Disappeared Read online

  “You say something?” Emiliano asks without looking back.

  “Just talking to myself.”

  The mountains keep getting farther and farther away. They’ve been walking for how many hours? How can three hours seem like ten? She straightens when she notices herself slouching and thirty seconds later she’s drooping again. She doesn’t want to think about the men in the black car. Ernesto told her that Hinojosa would not give up. But how? How could they know where they were crossing? She goes back to the safe house and the time when Emiliano told her and Mami that he knew a place where they could cross. After that, who did they talk to? Mami called Papá, but they can both be trusted. Sara talked to Daniel at the Café Rojos and then to Ernesto, but she didn’t tell them where the crossing was going to be. And Emiliano talked to Brother Patricio and to … Perla Rubi. When he came back to the café, he said he talked to Perla Rubi and then went for a long walk.

  It must be Perla Rubi. Emiliano must know that. Perhaps her family has some connection to Hinojosa. Even if she didn’t intend to betray Emiliano and Sara, she could have said something that would have given them away. Should she confront him or wait for him to tell her?

  Sara decides to wait. It will be better for him to come to terms with that realization all by himself.

  Emiliano forces himself to stay alert. Now and then he looks back in the direction of the road and the black car. He knows no car or vehicle can travel the terrain they are walking, but that hasn’t stopped him from checking. The good thing about his vigilance is that it’s a barrier against the pain he felt when Sara asked who knew where they were crossing. The realization that came to him at that moment was like an electric shock to his soul.

  The conversation with Perla Rubi on that public phone by the Olympic Stadium. He’s gone over what he said to her again and again. He told her they were crossing from Mexico into a national park in Texas. They were going to follow trails and old roads to the end of the park. Did he actually use the words “national park” or did he just say “Texas”? It’s ridiculous to even imagine Perla Rubi doing anything that might hurt him.

  But it is also irrefutable. If the men in the black car are looking for them and saw them—and he knows in his heart that they are and they did—the only explanation is Perla Rubi. It hurts to even think it, but there’s no way around not thinking it. Perla Rubi must have told her father, possibly not knowing the consequences. Mr. Esmeralda, on the other hand, had to have known what that would mean for Sara—and he still told the bad guys.

  This city is like a spiderweb. Every thread is connected directly or indirectly to every other thread.

  “Damn,” he says out loud.

  “What did you say?” Sara says from behind him.

  “I’m just talking to myself.”

  Sara skips a couple of steps ahead and joins Emiliano. She smiles when he looks at her apprehensively.

  “What?” Emiliano asks.

  “I need to talk periodically, otherwise I’ll explode.”

  “You need to be very quiet. Sounds—”

  “Travel far in the desert, I know. But I’m going batty listening to my thoughts, which are very loud out here. Do you ever get any happy thoughts in the desert? I’m still waiting for one to come.”

  “It’s getting hot,” Emiliano says, looking up. “In a couple of hours, we’ll have to pull off the road for a while.”

  “A couple of hours?” Sara asks, deflated.

  They march on side by side.

  “I’m sorry I never got to write that article about the Jiparis. It would have been good for people to know about them.”

  Emiliano looks straight ahead and makes no sign that he is listening, but he doesn’t tell her to stop talking either. Sara proceeds carefully. “I loved that pledge the Jiparis take. I will be honest with myself and others. That’s so beautiful, that an explorer group would have its members make that pledge about honesty. I mean, what does it have to do with exploring, you know?”

  Emiliano doesn’t respond. He looks as if he’s somewhere deep inside himself. Then, just before he pulls ahead of her, he speaks softly.

  “It’s not possible to live without some kind of lying. It can’t be done. If you think it’s possible, then you’re fooling yourself.”

  Sara lets Emiliano move in front of her. His words don’t jibe with the Emiliano she’s always known—the brother who was lied to by a father and who, after that, despised lying more than anything. Emiliano’s wrong. Maybe most people can’t live without some kind of lying. But that doesn’t apply to Emiliano. If there’s one thing Sara knows without a doubt, it’s that for her brother, it is not possible to live with lying.

  The Emiliano who came back from Perla Rubi’s party is different from the Emiliano who went there. Maybe he was reading Papá’s letters to tell himself that people lie. Papá promised him he’d come back and didn’t. If Papá could lie, so can he. Is that it? Something happened to him back home that made him say that it’s not possible to live without lying. What lying did he have to do or feel he has to do?

  When the sun is directly in front of him, Emiliano slows down and waits for Sara to catch up. He can tell that she is tired because her feet barely lift off the ground. There were times during the past twelve miles when he thought about walking next to her and letting her do all the talking and questioning he knows she is itching to do. That will still come, but he decided it would be better if he let her talk when they were resting.

  “You look exhausted,” he tells her.

  “A little. My legs feel heavy.” She reaches down and touches her thighs. “Like they’ve got molasses circulating in there instead of blood.”

  Emiliano looks in the direction of the mountains. “There’s a canyon about half a mile from here where we can find shade. Or we can put the tarp up over a couple of bushes and rest underneath it. It will be more comfortable in the canyon, but it means a mile or so of extra walking. It’s up to you.”

  “Tarp sounds good, for some reason.”

  Emiliano finds two creosote bushes about ten feet apart from each other. He kneels in the space between them and takes off his backpack. He unlaces the tarp from the top of the aluminum frame and ties it to the two bushes with leather straps. The shade is enough for them to sit with their legs stretched out, their heads almost touching the tarp. They eat a chocolate bar in silence and then Emiliano arranges his backpack so he can use it as a pillow. He lies down but keeps his eyes open.

  Sara takes off her shoes and socks. “How long will we rest?”

  “Three or four hours, until the sun starts going down. Then we’ll walk through the night until we get to the east-west road.”

  “How many miles per hour were we walking back there?”

  “We started off at a good clip. Maybe three miles an hour. Then, after about a mile of that, we slowed down. You started falling back. All told, we walked about fifteen miles.”

  “That’s all?”

  “It’s a good start.”

  “Whoever thought walking could be so painful?”

  Emiliano turns on his side and watches Sara touch the blister on the big toe of her right foot. He sits up and finds the first aid kit. He hands her a tube of disinfectant and a small square of gauze. “Put a little bit of the ointment on so it won’t get infected, and when we’re ready to start again, wrap the toe in the gauze.”

  “This is not good, is it?” She examines the middle toe on her left foot. “I got another one coming over here.” She lifts her foot so Emiliano can see the red spot.

  “You should have told us the shoes were too tight.”

  “It’s okay. They’ll stretch out. Should I put my shoes back on?”

  “You can leave them off.”

  “What about scorpions?”

  “They’re resting in a cool place. Under a rock somewhere.”

  Sara takes a notebook and pen from her backpack. She places her backpack against a bush and leans against it. She crosses her legs and beg
ins to write in the open notebook in her lap.

  “What are you doing?” Emiliano says with one eye open and one closed.

  “Writing,” Sara answers, not looking up. She bites the plastic pen thoughtfully.

  “Writing?”

  “I want to write down everything that happened since I got the threatening e-mail about Linda.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been thinking that maybe asylum is our best option after all. We can do that after we get to Chicago. Writing it all down will help me remember all the details. What if the story of why we came to the United States was published in a newspaper? It would help us if we had the press behind us. When I was researching the asylum process, I found out that it was more likely to be granted to people who were well known—writers and poets from Mexico who were persecuted for their writings. So it will definitely be a help if our story gets known.”

  Emiliano smiles, shakes his head.

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and get it out of your system? Then we can get some rest.”

  “Get what out of my system?”

  “You just said that asylum is our best option and something we can do when we get to Chicago. Look, let’s do this. You can try to convince me to live with our dear father for the next hour. I promise I will listen to what you have to say, and you can give it your best shot. But after that hour, if you’re not able to convince me, we won’t talk about it anymore and you won’t waste precious mental energy thinking about it. What do you say?”

  “You really will listen? I mean really listen. You’ll be honestly open to the possibility? Can you do that?”

  “Hold on.” Emiliano shuts his eyes. Ten seconds later, he opens them again. “Okay, my mind is honestly open to the possibility of living with the man who told Mami and us to go to hell.”

  “Emiliano, I know you’re not serious. I know you don’t really want to hear me try to convince you. But …”

  “But?”

  “I’ll take the hour you give me. We’ll talk about it for an hour and then that will be it. I won’t mention it again during our trip.”

  “But?”

  “But there’s one condition.”

  “What?”

  “If I ask you a question, you have to tell me the truth. You need to follow the Jipari code of honesty for one hour. Can you do that?”

  Emiliano stares long and hard at Sara. Why would Sara ask him that? She’s very clever, his sister. And when is he going to tell her that it’s his fault the men in the black car are after them?

  Sara holds Emiliano’s gaze and restrains herself from saying anything. The fact that Emiliano is taking so long and thinking so hard about her request means she’s hit a nerve. He’s hiding something.

  “Okay,” Emiliano finally says. “I will answer truthfully, whatever you ask.”

  Sara closes her notebook. “Let me see, where do I start?” She needs to remember all she’s learned about interviewing people at El Sol. “Tell me about the party last Friday at Perla Rubi’s.”

  The question takes Emiliano by surprise. He anticipated the first question would be Why do you hate Papá so much? “What does the party have to do with anything?”

  “Something happened at that party. You were one Emiliano before and a different one after.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Emiliano. Remember. The truth.”

  Emiliano reaches out and breaks a twig from the bush next to him. The shadow of gloom that passes over his face tells Sara that her instinct to start with the party was the right one. “Emiliano, not answering a question that needs to be answered is the same as not telling the truth. What happened at that party?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because whatever happened at that party is what you’ll be going back to when you return. I know your conscience is bothering you about something that happened to you that night. You wouldn’t have been up all night reading Papá’s letters otherwise. What’s the real story behind the Mercedes and the Vespa? What kind of life is waiting for you in Juárez? How did the men in the black car find us?”

  Emiliano exhales, shakes his head. He’s got to hand it to Sara. She’s good. Why did he ever think he could hide the truth from her? A force inside him is pushing him to speak, if only to avoid the agonizing loneliness of the truth. And what is the truth? The truth seems so complicated and difficult to untangle. Or else the truth is so very simple: I told Perla Rubi where we were going to cross. She told her father and he told Hinojosa. Oh, and when I go back, I’ll be stuffing drugs in Javier’s piñatas.

  That’s it. That’s all he has to say to Sara. A few words. Is it so hard?

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Something’s tearing you up inside. I can tell.”

  He wants to speak. He wants to let his sister in. But if he does, if he tells her, then she will be burdened by worry and concern.

  “You want to know what I think?” Sara says. “I think you’re torn between being who you really are and who Perla Rubi and her family want you to be. It doesn’t seem like the two are the same. You know, it’s possible to be in love with someone and realize that you can’t be happy with them.”

  “You’re really going to give me advice on love?”

  Sara blushes. It’s true. Her credentials in this area are not stellar. “I know a little.”

  “Joel.”

  “Yes, Joel. He and I were not meant to be more than good friends. We found that out pretty soon after we started dating and we were both grateful we did. But most of what I know about love and relationships, I learned from Mami.”

  “Mami?”

  “And Papá too, I guess.”

  “Papá?” Emiliano chuckles.

  “The two of them. They gradually came to understand and accept that even though they loved each other, neither one of them was happy with the other. Not truly and deeply happy, the way a man and wife should be. They saw life so differently. He wanted things she didn’t want and vice versa.”

  “And he didn’t want things he should have wanted,” Emiliano says pointedly.

  Sara ignores his remark. “They admired each other. I mean, they liked the qualities the other person had. Mami liked Papá’s energy, his drive and ambition, and his never wanting to be bored in a job, and Papá liked how solid and steadfast and calm Mami was. But the reality was that it was hard for them to be together day by day. I mean, it was hard for each of them to be themselves with each other. When they were together, they each had to pretend to be what they thought the other person wanted them to be.”

  Sara stops to look at a neon lizard that crawled from a bush nearby. The lizard twists his neck for a better look at Emiliano. When the lizard scampers away, he says, “I heard Mami cry in her room the day the divorce papers came.”

  “Yes,” Sara responds. She remembers Mami’s tears too. “Letting go of a person you love, even one who is not right for you, still hurts.”

  What Emiliano is thinking but doesn’t say is this: A father doesn’t abandon his son … or his daughter. He has an obligation to make a marriage work, to keep the promises of a father, even if keeping the promises of a husband make him unhappy.

  “It wasn’t just Papá who ended the marriage,” Sara continues. “They ended it together. Papá took the first step, yes, but Mami came to accept the decision as correct. At that point, the divorce became mutual. Mami now believes that what they felt for each other, as beautiful as it was, was not enough. She loved him so much. But she wanted him to be happy, so she let him go. And I think the same goes for how Papá feels about Mami.” She waits a few moments, then continues, “And you’re wrong about Papá not wanting the things he should have wanted. He loves you and wants to be with you. He always has. Someday you’ll need to find a way to forgive him for wanting to be happy. You would prefer he’d stay in Mexico and be some kind of martyr. So, an
yway, that’s what I learned from Mami and Papá about loving someone. Whoever you love also has to be the right person for you.”

  Emiliano has to keep his eyes away from Sara for a few seconds. He looks down toward the roots of the bush, searching for the lizard. Finally, he turns back to his sister. The look of anguish on her face reflects exactly what he’s feeling.

  “It’s not just Perla Rubi,” he says. “It’s the world she lives in. It’s the world I wanted for all of us. I wanted Mami to not have to work anymore and for you not to take those stupid buses everyday. I don’t know if I can let go of that.”

  Sara wishes she could find words of comfort. But there aren’t any words that will make Emiliano feel better. The only words he needs to hear are ones that will increase the hurt. But she must say them, because he is her brother, and telling him the truth is how she loves him.

  “But there are conditions to living in that world, aren’t there?” she says softly. “It’s those conditions that are bothering you. It’s like it says in the Bible, ‘What use is it to gain the whole world if you lose your soul?’ ”

  Silence is Emiliano’s only response. But that’s enough for Sara. She waits for his eyes to meet hers again, and then she tells him, “You know that you can never be the person those people want you to be. If you’re honest with yourself, you know that.”

  Emiliano puts his arm over his eyes. Then he turns his back to Sara.