Forty-Four Book Eleven (44 series 11) Read online

  The crying closed in around my ears, but this time there was something new.

  A splash on the surface.

  My eyes bulged as a large shape descended quickly through the water, for a moment throwing me in shadows. It landed a few feet to my left. I turned my head and could see that it was a man, his pale hands and feet bound by wire. He began to float up but then stopped abruptly. He was tethered to something gray and heavy.

  I began to scream and then heard another splash. And then another. And another.

  A few seconds later other bodies dropped down around me. Two women and a teenage boy.

  The boy landed close to me. His lifeless eyes were open and there was something reflected in them.

  A dead little girl, floating at the bottom of a lake.

  CHAPTER 40

  I woke up gasping.

  It was so real. So horrible.

  It wasn’t me in the water. It was the little girl, dead at the bottom of that lake.

  And she wasn’t the only one.

  Lupe sat up and shook her head at me and I turned over, trying to muffle my cries into the pillow.

  CHAPTER 41

  After night two of the birria de chivo the workers gathered around the campfire, huddling against the cold, soft guitar music coming from one of the other cabins. One of the women brought down the rocking chair from the porch for the old woman and she sat close to the flames, smoking her cigar as bright embers floated up in the sky.

  When she had warmed herself, she began talking to Lupe as she rocked slowly. Lupe let out a long sigh and turned to me.

  “She wants to know something.”

  “What?”

  “She wants to know who that tall boy was that you were talking to yesterday. And how long you’ve seen the spirits of the lost souls.”

  My stomach dropped as I looked over at the old woman who was staring at me with large eyes, waiting for an answer.

  “Since my accident,” I said. “I drowned in a lake. I was dead when they brought me into the hospital, but I woke up somehow. Ever since then, I’ve seen ghosts.”

  Lupe bit her lip and after she translated Abuelita crossed herself and said, “Dios mío.”

  “And the boy?” Lupe said, the old woman nodding at me and gesturing with her hands. “Was he in the accident with you?”

  I shuddered and hugged my chest.

  “Sí,” I answered slowly, wondering how she knew so much. “Su nombre es Jesse.”

  “She says he’s a part of you. That you two are joined together.”

  I nodded, staring out into the black night as more words were spoken.

  “She wants to know if that is the reason you are here. Because you are running from your grief.”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said. “That’s not why. The accident happened a long time ago.”

  I peered up at the stars, thinking how it was very strange talking about ghosts, and about Jesse, but how at the same time it felt like the most natural thing in the world. As they listened there wasn’t the slightest trace of doubt in their faces about what I was saying, not in the old woman’s and not in Lupe’s.

  Abuelita said something to Lupe, looking at me as she spoke, the cigar smoke floating between us.

  “She wants you to go to church with her tomorrow night. They send out a bus for us and have a special Mass just for the farm workers.”

  There would be other people there as well, people who might have seen my face in the newspaper or on TV. I had no reason to believe that David had come down with laryngitis in the last week. I was probably still big news. I shook my head.

  “No se,” I said. “I don’t know.”

  “There will be dinner afterwards,” Lupe said. “It must be important or she wouldn’t be asking you. You should go, D.”

  I looked at both of them without answering and Lupe shook her head.

  “You might as well say yes and save yourself a lot of trouble. Do you see that look in her eye? She’s not going to let this go.”

  “Bueno.” I gave her a nervous smile. “I’ll go.”

  That seemed to please the old woman and she took one last long drag off her cigar before putting it out.

  “Has she always seen ghosts?” I said after a while.

  “Since she was a little girl. But she doesn’t like that word. She calls them ‘the lost spirits.’ She sees them, but she isn’t able to communicate. They don’t hear her. She says she’s not like you, and that you are much stronger in that way.” Lupe paused. “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  Lupe looked at the fire and then at me, the guitar playing a sad melody.

  “She wants to help the little girl who is lost, the one caught between worlds. But Abuelita says she needs your help. She cannot do it alone.”

  CHAPTER 42

  I stared up at the bunk above me, listening to the sounds of the night, the creaking of the wooden slats, the groaning and snoring of the exhausted people around me. I was also beyond tired, but I couldn’t sleep. I thought about Jesse and the old woman and how much she knew about me without knowing me at all.

  It was late and I couldn’t turn off my mind, the thoughts starting an avalanche of more thoughts and memories of home. I thought about Kate and how at times like these I would wander out to the kitchen and find her there by the kettle, like she had a sixth sense when I was troubled. And how she’d make tea and we would talk. And then I thought about David and then Back Street and then the cooking classes I was missing.

  And then I thought about Ty.

  I would do anything to be with him at this moment. If only I could go back in time, I would stay there forever, frozen in his arms.

  I thought back to that afternoon a few days after he had proposed, when we had both skipped work and stayed in bed all afternoon.

  “I’d like to have kids,” Ty said suddenly.

  “You mean goats?” I said nervously.

  “Very funny. No, you know, babies. Children. Lots of them.”

  My heart almost stopped as my eyes gave birth to larger, bulging eyes.

  Children? A lot of children?

  “I guess we should have talked about it before,” he said. “And I’m okay with it if you don’t want to. And it doesn’t even have to be right away. But I can’t think of anything better.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, my voice high and squeaky.

  We were quiet for a while and I thought about how I would need time after I graduated to establish myself as a chef. And then I thought how I didn’t know anything about kids and didn’t even know how to talk to them. And how the world was scary and full of suffering. Was it even right to bring another life into a place like this?

  But Ty just kept beaming, pulling me closer as he stroked my hair.

  “Whatever you want, Abby,” he had said. “We don’t have to. But I think it would be good. We’d be the best parents. We could start small, you know, a little Abby, and then maybe a little Ty.”

  I should have laughed, but I was just too stunned. I took in a breath.

  “Ty, I’ve never really…”

  “Of course,” he said. “I understand. You’ve been through so much. All that darkness that you see. But there’s light in the world, too. You’re part of that light, and I think that together we’re part of it. And children are part of that light too.”

  He kissed me and looked deep into my eyes and I saw some of that light he was talking about. Then he pulled me on top of him and I leaned down, kissing him back with everything I had.

  I remembered thinking that maybe he was right. We could have babies and watch them grow and teach them how to cook and ski and ride horses and play soccer and have Saturday Alfredo nights on Tuesdays and love them every day. And the love that we had, so full and passionate, could be expanded and shared.

  Later in the shower, I weaved my fingers through his, holding them up to the sun coming in through the window, and stared at the light leaking between t
he cracks and edges of our hands.

  “I’ll always be here waiting, Abby,” Ty had said softly. “Every time you have to dive back into that black lake, I’ll be here waiting for you. Here on the surface, where it’s bright.”

  CHAPTER 43

  It was after three when I crept outside and sat on the porch, looking up at the black night. It was still and dead quiet on the farm. I wiped my eyes and tried to shake off the memory of all I had and all I had lost.

  I suddenly had the thought that maybe Lupe had been right about me all along. That I was one of those versions of la Llorona, roaming the land, weeping for the children I had killed. Because that’s exactly what I had done. I had killed the possibility of ever having the children Ty had dreamed of.

  The past was dead too, as dead as the children I would never have, as dead as that little girl. To think any other way was a fantasy. And I couldn’t afford to have fantasies. They weighed you down and made you weak. I needed to be strong. I would be leaving here in a few days and I knew the road would be hard and uphill all the way.

  I had to leave the dead weight behind.

  “I’ll always love you, Ty,” I whispered one last time, looking up at the sky, trying to let go.

  Suddenly, I heard something. It started off soft and low but then became louder.

  Sobbing. The same sobbing from my dreams. It was coming from out in the field.

  A few seconds passed and then I heard a splash.

  “Mamá,” a tiny voice cried out. “¡Mamá!”

  It was the little girl.

  A moment later the sound of the water and her cries faded, but the weeping grew louder and louder, closing in all around, pounding in my ears until I thought I couldn’t take it anymore.

  What did it all mean?

  Was the crying coming from the child’s mother? But why was she just standing somewhere on shore and doing nothing while her little girl sank down to her watery grave?

  My mind suddenly flashed on a story from a few years ago where a young mother had intentionally driven her car into the Columbia River with her two toddlers in the back seat.

  As the last echoes of the woman’s weeping finally disappeared and the night once again became entombed in a deathlike silence, I sat there wondering if the crying mother had killed her child, too.

  CHAPTER 44

  The smell was outrageous.

  And the hammering of my heart only made things worse, forcing me to breathe faster, as I tried to hold my breath and not puke at the same time.

  It had started as a cloud of dust on the edge of the farm. As it came closer I saw that it was a police car speeding toward us. It slowed down and parked in front of the spot where we turned in our chiles in exchange for tokens.

  It all happened so fast that by the time I saw the two cops get out, it was too late to run.

  I would only draw attention to myself and I probably wouldn’t get very far. I could see it all play out in my mind as I stood there under the hot sun, envisioning one cop chasing after me on foot down the dirt path while the other one used the car to cut me off. I remembered the poster in the gun shop. If Steve McQueen got caught, first by the Germans and then by cancer, what chance did I have?

  Instead of bolting like a spooked horse, I headed over to the row of portable bathrooms.

  I had been inside for a long time when I heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel. The steps stopped abruptly and my chest nearly exploded when someone pounded on the door.

  It was over. End of the line, I thought.

  But instead of a harsh, male voice, I heard Lupe.

  “Psst, D, you still alive in there? The coast is clear. It’s safe to come out now.”

  I opened the door slowly and looked at her and then down to where the police had been. She was telling the truth. They were gone.

  “Seems like you could’ve found a better hiding place,” she said, laughing.

  I stumbled out and over to a grove of trees before collapsing, blowing out the wretched smell from my nose and lungs. After a minute Lupe came over, blocking out the sun, and grinned.

  “I saw the look on your face when they pulled up. It wasn’t the look of someone who’s constipated.”

  I nodded and started coughing a little.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll live,” I said. “I think.”

  She held out her hand and I took it.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  My knees were still wobbly but I felt better. I inhaled deeply and then we started walking back.

  “I don’t get you,” Lupe said. “Why would a white girl be worried about some menso border patrol cops? You did see that they were migra, right?” I shrugged. “Well, from what I could hear they were after some coyotes driving a green van or something. You’re not one of those, are you?”

  I looked at her, not understanding.

  “Coyotes, girl. Now don’t make me start calling you mensa again, just when I started liking you. Don’t you watch the PBS? Coyotes, the ones who, for a small price, sneak people across the border?”

  “Oh, those coyotes,” I said.

  “Yeah, those coyotes. Anyway, those cops were wasting their time here. I know most of the workers at this farm and they’ve all got their papers. Some of us, me included, are even US citizens.”

  I hadn’t thought too much about it, but what she was saying surprised me.

  “The others, like my grandmother, are allowed to work here, because they’re the only ones willing to roll around in the mud like pigs all day, picking these crops. Your people just can’t do this kind of work. If it was left to you gringos, the whole country would be one rotting mass of fruits and vegetables.”

  She stopped walking and stared at me.

  “What?” I said.

  “I’m just wondering what you did, D,” Lupe said. “Is there a price on your head or something? Are you like the reincarnation of Gregorio Cortez come back as a white girl? You must have done something bad to go hiding in the toilet like that for all that time. Something real bad.”

  CHAPTER 45

  The emotions of the day took their toll. It was good not to be heading to a police station in the back of a squad car, but after the adrenaline left my body a weary exhaustion moved in like a storm front.

  At first I kneeled down in the mud and pretended to work. But after a while I couldn’t even pretend.

  When the whistle finally blew signaling the end of the day, I turned in my tokens and came away with just over fifty-four dollars. The white-haired man gave me a look. I had saved him some money, but he still wasn’t happy.

  As I shuffled in the direction of the cabins I found myself wishing that I hadn’t agreed to go to church tonight. I just wanted to sit on the porch and not move. But everybody was getting ready. They showered, changed, and waited for the bus. Reluctantly, I did the same.

  The twilight bus ride into Hatch reminded me of all those hours spent traveling back and forth to El Paso. As spent as I was at that moment, I was still able to appreciate how fortunate I was to be working and living on the same farm.

  We pulled up in front of a building that looked more like a warehouse than a church. There were two other buses already there, people milling about in front of the doors.

  There was a park across the street dimly illuminated by street lights, with netless soccer goals, some barbecue grills, and play equipment. It took me a moment to realize it was the same park where I had first seen the little girl. My eyes immediately found the swings and I was relieved that she wasn’t there.

  The inside of Our Lord of Mercy Catholic Church had a school cafeteria feel to it, or the kind of place where Alcoholics Anonymous meetings might be held. I caught a few curious looks from some of the workers from the other farms.

  Most people sat down in the folding chairs and waited, while a few lined up outside the confessional.

  “Are you sorry for all your sins?” Lupe asked, shooting me a playful smile.

  An altar boy
and a weathered priest stepped to the front a few minutes later. The priest appeared to be in his early forties, but he had the weary energy of a much older man, almost as if he had been toiling away in the fields all day too.

  The Mass was said in Spanish.

  I sat between Lupe and José, Abuelita on the other side of her granddaughter. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her holding her rosary, her lips moving silently, nodding occasionally.

  When people went up to accept communion, I glanced around at the statues and paintings up on the walls. There was one of the Virgin Mary, looking out through hollow eyes, seven knives piercing her heart. I couldn’t help thinking of Ben and bowed my head and said a prayer for him.

  The Mass came to an end a few minutes later when the priest said, “Podemos ir en paz” and everyone answered “Demos gracias a Dios.”

  The old woman squeezed the priest’s forearm on the way out, giving him her own blessing.

  It was dark when we stepped back outside, but the air was warmer than it had been lately at this time. Some food trucks had pulled into the parking lot during the service and people wasted no time getting in line.

  “Rosa makes decent tamales,” Lupe said, pointing to one of the trucks. “They’re not as good as Abuelita’s but, you know… The chiles rellenos are also good.”

  “I think I’ll stick with the tamales,” I said. “I’ve seen enough chiles for today.”

  “Maybe even for a lifetime.”

  “Or two.”

  People took their food and sat down at some picnic tables over at one end of the lot. We ate by the glow of the streetlights. Lupe was right about the tamales. They weren’t as good as the old woman’s but I was starving and they hit the spot.

  Abuelita brought over her plate and sat down next to me, saying something to Lupe.

  “She says she is glad you came here tonight.”