An inflatable raft sits on the grass, guarded by a little boy in a faded Spider-Man shirt a couple of feet from the river. Twenty dollars and some booze, per person. Yes, even the little girl who couldn't be past six with the gel sandals will cost twenty dollars. In fact, once she's on the other side, there's no guaranteeing someone would count her as a whole human being for a while. The guard seems more nervous than some at this point. Maybe that's why he has a kid towing the raft. Maybe if he gets found out he'll lose his job. Maybe if he does, he, too, would make the journey north.
After announcing that all passengers owe him five bucks, the kid informs the group that they will have to stay down, on their hands and knees, heads in between the legs of the person in front. Pure adrenaline rushes through the passengers veins. Carlos puts his wallet in his underwear. No pickpocket is going to get his money. At least no pickpocket heading the same way as he is. With how much money he has had to dish out to shady guards and clever kids, maybe it would be better if he just helped people across instead of actually looking for a job up north.
Soon, the signal is given. The kid pulls the raft into the river, and the five passengers shakily climb in. The little girl is quiet and focused, as if she knew how serious this was. Carlos realizes he needs to pee.
--Con cuidado, con silencio, mucha suerte y que Dios les acompañe!
The guard tips his hat at them and walks off briskly. If the group gets caught within 30 miles, they'll come looking for him and he needs to be far enough away to not know what happened here tonight. Now if he could only find his bottle opener . . .
Carlos is the fourth in the boat. The person in front smells like he swam the river and back and walked around for two weeks. At the front someone is whispering, turning beads on a rosary like a mad man. The raft starts to move. Te quiero, Mexico! Someone's shaky voice.
Carlos is tense. A cramp threatens and his shoulders are sore tight. Everyone takes shallow breaths. The raft doesn't seem like it is moving. Only the kid splashing along beside, huffing and puffing, gives any sign of action.
Something's not right. Carlos feels his hands getting wet, then his knees getting cold fast. He wants to put his head up but he's scared to give away his presence.
"Hijue--" The raft capsizes amid swearing from the would-be sailors. Everyone lunges for the girl. Someone's backpack gets carried away by the current. The man swims out, but is dragged back by his friend. "My stuff man! My fake papers!"
"No, they're lost! Don't go man--"
"But I need those! I've got it all there--"
"They're gone, just let them go, there's nothing you can do. Swim, the undercurrent is strong here."
Carlos doggy paddles. It has got to be but three meters at the most, but the current pulls him sideways faster than he can go forward. He decides he better not look back at the struggling couple with the little girl.
A sharp pain shoots up from his shoe into his knee. A branch cuts right through his shoe and gashes his foot and shin. Biting hard, Carlos clenches his fists. The surge of pain passes, and he warns the others. "Cuidado, there's branches here that are sharp!"
No one responds, but he knows they heard him.
Just a few more feet. Kick, kick, the water doesn't move aside fast enough. If only someone could part his Jordan River.
Swim, swim.
Finally, Carlos claws the mud at the other side. He pulls at the grass and pulls himself up. He stops to look at his foot and wait for the others.
The others slowly make their way up, and he helps them up.
"Jesus, your foot!"
Carlos nods. He and the others help the family up. The little girl is wet all over, but she is quiet.
The kid that was pulling raft rests and looks at them with a chilling smile.
"Good luck! Don't stop now, you have to keep going!"
Somehow, the grass in Texas isn't greener.
