Crossing the Wire (13 page)

W
E COULDN'T LET THAT
assault rifle get any closer. Even so, Jarra was gaining on us little by little. All his time in these desert mountains had turned his legs to steel. All we could do was keep climbing the trail, which was aiming toward the ridge at the foot of Baboquivari Peak.

When we finally crested the ridge, we were in a panic. Jarra was minutes behind us, and we had nowhere to go. The trail ended here. Between us and the trees far below, the slopes were open ground, mostly rockslides, with nowhere to hide from Jarra's weapon. “We're done for,” Rico panted, eyes casting all around. “What now, Victor?”

Where else, where else could we hide? I tilted my head back and looked up. A short, steep slope separated us from the cliffs, which soared a thousand feet or more to the summit. “Climb?” I wondered aloud. Without waiting for an answer, I dropped my water
jug and started up. I climbed fast as I could, reaching for rock holds, the trunk of a stunted tree, tufts of grass, Rico right behind. We were exposed as could be. We had to get our backs out of view before Jarra rounded the corner.

We climbed until we were touching the foot of the cliffs. Half a breath, and we scrambled even higher, up a crack and onto a ledge that sailed out across the lower face of the summit tower. Above us, there was only sheer rock vaulting into the darkening sky. The ledge would keep us out of sight as long as we stayed down.

We listened and we waited—not for long—and then we heard Jarra's steps. He'd reached the end of the trail. He wasn't far below, no more than a hundred feet. No doubt he was scanning the slopes underneath him, surprised he couldn't see us crashing down the other side. By now he was beginning to wonder where else we could be. He might already be looking up. By now he was seeing the fresh marks we had made in the dirt, gravel, and grass where we started our climb. Even if he couldn't see us, he could tell we were up here, and he knew he had us trapped.

It was getting dark. “Villa!” he yelled. “Zapata! What are you doing up there, roosting like chickens for the night?” I could picture him flicking back his donkey tail, aiming the assault rifle in case we showed our heads.

The silence was too much for Jarra to take. He started clucking his head off, and then came the insane laughter of a demon. “It's just a matter of time,” he crowed. “You idiots are mine!”

When would he come after us, that was the question. The moon
would be bright when it rose, only a few days past full, bright enough for Jarra to climb by. Would he try to surprise us during the night? We had no rocks to throw down on him, but he might not know that. All we had was the pocketknife. “If he climbs up here,” Rico said, “go for the rifle before he can use it. Let's try to throw him over the edge.”

We were both so exhausted, we didn't know if we'd be able to stay awake. Rico took off his watch and placed it between us. I would sleep first. Every hour, we would trade off.

I was farthest out on the ledge. Rico had the pocketknife clenched in his hand, ready to slash at Jarra if he suddenly appeared. I fell into a deep sleep.

When Rico nudged me awake, it came as a shock to see where I was, and remember how I got there. The moon rose during my first watch. I couldn't see the moon itself, but the far end of the cliffs was already lit. It wouldn't take long for the moonlight to spread across the summit.

I fought my drowsiness. I fought it hard, but still, after a while, I couldn't tell if I was awake or dreaming. Time had passed, and the summit wall was almost completely bathed in moonlight. As I looked out across the face of the peak I saw something moving. I looked again and saw a creature out my dreams, out of my childhood in Chiapas: a great spotted cat, silently and effortless ghosting in our direction.

I blinked and the jaguar was still there, big as life in the silvery light, on a ledge that might connect to ours. I wanted to jab Rico's
shoulder, but couldn't take my eyes off the apparition.

The jaguar halted where its ledge narrowed and appeared to end. I held my breath. The jaguar crouched and peered down a steep, nearly vertical break in the cliffs between the higher ledge and ours. To my amazement, the great cat was poised to start down the break. It paused, and looked in my direction. It saw me, or sensed I was there. Just that fast, the jaguar turned around and disappeared.

I slapped myself awake, fully awake. I doubted the jaguar, but not the message, whoever had sent it—maybe my father? One of the jaguar's powers, my father once told me, was invisibility, the ability to move unseen. Maybe Rico and I could cross the peak unseen and escape before Jarra knew we were gone.

Crazy, I thought, but maybe it was possible. I nudged Rico, and he woke with a start.

He grabbed his watch. “It isn't my time yet. You falling asleep?”

“I'm wide awake, 'mano.”

I told him about my tigre. He looked across the ledge, completely lit now. I pointed out the spot two-thirds of the way across where our ledge met the steep connection to the upper ledge. I told him that the jaguar had intended to use that break to reach our ledge and cross the peak. “We can do the same from this end,” I said.

“I'm not as big on signs and miracles as you are,” Rico said, “but Jarra's going to slaughter us in the morning. I'm willing to take the chance. Not to go first, though. I'll be right behind, as long as it looks good to you. You would never try to do anything too crazy.”

“Okay,” I said. “I'm pretty sure this is what we have to do.” I started
out. At first it was easy, but then the footing got tricky. The ledge was brightly lit, but there were loose rocks to step over and the fall was sickeningly deep—a hundred, two hundred feet. As the corner of my eye barely took it in, my vision swam and I went lightheaded with the sensation of falling. I pictured my body crumpled on the rocks below.

Don't do that, I told myself. Calm down. Believe you have four legs, the power and the balance of the jaguar. I took a deep breath.

We were halfway across. Our ledge had narrowed from six feet to two. The quiet footfalls of Rico followed close behind. So much for being the cautious one, I thought.

Here came the hardest part. The ledge was down to a foot wide, and then nothing. I had reached the break between ledges, where my route angled up fifteen feet or more. If it couldn't be done, I was turning right around.

My heart began to race. I started to go dizzy again. My stomach was cramping, I went all weak in my legs. I felt like I was going to peel off the cliff and fall any second. The worst part was, I thought I saw handholds and footholds above me in the moonlight.

All I could reach for now was my family. I saw my mother's face. I heard her voice:
“Think of us, and it will help. Always know, you are never alone.”

With that, I knew I was going to go through with it. I felt the strength flowing back into my mind and my legs. I reached for my first handhold. For Chuy, I thought. Climb like a jaguar, for Chuy and the girls, for my mother. I reached, and my legs followed.

Just like a train ladder, I thought. Up I went. Reach and pull and lift. Reach and pull and lift. No slowing, no stopping, no thinking. I was almost there. My hands found the upper ledge and I was able to climb onto it. It was okay up there, plenty wide. This ledge would take us the rest of the way across. I held tight, my back against the cliff, hoping Rico was right behind.

I waited. This was taking too long. “I'm having some trouble getting started,” I heard him call.

“Take your time,” I said.

“I can't believe what you just did. I'm afraid to take the first step, and after that, it's practically straight up.”

“I can't help you from here.”

“I know. You've already helped me plenty, Turtle.”

Suddenly I liked the name. “Come on up here, 'mano. Everything is good. Pretend you're climbing a ladder.”

“All is forgiven? Best friends again?”

“Best friends.”

“Brothers? Like it used to be?”

“Brothers. Yesterday, you risked your life to stay with me. Right now, I'm not going anywhere without you.”

“If it was daytime, maybe. I just don't think I can do it.”

“Think about it, Rico. If I just did it, you can do it easier. Your legs are longer, and you're really strong. Think about a reason you have to make it.”

“Like, I'll be dead if I don't?” he joked weakly.

“I mean the biggest reason you have to live.”

An awful silence followed, then at last, “Here I come.”

I could hear him scratching his way up, but then he stopped. Just stopped, gasping for breath. “You're close,” I called. “Almost here.”

Finally he was moving again. As he came over the top, I reached for his hand and pulled him onto the ledge. His knees were shaking. “Thank God,” he said. He was utterly spent.

A good rest, and then we crossed the rest of the ledge. Overjoyed to be off the peak, we plunged into the forest with abandon. On the eastern side, the mountain was thickly wooded with pines, oaks, and junipers. As we started down a steep canyon, we had to go slow. I dislodged a rock, and three startled deer went bounding away.

We stayed in the canyon bottom except to walk around the dry waterfalls. At dawn we came across a wet spot on the sand with hundreds of small golden butterflies all bunched together. We got close, and they fluttered into the air, dissolving and disappearing like particles of a dream.

Farther down, thousands of feet down, we came out of the trees. The slopes were covered with mesquite scrub, yucca, and cactus. We came across a spring, where a metal pipe rammed into a mossy patch on the mountainside led to a holding tank filled to overflowing. A short pipe sticking out from the top of the tank spilled a steady flow of cold, clear water onto the ground.

We drank and drank, then ate our tins of fish. We laughed about Jarra, how confused he must be trying to figure out what happened. Around the bend we came to a corral, which made us wary.
The sight of a small ranch house sent us scurrying like rats. We skirted it carefully, seeing no vehicles or other signs of life.

A dirt road led away from the ranch house toward the valley below. We decided to make use of it, but to be ready to run into the scrub at the first sound of a motor. We walked a couple of miles east. The highway running north to Tucson had to be within reach. Eventually we heard the sound of a vehicle in low gear. We jumped aside and hid. From our hiding place we could see it coming up the road, in and out of the gullies. It was the shape of a perrera but didn't have the colors. It was dark red. “Here comes our ride,” Rico said.

“Wait a minute. See his face?”

“He has a beard. So what?”

“You know what I mean. That's a gabacho.”

“So?” Rico said. “From what I hear, some even scatter water in the desert, to keep people from dying of thirst.”

“Miguel never said if they could be trusted. I guess it's a risk we'll have to take. Just be ready to run, okay?”

Right in the middle of the road, that's where we stood. We held our hands up to signal for help.

The driver stopped. The gabacho's beard was partly blond, partly red. Rico tried to talk to him in English, but couldn't find the words.

“I speak some Spanish,” the man said. He was neither young nor old. His face was freshly sunburned.

“Is that your ranch up there?” Rico asked.

The driver was looking us up and down. “No, not mine.”

“We need some help,” I said.

“It looks like you've come a long way. Lost your backpacks? Had some trouble?”

“Lots. We need a ride. Can you help us?”

“I wish I could…I have work to do. I study animals, up ahead here.”

“But can't you do your work later? Help us now?” Rico asked.

“Tell you what,” he said. “This evening I'll be driving back out. If you're still on this road, maybe I can do something for you.”

We thanked him. He drove on, and we kept walking out. “He was thinking about it,” I said.

Rico heaved a shrug. “Who knows what he was really thinking. Looked to me like he was afraid of getting in trouble if he helped
us.”

Ten minutes down the road, we heard a vehicle
behind
us, and we ran like quail. It turned out to be the same red truck, same gabacho. We came cautiously into the open. His window went down. “I'll take you as far as Tucson,” the man said. “No farther.”

This seemed too good to be true. Why had he come back for us? I wondered.

“My brother lives there,” Rico said. “In Tucson. That would be perfect. Should both of us get in the back?”

“Not both. That would draw attention.”

I got in the front. “Buckle your seatbelt,” the gabacho told me.

“My name's Dave Hansen,” he said, starting down the road. “What are yours?”

I hesitated. “How come you turned around and came back?”

“You guys look pretty ragged. In the last three days, twelve people have died in the desert. My work can wait.”

“Rico Rivera's my name,” Rico called from the back. “That's my good friend in the front seat, Victor Flores. He's returning to his cautious ways. You can call him Turtle.”

“Do we need to duck down whenever there's a car?” I asked.

The driver laughed. “Relax,” he said. “Unless we run into a roadblock for all cars, the Border Patrol isn't going to stop us.”

When we got to the pavement, Hansen turned north. Tucson, I remembered from the map, was north and east. I was tense as could be. I kept looking ahead in fear I would see cars stopping for a roadblock, like the one past Guadalajara where the customs police made me get off the bus. Half an hour later we reached the intersection with the highway from the west, the one that crosses through the reservation, the one our mule train must have been headed for.