Endurance

                Initiated on Hollow’s Eve of 2010

   

                  

   
    Sitting on a rock in the evening Arizona sun, Thomas looked out on the flat and empty desert landscape. He imagined that if God did exist, every morning upon waking he would sweep the deserts of the world with one giant pass of the hand. Now Thomas watched his partner, Ignacio, usher a family of four out of Thomas’ ’57 Plymouth Belvedere. First, the mama came from the trunk. Her sweaty black hair shined in the falling sun. Her pasted bangs stuck to the left side of her face. She quickly tried to make herself look decent, dragging black strands into a long thick ponytail. Thomas looked away, back out to the empty desert.

“Ninos, vien aqui.”

    Thomas softly called out to invisible children, before a sudden screech wailed from an opening door. Two small girls, probably no more than three and five, sheepishly pushed the door behind the driver’s side open. Its irritating creak attracted more attention than its sweeping length as the mother rushed to help her children jump down from the sweating leather seats. Looking like miniature replicas of their mama, both of the girls rubbed their faces, trying to adjust their vision to the brightness of the desert. As Thomas watched the mama cajole and sooth her children, he was reminded of the other reason he did this type of work. It wasn’t a full time job but he was relying more and more on trafficking money than that of his job waiting tables. Thomas didn’t need the mama to tell him that many of her hopes and dreams for her children started in Mexico but will come to life in The United States. He could see it in her eyes as she squeezed both of her children.

    Since Thomas never spoke Spanish, Nacho took charge of all of the negotiations and price setting. There was no need for him to ever suspect Thomas knew any other language than English. Nacho always thought of his partner as a loyal yet ignorant white boy from San Paderno, California. Wet behind the ears was how Thomas liked to play it, a lesson he learned growing up. Thomas thought of his supposed ignorance now as he rubbed the stub where his pinky finger used to be on his left hand. Gazing out at a tall, deeply blood stained looking plateau only a few miles away, Thomas listened as Nacho rattled off in Spanish to the emerging family of four.

“Walk that way and in a little over a mile you will be at Nogales…of the USA! You will see it.”

    Thomas kept his eyes on the plateau but listened as the ever grateful family thanked Nacho, the father clasping hands with the coyote as if Nacho were the Pope himself.

“Thank you so much, sir. Thank you. We will never forget you…”

    Before the man could go any further Nacho snapped at him with an irritated growl.

“No, asshole! You better forget me! You don’t know us! I don’t exist!!! Understand!!!”

    Nacho held tight to the man’s hand while drawing him forward, both men eyeball to eyeball. While tightly squeezing the father’s hand, Nacho felt the rough calluses of his client’s palm.  The man was a farmer, this much the coyote knew, but he wasn’t going to fight unless Nacho pushed it further. Confident that he had struck fear into the father’s heart, Nacho began to release. The father smelt the acrid taste of tequila on Nacho’s breath. He suppressed his fear as best he could but gulped three times in a row, continually nodding to Nacho.

“I understand, sir. There is no one. Just us.”

    The father spread his hand toward his nervous wife and two little ones. The girls were too young and naive to know what was happening but they recognized fear in their father’s voice. It was a tone that scared the oldest daughter to tears. Thomas had since turned to watch the family. He rose off the rock and calmly walked toward the girl. Mama huddled her little ones closer as he got nearer yet his smile instantly loosened her grip. This was one of Thomas’ greatest gifts and he was aware of its power. It wasn't the smile that contained power but the feeling within. 

    As Thomas looked upon the oldest daughter’s countenance, he caught sight of an innocence he hadn’t seen in years. It was rare that Nacho and he worked this closely with children. Usually they were ferrying men across the border. Families were uncommon. Thomas had recognized fear in men’s faces before but they were usually only concerned about their own skin. At this moment, as the young girl’s eyes scattered from her father to her mother and sister then back to Thomas, never at Nacho, Thomas saw a selflessness and empathy that drew him back to his childhood. The young girl’s worried eyes reminded him of his mother and the way she looked when trouble came for her children. Memory flooded Thomas' mind as he internally swore no bad would come to this child or her family.

      Thomas wiped tears from the little girl’s mahogany cheeks. With a grin toward the mother, Thomas said goodbye and pointed the family on their way. The father was wise enough to see the opportunity at hand and quickly scampered off to his daughters, pushing them toward Nogales. As the family continued to walk he heard the father chastise his wife as she asked him to get their water from Nacho. Thomas smirked as he heard the father scream in a whisper

“Inez, we’re lucky to get away! I don’t give a damn about the water!”

    The father held his youngest daughter’s hand and with the other snatched his wife's, marching them forward onto the cooling pavement. Thomas watched them a little longer as he knew what awaited him from Nacho. Just as Thomas turned toward his partner, Nacho took another swig from his flask all the while glaring at Thomas.

“Thomas. Come here.”

    As Thomas walked toward a kneeling Nacho, keeping shade under the Belvedere’s roof, he replayed one thought constantly in his mind.

Keep it cool. Keep it cool, bro.

    Although he was speaking to himself, Thomas was most worried about getting Nacho upset. It wasn’t hard to accomplish. At times Nacho seemed fragile. Thomas was ever mindful of the bulge sticking up out of Nacho’s backside, 9mm Beretta. His pistol never bothered Thomas because he knew it came with the territory. They weren’t the only coyotes ferrying across the border. And even fellow coyotes weren’t as dangerous as the other criminals and drug runners who made the border their playpen. Yet, Thomas was always weary when Nacho had possession of both his gun and alcohol simultaneously.

     Not wanting to make his partner feel threatened, Thomas kneeled next to him in the dirt. In response Nacho immediately rose, only electing a smile of humor from Thomas.    

“Hey, Thomas. What was that?”
“Nacho. It was over. We took them across. We got our money. That’s it. I don’t want to carry anything over…”
“When I’m talking you don’t interrupt me, pendejo! Who do you think runs things, man? You? Fuck, cabron, you don’t even speak Spanish!!!”

    Along with a sneer of arrogance, Nacho laughed fiercely. He spat an inch from Thomas’s foot. It was at that moment, Thomas thought that another matter must be irritating Nacho. They had arguments before but this utter disrespect was something new.

“What’s wrong, Nacho?”

    The middle aged man tilted his head to the side, as if Thomas really didn’t just ask that question. A brief silence reigned in the desert as both men stared at one another. Just as Thomas was thinking he may have to get physically violent, Nacho began to whisper in Spanish.

“You don’t know what I know. You don’t know what I know, white boy.”

    Although Thomas wanted to respond triumphantly in Spanish, he quickly eliminated the idea from his mind.

“I don’t understand you, Nacho. You know man, unless you’re gonna tell me what’s up, I’m done. I’ll just take you home.”

    Nacho walked to the passenger side of the car and sat down, all the while still whispering the same words. Thomas briefly looked back at the family, who were nearly out of sight by now. He thought back about what Nacho had told them about the distance. He knew Nacho lied. This wasn’t the first time. Nogales was about four miles away, a good hour and a half or two hours distant. Nacho didn’t care about any of the passengers. Unless they had connections, to make him more money, he could care less. He actually hoped most of them would become lost in the desert. Yet this was bad for business. If a coyote wasn't bringing people to their families, friends and destinations, a terrible reputation would be established.                                         Thomas knew that Nacho told the family they would reach Nogales in a mile or so purposely. It was only natural that the family would become nervous after two miles. They may begin to argue, wondering if they went the wrong way. Eventually the family turns around and with no water or very little, they become perfect victims in the empty desert. They definitely would not be the first ones to perish in the loneliness of the red landscape. 

    Thomas turned the ignition. The Belvedere growled loudly as Thomas gunned it off the dirt and onto the highway. Nacho kept silent. With his leather wrapped flask in his lap, Nacho kept his eyes straight ahead. Before nearing the family, Thomas grinned. As the Belvedire slowed down, pulling right beside the family, the father pushed his whole family behind him. The drawn creases on his face made him appear as if he were mentally preparing for the worst. Thomas saw it in the man’s eyes and he received a feeling of pride in his chest as he rolled the window down to speak to the father.

“Nogales, es quarto miles, non es uno. Quarto miles e questo es tua aqua tambien. E que tu vaia bien!”

    Reaching below his legs, Thomas handed the father a gallon of water. Moments ago, Thomas had grabbed the gallon from the rear seat as Nacho was grumbling and whispering around the car. The father looked confused but Thomas was confident they would be fine. He caught sight of Inez’s smile and knew she would take charge if necessary. Most mothers do. Thomas didn’t even bother to look at Nacho. He knew this latest action would probably be the end of their relationship. Thomas enjoyed the silence as long as he could. He knew the war was coming. After thirty seconds of quiet, Nacho suddenly exploded punching the dashboard as hard as he could. Thomas didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Thomas? You speak Spanish, now? That was no gringo talking back there! You made me look like an idiot! You contradicted my words!! And that was my fucking water, not theirs!”

    Thomas glanced at Nacho, checking to see if he were finished screaming. Feeling a bit indignant yet also partially amused by Nacho’s ranting, Thomas reminded himself that the argument was partially about a family’s life.

“Nacho, you purposely told those people the wrong directions. You wanna fuck with people, do it on your own time. I’m no fucking saint but I ain’t gonna purposely assist in a family’s death! You know man, what the fuck happened to you?”

    A debilitating silence seized the car. Thomas glanced over at Nacho who was now lifting the flask to his lips. His long dark hair almost seemed to slip into the flasks opening. He took a long sip. Thomas figured his old friend was trying to irritate him with silence. Instead of being annoyed, though, Thomas tried to take advantage of the quiet and listened to the desert as it came alive again at night. He was bothered by Nacho's actions and he felt them bite into his being. The possibility that Nacho would do something silly with the pistol became a thought for Thomas. He twitched several times when Nacho rose in his seat. Although they had their fights, Thomas consoled himself with the belief that Nacho would never shoot him. Just as this escaped him, Thomas suddenly jolted forward and yelled triumphantly

“And I bought that water, not you! It was theirs, part of the deal.”

        These last words trailed off from Thomas’s speech as he ran his fingers over his shaved head and reminded himself he was yelling at a friend. A friend, at least for the past six years. Even with the Belvedere’s noisy engine, Thomas thought he heard an owl calling out in the distance. Almost beyond his line of sight were a small pack of coyotes. He counted four. They jogged in scattered formation; constantly stopping to cry out in the desert night, speckled with emerging stars.

    If it wasn’t for a light popping sound emitted from Nacho’s flask as air was released from its mouth, Thomas may have forgotten his friend was still in the car. He looked over to Nacho whose chin appeared to be jutting forward. Nacho parted his bangs so that his face was more visible to the world. Thomas took his eyes off the road every few seconds so he could take a look at Nacho. Nacho’s silence disturbed Thomas. He also knew that was what Nacho wanted, to pester him, so he tried to just keep quiet and drive.

    By dusk they entered the city of Nogales. The sun seemed to have fallen very fast. It was near pitch black outside. Thomas stuck his head out the window for fun and caught a mouthful of crisp air. Night air is different than day air. Thomas remembered this as Flagstaff. He needed to get to a someone in that city. An image of a woman with dark brown hair came to Thomas' mind.

-Four more hours. Just four more.
                                                   
   Thomas thought about the hours and the drive. Then he thought of Starbucks coffee drinks. He decided on buying one just as he pulled into the motel lot where Nacho was to stay the night. A gas station’s neon sign attracted Thomas’ attention just as he stepped out of the Belvedere.                                                                    
“Thomas, where you going?”

    Thomas spun around to find Nacho sheepishly leaning against the Belvedere. He avoided Thomas' eyes while he traced his finger along the car's hood. Suddenly Nacho looked up to Thomas, his eyes dark, black eyes watery and needing. Thomas waited for Nacho to say something. Utter something. Yet the older man kept silent. Thomas, exhausted and partially confused, spoke plainly.

“Going to the gas station. You want anything?”                                                                              

    Nacho looked to Thomas with his mouth agape. Thomas watched as Nacho strained to speak. There was something his friend wanted to say yet nothing came. Nacho simply swung his head from side to side like a lonely town sign blowing in the wind. An ambulance suddenly went screaming past. Thomas watched it go down the street until it turned up an avenue. Nacho was too apathetic to watch.
    Thomas turned to walk away yet held, glaring at Nacho. He knew something was wrong yet it was as if Nacho couldn't speak, even if he had wanted. Thomas cleared his throat, attempting to speak yet just when he was about to do so, Nacho walked the hotel clerk's office. He would rent a room for one.
    As Thomas walked toward the gas station across the street, he chastised himself for being too hard on Nacho. He placed his long, strong fingers into his other hand, pushing against one another. In times of stress he liked to punch and kick his heavy bag yet he was a long way from home. This would have to do.
    After buying his coffee, Thomas took a second before crossing the street. He looked out over what was Nogales to him and realized he was happy. He was glad to be alive. There was a pride within him for defending the family yet he wished to talk to Nacho somehow. Thomas jerked his head away from looking down the road. He heard a popping sound, similar to a gunshot, come from near the motel. Still staring from across the street, Thomas watched as a maid timidly walked towards a room. She suddenly began screaming.
    A good hundred yards distant, Thomas could see her hysterically running, hands and hair flailing, past his car and into the lobby. Thomas immediately dashed past traffic and sprinted toward the motel. As he skidded to a halt, Thomas numbingly gazed at the room door which was swung wide open. Thomas dropped his glass of coffee. While he stood looking over Nacho’s crumpled body and the pistol in his friend's hand, all that came to mind was the sound of that bottle breaking, the continual echo of shattering glass.                                                                                                                                              
                                                                   The End