“Now, Alma!” Manuel insisted. “¡Ahora!”
I scooted back, my knees firmly on the edge. One quick jerk and I’d be down between the cars and under the wheels. I said a silent prayer, not to the Virgin but to my father: Please help me. Dame valor, give me the courage of Dolores. I slid back slowly, my hands grabbing the edge until my feet found the protruding ledge below. I froze; what now? Where could my hands go? I was literally hanging onto the right corner of the boxcar. I could see the green bank rolling along beside me. Perhaps I could just jump. I’d jumped out of trees, off of roofs, even off of a moving horse.
“Don’t stop, Alma. Keep going—one smooth move down and I’ve got you.”
I stretched my leg down, grimacing at the pain in my thigh, and moved one hand toward the ledge below. Suddenly the car leaned into a curve and I slipped, my feet and my hands losing contact with the boxcar. And I thought of the brown mare, how I’d sat side-saddle, then gave a push with my legs. Up and out. So I kicked, bucking like a horse, my feet slamming against the car. I propelled my body up and away, as if I was diving sideways off of the train. In an instant, I crashed onto the bank and rolled downhill, coming to rest a few meters from the track.
I lay still and struggled to catch my breath as the train rattled by. My shoulder throbbed in rhythm with my thigh, and my head and neck ached, but otherwise, I was intact. I felt strangely calm, like I was waking from a dream, feeling sleepy, yet trying to remember every detail.
I watched as Manuel leapt from the train, tumbled to a stop, then jumped to his feet and ran rapidly in my direction. Behind me I heard shouts—Rosa and the boys racing toward me. Slowly I sat up. My shoulder refused to move, so I hugged it close to my side.
Rosa flung herself at me and clung and cried. The boys, wide-eyed, just stared. And Manuel sank down beside me, panting, then reached up and stroked my hair. Despite the sharp pain in my shoulder, I smiled. No one was singing now, but I was surrounded by angels.
4
Little Box of Stars
It was almost like Christmas. Rosa had taken her treasured, multi-colored rebozo from her bag and tied it around me as a sling for my shoulder. Little Chuy retrieved from the depths of his pocket a tiny piece of chocolate half-melted into its foil wrapping, while Benito handed me a stick of gum. And Manuel, Manuel gave me his eyes—so full of concern, of remorse, of apology. Did I see what I thought I saw in those eyes? His caress, when he stroked my hair, felt so tender, like Papá’s. My heart quietly danced beneath the rainbow of colors.
From the field beside us came the sound of voices and footsteps. The boys jumped to their feet and looked all around. Uniformed men strode down along the track, while others appeared from the field, herding the few they’d caught in the skirmish. Chuy and Benito whispered to each other, then looked questioningly at Manuel, but he continued to kneel, head lowered, until without a glance at them, he simply shook his head. In a flash they took off, dashing between boxcars in the opposite direction and out of sight.
Manuel lifted his eyes to mine, then to Rosalba’s, and sighed. “May our nahuales guide us and the saints protect us.” He rose, stood before us, and faced the approaching men.
Rosa helped me to my feet. I winced as I set my shoulders back and lifted my chin.
“But Manuel . . . you should flee!” I pleaded, though I knew it was too late anyway. He should have as soon as he hit the ground. But he hadn’t because of me. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Manuel shook his head. “When I first met you, I thought tu nahual, your animal spirit, was a horse, a stubborn wild horse. But now I am wondering, perhaps a hawk or a falcon—something that flies?” He grinned down at me.
“No,” Rosa said. “A horse with wings. That’s our Alma.”
“If I was,” I said, trembling, “I’d spirit us all away!”
The officers motioned us toward the front of the train. As we walked, I glanced up at the weathered boxcars. They were frightening just at a standstill; I couldn’t believe I’d tackled one in motion.
The man with the largest belly commanded us to sit along the bank. Two guards stood before us, hands firmly resting at their hips on their guns. There must have been at least twenty of us or more, mostly men, except for one other woman, but the officers stared blankly beyond our heads, as if we weren’t even there. Then another police officer approached and motioned for the first three on the bank to follow, and they were taken around a bend beyond our view.
We sat in silence, like the train, waiting. Only the sounds of muffled voices in the distance, the wind in the brush, and the gravel crunching as our guards shifted from foot to foot. What would happen now? Where would they take us? When our turn came, we rose together.
“Hurry, hurry, vámonos,” a sharp-beaked officer insisted. His voice matched his bird-like face, high-pitched and shrill. Even his outstretched arm waved us forward like a wing, though as I passed, the sharp scent of body odor hit me. No bird gave off such a potent smell.
The large man, who seemed to be in charge, stood back, arms folded and resting atop his protruding belly. Two other officers approached us, one asking, “What have you got?”
Rosa and I looked at each other, then at Manuel.
Manuel whispered, eyes cast down, “Money. They want to know what money we have.”
“Wait,
