Under the Same Sky (15 page)

When the lane ended, I stopped.
This is it
, I thought.
Once you drive off the farm, there's no turning back
. I looked both ways; there wasn't a sign of another car. Taking a deep breath, I switched on the headlights and pulled out onto the road.

I'd never driven this particular truck before. I had to fumble around and feel for the gears, and they were grinding and the truck was bucking so hard I was afraid of stalling. I'd never driven at night before, either. It was disconcerting not being able to see anything beyond the tunnel carved out of the darkness by the headlights.

It was a good thing there was no one else on the road. I had to get my act together, fast. Anybody watching this performance would know I had no idea what I was doing.

I forced myself to settle down and concentrate. When I reached the first corner, I slowed down for the right-hand turn, but not enough. I nearly lost control, barely missing the ditch on the other side of the road.

I drove down another long, deserted two-mile stretch of farmland, getting used to the steering, even putting the truck into third gear to get a feel for speed. Whoa, too fast. Okay, back to second gear.

At the next corner, I stopped, found the turn signal, then pulled onto the county road where Manuel and the others would be waiting. As I drove along trying to picture where exactly the dried-up creek went under the road, headlights came up behind me, moving fast, filling the rearview mirror and nearly blinding me. As the car passed me on the left, the driver gave a sharp blast of his horn, scaring me half to death.

“Moron,” I muttered. Then I noticed the speedometer: I was going only eleven miles an hour. I couldn't believe it. I'd felt as if I was zooming through the darkness, but I was practically creeping down the road. The speed limit was fifty-five, and would be for most of the hourlong trip to Sodus. I had to drive faster.

But first I had to find the place Manuel had described. Praying that no more cars would come, I continued until I reached the long stretch where there were no farmhouses. I was pretty sure the creek bed was coming up and I was about to pull over, when a car came over the rise toward me. I panicked for a second, then speeded up so I wouldn't look suspicious, and kept on going.

I had passed the spot. I wasn't going to risk stopping and turning around in the middle of the road, that was for sure. There was nothing to do but drive all the way around the seven-mile-long block again. Had Manuel seen me go by? If so, he'd understand what happened.

By the time I came around to the meeting place again, I had calmed down and felt a little more in control. I slowed, pulled onto the shoulder, and stopped, scanning the moonlit shapes of bushes and overgrown weeds.
Where were they? Was I too late? Had they been caught? Or was I in the wrong place, after all?

Then, suddenly, dark shapes emerged from the shadows. I felt the truck shaking, and in the rearview mirror I could see people climbing into the rear bed. There were a few muffled whispers and someone—Manuel, I assumed—arranged the tarp. Then the passenger door opened, and Manuel was in the seat beside me.

“Okay,” he said. “Go.”

“You found them,” I said stupidly, pulling onto the road once again. “Is she—is everybody—all right?”

Another stupid question, I knew. They were alive, they were here in the truck and not in jail, but how could they be all right?

Manuel nodded tersely in answer, but I could tell his mind was already moving ahead. “You know the road we want?” he asked. “Is called route 14.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“We go north.”

“Okay,” I said. But my heart had begun to race again. I'd been on route 14 zillions of times, but I had never been the one driving. There were lots of different ways to get there, and most of them led through town. I wanted to avoid the brightly lit streets, the traffic lights and stop signs—and the police station,
for crying out loud—
in town.

“Wait a second. Let me think.” I pictured the different routes in my mind, finally settling on one that would get us there on mostly country roads. They'd be more populated than the one we were on, but at least we'd avoid going through the streets in the center of town.

There was hardly any traffic at that time of the night, which was good, in a way. But being one of the few cars on the road made me feel even more conspicuous. I felt as though a big red arrow hung over us, flashing out the words “Alert! Unlicensed Driver! Illegal Aliens!”

I sensed Manuel fidgeting beside me, and figured he was feeling the same paranoia.

“Can't you drive faster?” he said finally. “You know, like
normal
.”

I looked at him and then at the speedometer. Oh, man. He was right. I was doing only twenty-five, and still it felt really fast to me. I was going to have to concentrate every second on driving “like normal.”

Except that there was nothing normal about what we were doing.

After an excruciating stretch of time, we reached state route 14 and headed north toward the town of Sodus. Although the road mostly passed through farmland, there were a few small villages along the way, where the speed limit went from fifty-five to thirty. Perfect places for getting busted.

Then we got to the town of Lyons, which I'd forgotten about completely. It was pretty big, and the streets were all lit up. There were people everywhere even though it was around two o'clock in the morning. Why weren't they all home in bed? I wondered crankily. There were cops everywhere, too, which didn't help me to relax one bit.

By the time we got through Lyons I was a wreck, trying to keep my eyes on the road ahead, in the rearview mirror, and on the speedometer. I couldn't seem to get a handle on the speed thing. I felt as if I was going way too fast for the amount of control I had, and still I'd discover I was going too slowly.

The whole time, part of my mind was focused on Luisa—the others, too, but mostly Luisa—in the back of the truck. She had to be uncomfortable and scared and—

Just drive
, I told myself.

Adding to my worry were all the deer that came out at night to feed in the fields. From time to time, I'd see their dim shapes or the green glow of their eyes shining in the headlights as they browsed by the road. Once, three of them jumped out of nowhere to race across the road in front of us. I slammed on the brakes and we squealed to a stop and stalled.

I sat for a moment, my heart doing flip-flops. I'd seen what hitting a full-sized deer could do to a truck. The last thing we needed was a crash. I imagined police cars and tow trucks arriving at the scene, and shuddered as I turned the key in the ignition and started up again.

Route 14 went right up to the edge of Lake Ontario. There were lots of big fruit orchards up that way, and I guessed that we were heading for one of them. As we neared the lake, Manuel began peering at road signs.

“Turn here,” he said suddenly. “
Derecha—
to the right.”

We turned several more times, passing through row after row of fruit trees that grew right up to the side of the road. We came to a sign that said
ALDERMAN ORCHARDS—APPLES, PEACHES, CHERRIES—SINCE
1942, passed a big roadside stand, then a house and some barns. About a quarter mile farther, a dirt road led off to the left.

“Here,” said Manuel tensely, pointing for me to take the dirt road. “Turn off the lights.”

Slowly, we lurched along the rutted lane. I was thankful for the moonlight, which allowed me to see pretty well once my eyes adjusted. Ahead was a clearing with a semicircle of cabins, a few trailers, several cars and trucks, some lawn furniture and a picnic table, and a pole with a plastic gallon jug hanging from a rope.

A light shone from the window of one of the cabins. As we pulled to a stop, the door of the cabin opened, and a man walked toward us, stopping at my window and peering in.

“Manuel?” he said uncertainly.

I pointed to the passenger seat and leaned back so he could see Manuel beside me.

“You are Angelo?” asked Manuel.

“Sí.”

“Bueno.”

They began talking rapidly in Spanish, and I couldn't follow what they said. Manuel got out of the car, so I did, too. I helped him pull off the tarp that covered the truck bed, and Luisa, Rafael, and Frank sat up, pulling straw from their hair and looking around.

Luisa was wearing some of the dark clothing I had given Manuel. In the moonlight, her eyes looked huge and frightened.

I couldn't help it. I whispered her name. “Luisa!”

“Hi, Joe,” she answered, just as quietly. Then she smiled, but I could see the strain on her face.

I nodded hello to Rafael and Frank, and though they smiled, too, they looked anxious and exhausted.

The truth was, I felt like jumping into the truck bed and hugging all three of them, I was just so glad to see them.

There was more rapid Spanish from Angelo, and Luisa and the guys climbed out of the truck. We all stood for a minute, while Angelo explained something to them. I was dying to know what was going on, but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.

What's going to happen now?
As soon as the question crossed my mind, it was answered. Angelo looked at Luisa and pointed to one of the cabins, then he looked at Frank and Rafael and pointed to another.

And that was it. It was time to go. Manuel and the two men hugged each other, shook hands, and hugged again. Then Luisa threw her arms around Manuel. Crying softly, she whispered to him in Spanish. He nodded over and over, as he squeezed her hard. Then he stared into her face for a long moment before letting her go.

It was all happening so fast. I was close to tears myself when Rafael took my hand and shook it.

“
Gracias
,” he said. “
Por todo. Vaya con Dios
, Joe.”

“You, too,” I answered, realizing at that moment how much I was going to miss Mula.

Then Frank took my hand. “
Muchas gracias
, Joe,” he said.

“
De nada
,” I answered, using some of the little Spanish I knew.

“
Eres un verdadero amigo
,” he said, still shaking my hand.

I was suddenly all choked up. I wanted to tell him how much I'd enjoyed working with him, but I couldn't think how to say it. “
Adiós, amigo
,” I said instead.

He gave my shoulder a little punch and with a last grin from under his baseball cap said, “Go, Yankees!”

I laughed and echoed, “Go, Yankees!”

Then I turned to face Luisa. I couldn't help it. As soon as I looked into her face, I took her in my arms. I felt her tears when her cheek touched mine.

“Luisa,” I whispered. There was so much I'd have liked to say, but there was no time and I didn't have the words.

“Joe, I will not forget you,” she said, “or what you do for us, not ever.”

“Shhh,” I murmured. “I didn't do anything.” There was something important I needed to say. “Remember what you told me?” I said. “About coming back with your sisters and going back to school someday?”

I could feel her nod.

“
Tú puedes
,” I said softly into her hair. “You can do it. You will do it. I know it.”

Angelo spoke sharply then, and I knew he was impatient for Luisa and the others to be safely inside and for Manuel and me to leave.

“Goodbye, Luisa.”

She pulled away from me and put a finger to my lips. “No. Not goodbye, Joe.
Hasta luego
. But not goodbye.”

Until later. I knew what the words meant, and I wanted to believe that I would see her again.

She turned to go.

“Wait!” I cried. I ran back to the passenger side of the truck and pawed through the glove compartment.
Please
, I prayed silently,
let it be there
. My fingers closed around a long narrow shape—yes, a syringe! I went back and pressed it into Luisa's hand. “You watch for hornets,” I said, holding her face in my hands. “Keep this with you. All the time, okay?”

She nodded. I kissed her gently.

“Luisa!” Manuel whispered loudly. “You must go!”

“Thank you, Joe,” she said, and she was smiling and crying at the same time. “I had to leave Señor Oso behind. You give him to Meg, all right? Until I come back.”

Señor Oso? For a second I hesitated, feeling confused. Then I remembered. “The panda bear! Sure, I'll give him to Meg.”

Luisa began to walk away, then turned to say, “My dress! The one my mother sewed.” She faltered, and my chest ached for her.

“I'll keep it for you,” I promised. “Until you come back.”

“Luisa!” Manuel was pushing her now toward where the others had headed.

And then she was gone. They all were gone. Manuel and I got into the truck and drove out the way we had come.

We didn't talk for a long time after that. It wasn't because of the difference in our languages. I was learning that there are times when it's impossible to find the words for what is in your heart, no matter what language you speak.

We were maybe halfway home—it was hard to tell, because it was dark and I didn't know the road very well, and because my mind was so disoriented from everything that had happened—when I noticed headlights in my rearview mirror. I looked down at the speedometer and saw I was going thirty-five.
You've got to pay attention!
I scolded myself silently.
Why didn't you think to let Manuel drive? Stupid
.

Rather than pulling over right then and switching drivers, I figured I'd wait until whoever it was passed me, as the few other cars that had come from behind earlier had done. But this car hung back, remaining at the same distance from the truck, for what felt like a mile. It was making me nervous.

“Manuel,” I said in a low voice, breaking the silence. “There's a car just sitting on my tail back there. What should I do?”

Manuel looked back over his shoulder. Then he looked at the speedometer. “Better to speed up, maybe,” he said.

“Okay.” I pressed my foot on the accelerator. Then I glanced into the rearview mirror just in time to see a bar of flashing red lights appear across the top of the car and to hear the
whoop-whoop-whoop
of a police car's siren.