Breaking Through (2 page)

We left Santa Maria Valley, passing by acres and acres of strawberry, artichoke, and alfalfa fields. We went through small towns and cities I had never heard of. Once we entered Arizona, the green fields and rolling hills gave way to desert plains and rugged mountains. I enjoyed watching jackrabbits leap suddenly from the cover of desert shrubs, land beside our speeding bus, and bolt back into the brush. Trampita and Torito played a game to see who spotted the most rabbits, but Papá had to stop it because they started quarreling. Torito accused Trampita of seeing double and Trampita claimed Torito did not know how to count.

We went by adobe houses with no front yards and unpaved streets. Papá said they reminded him of places in Mexico. As we approached some foothills of large mountains, there were hundreds of cactuses. "Look,
viejo,
" Mamá said, pointing out the window. "Those
nopales
look like poor men stretching out their arms in prayer."

"They look more like men in surrender," Papá said.

"How about those two?" she said.

"Which ones?" Papá asked. "The two tangled together? They look like two people in shock."

"No,
viejo,
" she countered. "They look like two people hugging each other." Mamá continued pointing out other cactuses to Papá until he got tired and refused to respond.

We stopped at Tucson and continued on to Nogales. Distant mountains lined the route on either side for much of the way. They rose above for several thousand feet, looking like giant caterpillars crawling out of the ground. That night the rain came down in sheets. Raindrops pelted the window, making it hard to fall asleep.

After traveling for about twenty hours, we arrived, exhausted, at the Nogales, Arizona, bus station in the morning. We picked up our belongings and headed to the immigration and customs office, where we reported in. We had made the deadline. We were then escorted on foot across the border to the Mexican side of Nogales. The twin cities were separated by a tall chainlink fence. Grassland, mesquite, scattered low shrubs, and bare rocky soil surrounded both sides of the border. The sky was cloudless and the streets were bone-dry. We walked the unpaved streets along the fence, looking for a place to stay. We ran into barefoot children in tattered clothes rummaging through waste bins. I felt a knot in my throat. They reminded me of when we were living in Corcoran and would go into town in the evenings looking for food in the trash behind grocery stores.

We finally found a cheap, rundown motel on Campillo Street, a few blocks from the border. As Papá and Mamá
checked in, I looked around the cramped office. Through the dirty window, I could see part of the overpass bridging the two Nogaleses and the chainlink fence separating the two cities. On the corner of the dark yellow counter, which came up to my chin, was a pile of discolored motel brochures held in place by three small rocks. The shape and color of the stones fascinated me. They looked like gold nuggets. I picked one of them up to examine it closely, but Mamá slapped my hand and told me to put it back. When no one was looking, I snatched one and put it in my pocket.

The motel room was small, like the cabins we lived in at the cotton labor camps. We took the sagging mattress off the bed and placed it on the worn yellow linoleum floor so Papá and Mamá could sleep on it. The rest of us went to bed on the box spring. That night I felt listless and had a hard time sleeping. I kept thinking about what I had done. The following morning, I went outside, holding the rock in my fist and wondering what to do. I thought of throwing it underneath the overpass, but I felt guilty and scared. I went back to the office and, pretending I was getting a brochure, put it back.

Every day after Mamá bought food for us from street vendors for our meals, she and Papá went to the immigration office to check on our petition for visas. Each time they went they were asked for more information. Papá sent a telegram to Fito, my cousin in Guadalajara, asking
him to secure our birth certificates and to send them to us by mail. Four days after they arrived, we were scheduled to take a medical examination. We were issued a one-day pass to cross the U.S. border and take the examination at St. Joseph's Hospital, which was located a few blocks from the U.S. customs office. We checked in at the front desk and sat in the waiting room to be called. The room's walls were light green and the white floors were spotless, just like the uniforms worn by the nurses and doctors. The receptionist came out and handed us a Foreign Service, U.S. Medical Examination of Visa Applicants form. Roberto helped Mamá read the form's long list of diseases and check yes or no.

After waiting for several hours, we were finally called in by the nurse, who collected the forms. I was asked to go first. She took me to a small room and handed my papers to the doctor, who glanced at them and asked me to strip to my shorts. I looked at the nurse, feeling as though my face were on fire. "All clean, no lice," she said after running a fine comb through my hair. The doctor double-checked the list of diseases I had marked on the form earlier.

"Amebiasis, gonorrhea, syphilis, trachoma?"

"No," I responded.

"Tuberculosis?"

I recalled the
bracero
who everyone thought had tuberculosis. He picked strawberries with us one summer when
we worked for Ito. We thought he had tuberculosis because he was skinny as a rail and often coughed blood. We called him
El Tuberculosis.
One day he got so sick at work that Ito took him back to the
bracero
camp. That was the last time we saw him.

"Tuberculosis?" the doctor repeated impatiently.

"No."

"Ringworm?" he asked, turning my body around to check my back.

"I had it many years ago," I said.

When I was in third grade, I noticed I had two red spots about the size of a quarter, one on the left side of my stomach and another on the back of my scalp. I showed them to Mamá and told her they itched. "The devil made these marks. That's why they're red," she said, not blinking an eye. When she saw I was about to cry, she hugged me and said, "I am kidding, Panchito,
es roña.
I'll take care of it." She rubbed the red spots with garlic every day, and within a couple of weeks they were gone. The strong smell not only got rid of the ringworm, but it also kept my schoolmates away. Whenever I came near them, they yelled, "You stink like a Mexican!" and sprinted away from me, holding their noses.

"Your back looks fine," the doctor said. I felt an itch in my scalp, but I did not dare scratch it. "What about mental conditions: feeble-mindedness, insanity, psychopathic
personality, epilepsy, narcotic drug addiction, chronic alcoholism?"

"No," I said, not knowing what those words meant.

"What about physical defects?"

"None." I figured he did not believe me, because he had me stretch out my arms and walk across the room. He then had me sit on the edge of the examination table, and he tapped my knees with a flat-nosed rubber hammer. My knee jerked so hard that I almost kicked him on the chin. The nurse then checked my weight and height.

"A hundred pounds and four feet eleven inches. You're a bit small for your age," she declared.

It was not the first time I was told that. My classmates at El Camino Junior High School, where I was the smallest kid, reminded me of it every time they chose teams to play basketball during recess.

"You can get dressed now," she said. "We're done."

Roberto went in next. When he came out his face was as red as a beet. He looked like he had been in a fight. His hair was messy and his shirt was half tucked in. He and I compared notes and laughed nervously when we got to the part of undressing in front of the nurse. "
Qué vergüenza,
" he said. Mamá's checkup took a lot longer than Roberto's or mine. She did not say a word about it and Roberto and I did not ask.

After waiting for several days, we were notified that
our petition for an immigrant visa had been approved. Papá, Mamá, Roberto, and I were beside ourselves when we got the news. We could not stop smiling. My younger brothers and sister did not understand what it all meant, but they jumped up and down on the stained mattress like grasshoppers. "This calls for a special meal," Mamá said. That evening she went out and bought enchiladas, rice, and beans.

After supper, Papá lay on the bed to rest his back. "I've been thinking about where we go from here," he said, lighting up a cigarette.
Back to Santa Maria, of course. Where else?
I thought. Papá bit his lower lip and continued. "It's the rainy season; there's little work in the fields during this time, and my back is getting worse." He paused, puffed on his cigarette, and went on, "The only sure thing is Roberto's janitorial job. What if he goes back to Santa Maria and the rest of us go to Guadalajara and stay with my sister Chana? It'll give me a chance to see a
curandera
about my back. In the spring, when I am cured, we can go back to Santa Maria and I can work in the fields again." My heart fell to my stomach. I did not want to miss more school. I wanted to tell Papá that I did not like his idea, but I did not say anything. Papá never allowed us to disagree with him. He said it was disrespectful.

"What if Panchito goes back with Roberto?" Mamá said. "That way he can help him at work and both can attend
school." I knew Mamá had read my mind. She winked at me when she saw me smile.

"You're a grown man, a real
macho,
" Papá said, directing his attention to my brother. "You can take care of Panchito.
Verdad, mijo.
" My brother grinned and nodded.

The thought of being apart from Papá, Mamá, and my brothers and sister saddened me, but the idea of missing school and not being with Roberto pained me even more.

"I'll go back with him, but I'll miss you," I said, holding back my tears.

"We'll miss you too," Mamá said, wiping her eyes.

"I'll send you money every month when I get paid," Roberto said proudly.

"You're a good son," Papá said, motioning for Roberto to sit by his side on the bed.

"They're all a blessing," Mamá added, smiling at Roberto and me and hugging Rorra, Torito, and Trampita.

We decided to leave the hotel that evening to avoid paying for another night. I went with Mamá to the office to check out. I wanted to look at the rocks one more time. The clerk caught my eye and said, "Those are copper pyrite rocks."

"They look like gold," I replied.

"It's fool's gold." He picked up the rock I had taken before and handed it to me. "Here, you can have this one. It'll bring you good luck."

I glanced at Mamá. She smiled and nodded. "Thanks," I said, taking the rock and placing it in my pocket.
I am glad I returned it and didn't throw it away,
I thought.

We finished packing and headed to the bus station on foot. It was starting to rain, so we hurried. Roberto, Papá, Trampita, and I carried the cardboard boxes. Mamá held Rorra by the hand. Torito and Rubén ran behind us, trying to keep up. "Not so fast!" they cried out. "Wait for us!" Armed guards stopped us at the border gate and asked us for documentation. Their green uniforms gave me the chills. Papá showed them our papers, and they let us cross to Nogales, Arizona.

We were dripping wet by the time we arrived at the bus station. Mamá went up to the counter and bought two one-way tickets to Santa Maria for Roberto and me and five tickets to Guadalajara for the rest of the family. We went to the restroom and dried ourselves with paper towels, then sat in silence on a wooden bench, waiting for the bus. Torito and Trampita were fidgety. They jumped off the bench, ran to the pinball machine, and pushed each other, trying to pull on the handle. Papá made a sharp hissing sound like a rattlesnake to get their attention. He made this noise whenever he was annoyed with something we were doing. They did not hear him, so he hissed louder, but the loudspeaker announcing departures and arrivals drowned it out. With a slight tilt of his head toward the pinball machine, Papá motioned for me
to get Trampita and Torito. Papá gave them a stern look and told them to sit and be quiet. I sat between Trampita and Torito and placed my arms around them. I felt sad, thinking how much I was going to miss them.

I glanced at the clock on the wall and went outside to get fresh air. It was pouring rain. Looking up at the dark sky, I wished we were all going back to Santa Maria together. I heard an announcement over the loudspeaker, but I did not pay attention. "Our bus is here, Panchito," Roberto said, as he and the rest of my family approached me from behind. Roberto and I hugged Papá and Mamá and kissed our brothers and sister.

"
Que Dios los bendiga,
" Mamá said, giving us her blessing. Tears came to her eyes as she forced a smile. Roberto and I climbed onto the bus. We took our seat, wiped the fog off the window, and waved. The rain pelted the bus with full force as it pulled away.

Across the aisle, a little boy played horse on his father's lap. He jumped up and down and repeatedly smacked the side of his legs, shouting, "Faster, faster!" I turned away, closed my eyes, and leaned on Roberto's shoulder. I wept silently until I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the rain had disappeared. A strong wind whipped up dust, debris, and gravel and forced the bus to slow down to a snail's pace. Once the wind died down, the bus pulled over at a rest stop next to an old gas station and market. Roberto and I climbed down to
stretch our legs. On the side of the station was a makeshift open stand braced by four posts. Hanging from one of the upper-right posts was a crate with a wooden crucifix on it. Roberto and I made the sign of the cross and bowed our heads. I prayed silently that my family would arrive safely in Guadalajara. We climbed back on the bus and continued our journey.

We finally arrived in Santa Maria in the early evening of the next day. We took a cab to Bonetti Ranch, where we were welcomed by a torrential downpour and a pack of bony stray dogs. The cab drove slowly, bumping up and down and swaying from side to side as it hit potholes full of water. It felt as though we were in a ship in the middle of a stormy sea. Our barrack was cold and lifeless. We placed our boxes on the floor and turned on the kitchen light. "Well, here we are, Panchito," Roberto said sadly. When he saw me choke up, he added, "Time will go by fast, you'll see."