“Go, go, vámonos!” he commanded to two men beside him. Then he turned to the rest of us and said, “Follow me or you are on your own,” and he scurried into the hole.
Rosa and I held back as others hesitantly squatted and crawled. Finally, Manuel pulled us along and said, “I’ll go first.”
I watched as he disappeared into the hole, his feet kicking up dirt behind him. Rosa went next, and I crept close behind her. Dirt was crumbling around as, belly flat, I dragged myself in until it leveled out and I was able, first, to crawl and then to walk hunched down. I moved quickly to stay as close to Rosa as possible and to avoid being trampled by whoever was clambering behind me. The complete darkness, the rank smell of damp earth, the airless, claustrophobic oppression, the muffled sobs and suppressed grunts seemed to last forever, but finally I felt fresh air on my face. Once through, I was pulled to my feet by Manuel and Rosa. We quietly hugged, brushed each other off, and waited for the others to emerge. Once all were through and accounted for, we began to walk.
Once again, we had made it over, or should I say under, the border. Now, if only we could get to our transport vehicle safely, and then to Phoenix. Despite a sleepless night and a few cat naps, we were now surging with energy, determined to make it this time. We kept a quick pace, close on the heels of our guide. But a few hours into the walk, we began to slow down, letting others pass.
“Maybe we should have waited a day or two,” Rosa panted. “Maybe we should have gotten our full strength back.”
“I don’t remember being given a choice,” Manuel pointed out, then added, “but don’t worry. We’ll make it this time. Estoy seguro.”
We walked like zombies through the night and morning. My legs throbbed. My feet and hands were numb, I thought at first from the night’s cool air, but as the sun flared up in the horizon and began its blazing ascent, I realized it had more to do with a lack of circulation. With the sun directly above us, the guide finally told us to take a break. As we stretched out on the hot desert floor, I wiggled my toes and flexed my fingers in an effort to bring them back to life. Little red bugs scurried about, and as a prickly sensation returned to my extremities, it felt like the bugs were biting me everywhere.
Lightheaded and nauseous, I forced myself to take a swig of water from my jug, but it was warm and left me even thirstier. My lips were cracked and my mouth so dry, when I tried to swallow, my tongue stuck to the back of my throat. Beside me, Rosa was pulling thorns out of her pant leg, and Manuel had his head down between his knees.
Our guide instructed us to take a break and rest for a while because there was still a long walk ahead, but he kept insisting this was a safer route. As we scanned the horizon, we had to agree. As far as the eye could see was every type of cactus imaginable—mighty saguaros reaching for the sky, clumps of prickly pear and cholla— with occasional rocks and more rugged terrain in the far distance, but no sign of the Border Patrol.
Desperately, we tried to find some comfort there in the midst of the blistering heat. We curled into a circle, so our heads could rest on one another rather than the hot ground. Two men took turns watching for snakes. Arranging our rebozos, Rosa and I tried to shade our faces, but the heat seared through nonetheless. I immediately dozed off. How long I have no idea, but it was all I could do to force myself to get up. With the scorching sun directly before us, we slogged on. My legs felt heavy, my head light. Each step took enormous energy; each step felt like my last. With my rebozo now covering my face, I peeked out periodically to watch the path of the ball of fire. Surely it was close to sunset. Hour after hour, I held up my finger to measure the distance from sun to horizon, but each time I looked, the orange ball was the same distance, as if it had stopped in its descent.
Perhaps I had already died and this was hell after all.
Just like my hands and feet had gone numb, my mind seemed to do the same. I would suddenly come to and realize that I was walking along, yet a moment before I had no sense of consciousness at all. Startled, I looked around to see Manuel ahead a few feet and Rosa behind, both oblivious as well.
To keep focused and clear, I tried to create a math problem, one involving angles and the sun, but a fuzziness erased the picture before me that I sketched on a chalkboard in my mind. Everything kept going blank, but I kept trying. In the midst of one of these attempts, a commotion ahead woke me completely. Several people had stopped and formed a semi-circle. A few bent over and lifted something from the ground. As I came nearer, I saw a pile of belongings. Backpacks, jackets, shoes, empty jugs, even a doll and a stuffed tiger. Some group had decided to lighten their load. As we trudged forward, I felt strangely comforted; others had passed through this same spot before us. Just as I reasoned: It had been done; therefore, it could be done.
We moved on into the descending night in silence, each struggling with what little energy we had left. We did not cling or complain, but stayed separate unto ourselves, pushing on. It seemed the least we could do for each other. To just keep moving. We stopped
