No Mas

Alberto waited uneasily behind dry brush and a derelict pick-up truck almost in the shadow of The Wall. He looked up at it and smiled.

Heights had never bothered him. Trees back home had topped out at over a hundred feet and sitting on the top branch swaying in the gentle nighttime breezes made him feel whole. Alive. He thought about climbing them when he was young and smiled again.

He took a small sip from the plastic jug and swished it around his mouth. Screwed the cap back on and saw he had one day’s worth of water left, maybe a little more.

All his food was gone. At least a day now, maybe more. He was hungry, but that was the least of his problems.

The Border Patrol was having a fucking convention a hundred yards from his position.

Binoculars out. Radios crackling. He understood every other word. He knew someone had seen him or someone like him, and they were looking.

They were there, in his way, and had been for 4 hours now at least. Comfortable and well hydrated, while the sun overhead slowly drained him of his energy, and his chances of getting across.

----

Maybe he had moved or a glint of light came off his sunglasses, but suddenly the Border Patrol vehicles started up and began to move again – toward him.

He couldn’t outrun them, he knew that. The Wall curved toward the south closer to his position. If he ran now, he might make it. In the last 4 hours, he only saw two ways to climb it. One left him out in the open, an easy target.

A shot, a fall and la dulce vida that he had planned for himself would be gone.

The other option – stupid. Loco. No chance at all really.

----

The lead guy in an ATV moved toward him, another truck to his left was swinging around. Cutting off Alberto’s escape to the south.

A third vehicle doing the same only from the other side. He felt like a stray head of cattle being herded back to the others. It wasn’t the first time.

He made his decision.

Alberto came out from behind the truck arms raised over his head and started walking toward the ATV.

The agent, with rifle cradled in his arms, watched him carefully as the vehicle got closer.

That’s when Alberto changed his mind.

He had left nothing behind in El Salvadore. His family was gone; his job gone as the foreign corporation closed the factory and moved everything back across the border. He had tried for a year to make things work.

Day labor. Repairing the canals that irrigation water ran through to the fields. Building walls around the haciendas of the rich. That paid well, but the money soon ran out.

That wall, like the one standing before him, remained unfinished. So, he left.

Two months later, he saw all his efforts, all his dreams and hopes come down to a hundred yards. Less than a soccer pitch. And yet . . .

----

Alberto broke out into a mad run. Not to either side of the ATV but straight at it. The agent brought his rifle into position as Alberto’s arms remained up.

His voice raised in protest.

No mas. No mas.

The agent held his fire, something about the man racing toward him didn’t fit the profile. Didn’t scream danger.

Alberto didn’t slow down and ran quickly passed the ATV and the bemused agent who gestured for the driver to turn around and follow.

The other two Border Patrol trucks did the same. More spectators to what was unfolding before them than in hot pursuit of a solitary immigrant.

Alberto reached The Wall, turned to his pursuers then started to climb. Halfway up, he couldn’t hold it any longer and fell hard onto the desert floor.

Getting up slowly, ignoring those watching behind him he tried again.

Again, the same result. The same loud thump as his body slammed into the desert sand.

Alberto rose more slowly. Tears in his eyes as he looked back at the men – all of them now out of their vehicles watching him with detached interest.

Somehow, he had moved past being a villain. Past the hard edges and no- bullshit attitudes of men and women who were overwhelmed by what they had to do day in and day out.

Alberto rested his head against The Wall, pushed back, and started to climb again.

His mind going back to the forests of El Salvadore. The trees that provided shelter and solace. The long slow climb. The aching hands, and weakening legs as he drew closer to the top.

Then the cool breeze felt only at the highest point. The relief from exhaustion. The brief freedom from a life that shouldn’t be that hard.

----

Alberto’s left hand reached the top first, then his right. With difficulty, he got the first leg up and over, while he carefully eyed the other side – the American side. How far down it was to the sand. If he could climb down safely or if he had to jump.

The lead agent continued watching Alberto’s dilemma, showing no emotion, or animus toward the man climbing The Wall.

The truck to his left carried two agents – one standing in the pick-up’s bed now with a rifle leaning against the cab, trained in Alberto’s direction; his finger just outside the trigger guard.

He looked over at the lead agent for instructions and was told to stand down.

The man withdrew his rifle and stood up, just as Alberto disappeared over the other side.

All six men in the trucks remained quiet, staring at The Wall and then at each other.

The radio came alive again as the ATV moved to its previous position followed by the two trucks.

That’s it for today, no more. We’ll start again in the morning.