. Así habia sido él, hace ya muchos años, durante una infancia que ahora le parecía casi un idilio.
Volvió a mirar el reloj. Todavía faltaba un buen rato para que pudiera ir al bar.
Se quedó sentado en la banca, pensando en su hermana Julia, y en qué estaría haciendo ella en ese momento. De seguro estaría en clases en la telesecundaria, igual de preocupada por su hermano que él por ella.
Sergio se acomodó lo mejor que pudo sobre el duro concreto, y se perdió en sus pensamientos.
Paul was checking his watch for the eleventh time in just half an hour. He started to wonder if Nick and Rich had forgotten about him, when he heard the horn of Nick's pick-up truck, coming up the street.
The white Ford truck stopped right in front of Henry's store. The truck had been a bit old and beat-up by the time that Nick had bought it, just a year ago, but in that time it had picked up some new dents near the back.
Henry had asked Paul to work just half a day on Friday, since he had asked for the free time in such a short notice, unlike Nick. So Paul had to help Henry sort through a shipment of hunting supplies, and what looked like box after box of plastic duck calls, having to sort them through color, unlike what the supplier had promised to do.
-Come on, Paul, we are already behind schedule! -Nick yelled, while hitting the side of the truck a couple of times with an open palm.
He opened the backdoor, threw in his blue backpack, and took a seat right behind Nick.
-Hey, man, here you go! -said Rich, handing him a can of cold beer. He had a six-pack right in his lap, with half of the cans already gone.
-Are you sure you should be drinking in the car? -Paul asked.
-Relax, Paul. Nick lost the coin-flip. So now he's the desigmana... desigme... the guy who'll be doing all the driving! -Rich then laughed.
Paul grabbed the beer can and opened it. The first two hours of driving were pretty uneventful, with Rich finishing the rest of the beer by himself.
-You know what really makes me angry? -the fat man blurted, just after they were on the intestate.
-Oh, no... -Nick said, shaking his head a bit. -C'mon, Rich, just let me listen to the radio, please!
-Too late Nick. I can hear him dragging his soap box across the floor! -joked Paul, then giving Nick a high-five.
-Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you guys. But like my uncle used to say, there's no better time to educate people than when they don't want to be educated -he retorted, and then drank the last sip of the beer.
-Just promise you'll make it quick -Paul pleaded, before laying down in the back seat. If he was going to hear one of Rich's rants, he at least wanted to be as comfortable as he could.
-All right, here we go... What really makes you angry, Rich? -Nick said, hoping that they'd come across some gas station where they could buy some more beer to shut his friend up.
-What makes me angry, it's how liberals and leftists insist of making hills out of ant-hills, and then claim that a real problem is not a problem at all - Rich started, crumpling the aluminum can in his fat hand.
-Like what kind of problems, Rich? -Paul interjected, not because he wanted to know, but because he knew well that, if they didn't keep Rich on track, he would start to disert about all kinds of stuff.
His divagations and dissertations included, but were not limited to: the loss of values in today's youth, the best way to solve international conflicts, what to do with those damn Russians, how America could be great again, the differences between white people and people of any other color, why Protestan Christianity was the best religion of all, how the government should stop molly-coddling the poor, and in a surprise twist, that corporate America should do more for the environment, of America of course.
-Like the immigration problem, that's what, boys -started Rich. He threw the crushed can into the convenience store plastic bag he had near his legs, with all the other ones. -Just think, every day there's ton of people coming through our borders, people who we know nothing about, but just one thing!
-And what's that thing, Rich? -asked Nick, while fantasizing about crashing the truck in just the right way to knock out his annoying passenger, but not damaging his ride too much.
-That they're criminals, the whole lot of them. People who think so highly of themselves, that they don't want rules to apply to them -explained Rich, pointing at the others with his index finger.
-That's true, they just go ahead and break our laws, and still want to not be punished -Nick agreed, almost by reflex. He and Rich didn't see eye to eye in many issues, but that was one they always agreed in.
-If you commit a crime, you must do the time -Paul added, his gaze lost beyond the roof of the truck.
-Sure, but not here! And I hate how they always claim they just want a job, like, are there not any good jobs back in Mexico, is it? -Rich said. He was just starting to warm up.
-Yeah, fuck that! It's our country, the jobs should be ours! -yelled Nick in response, hoping that it would serve as an end to the rant.
-And we have all these laws for a good reason, isn't it, Paul? -asked Rich, turning his head toward the back of the truck.
-Yes, we do -Paul concurred. -A law is a law because otherwise people would be in danger.
-Exactly! -Rich slapped his right knee, then turned his head back. -That's another thing, the danger that we are exposed to, with all those people we know nothing about all around us.
-I don't like the idea of being afraid of strangers in my own land, that's for sure -Nick said, feeling less annoyed. At this time his friend was ranting about something they all agreed on.
-Hear, hear -Paul added, feeling more and more sleepy. He was ready to take a short nap.
-You don't let an stranger get into your house, do whatever they please, take your money, and make a mess of things -Rich carried on, his hate fueling itself by this point.
-So, are you saying you don't like plumbers either? -Paul interjected, then moved a bit to try to get more comfortable.
-Ha! Good one, man! -Nick exclaimed, laughing for a bit. Meanwhile, Rich had stopped his rant for a moment.
-Laugh it up, you two. But you'll see. -Rich again pointed at them with his finger, trying to give more emphasis to his words. -There will come a day when we will look all around us, and it will turn out we will be the strangers on our own country, trying to get by with whatever scraps they leave us.
-You're preaching to the choir, man. We already going to help with the border patrol, aren't we? -Paul mentioned, while crossing his arms.
-I just want you two to understand the importance of what we are doing. One day, when the people wake up, they realize that the only ones who cared about the country were guys like us -Rich finished. The seat creaked a bit as he laid back on it, his face a bit red for all the talking he had done.
-You're right, Rich. We'll be serious about this, I promise -Paul said.
-Yah, man, don't worry. This will just be the first of many trips, isn't it, Paul? -Nick agreed.
-Well, that's settled. I'm gonna catch some z's, but tell me when you want to switch, Nick -Paul finished, then turned towards the seat.
-Sure, rest while you can. That's one of the things that are wrong with today's youth, they just don't want to put their backs into anything... -Rich started again, to Nick's chagrin.
Paul now understood a little better why Rich's son didn't came back to visit him often. If they were already tired of hearing him rant, it would be hell to have to stay and listen to Rich at anytime 24/7.
He went to sleep, trying to pretend that Rich's voice was as relaxing as the sound of waves crashing against the beach, without success.
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