Beto's Bluff

1.

Mercedes sat huddled on the floor, shifting the backpack she held in front of her, in an attempt to shield her body from the greedy glances of the men guarding them. A rumble from her stomach earned her a sharp look from her mother.

As if I could control it, she thought, irritated with herself that she could not.

Silence was important, she knew that.

She looked over at her cousin Carlo still sleeping near by, and winced to see the purple swelling surrounding his left eye. The butt of a rifle had given him that. He had only been trying to cheer her up. He was telling stories about their childhood. She had been laughing aloud, remembering the time he had come home with fish in his pockets.

She had been the one laughing, but it was Carlo with the black eye. It made her feel bad that a part of her was grateful that the mean looking man didn’t hit her in the face too.

She stayed quiet after that, not even daring to look up at the man guarding them. Mama told us not to call them Coyotes, but she knew that’s what they were. Her uncle in Miami had finally scraped up the money to pay for them to come to the US. Mama said that Beto’s new wife had given us the rest of the money.

Mercedes couldn’t imagine this woman. What kind of woman was so generous? $20,000 was a lot of money to give to someone you have never even met. What would it be like living with a stranger that she owed everything to? She was afraid that Marianna would see the three of them in their bedraggled state, and toss them back into the ocean, the way her father used to do with the fish that were too small to eat.

Or like the fish from Carlo’s pockets. The thought made her think of her cousin and his swollen eye, and she rolled over feeling helpless.

Just as her stomach betrayed her with another rumble, the door of the container rolled up blinding them all with fresh sunlight. Two of the hard faced Coyotes began handing out bags of food. There were more people than there were bags. Their journey was taking longer than they had expected, and a few of the others had already ran out of food money.

Nothing about this journey was going like it was supposed to. The three of them had been the first ones to be hidden down in the cargo bay of the boat. They made their way along the coast picking up fellow migrants until Mercedes feared the boat wouldn’t hold them all. By the time they hit the open sea, she, Mama and Carlo were sharing a space the size of her old bedroom with 24 other scared, wild eyed strangers.

Spooning some rice into a dish, she pushed the thought away, fearing the memory of the seasickness she had endured would chase away her appetite. She offered the rice to a thin quiet boy who she knew must have been hungry.

None of the other migrants were very friendly. Mama said to leave it alone, that everyone had their own sad story, and that was a part of what we were leaving behind.

2.

Things hadn't gotten much better once they were back on dry land either. One bumpy, dusty truck ride after another. It had been 17 days since the group had left Cuba, and she knew they must be somewhere close to the border. There was no way to disguise the stifling dry desert heat. She thought of Miami, and wondered if it would be as dusty as this trip through Mexico had been.

Mercedes heard her Mama’s voice as the door rumbled up to let her in. She had gone inside to call Uncle Beto in Miami. The smugglers had demanded more money to take them across the border. Mama said that this is what happened sometimes, but not to worry. Our uncle had helped us get this far, he wasn't going to abandon us now. He would make sure that we got to Miami. No matter what it took.

“They want you to call this time”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Beto told them he wants to talk to you, he wants to hear your voice so that he knows that you still are alive” She scribbled something into her little black book, the important one with all of the phone numbers, and holds it out for her daughter, “Mija, you are going to make the call, okay?”

He wants proof that I am still alive? How much trouble are we really in?

“No Mama, I don’t want to,” her stomach twisted at the thought of going inside with these men alone.

Her mother grabbed her hand and tightened it around the notebook with emphasis, making sure that its importance was understood. Dropping her voice to a whisper she leans in and says “mija, tell your uncles where we are. The name of this place is written in the book. But don’t let the guards hear you.”

Mercedes looked up to meet her mothers eyes, trying to control of her fear. “But, how did you… how do you know where we are?”

“The receipt. From the food. But shh, you need to be careful.”

Looking down at the book she began to tremble. The cover was dark, and soft. Soothing to her hands.

“Be strong Mija, come on, look. It’s your turn now, do as I say” giving her a little push toward the door. With a glance back at Carlo for courage, she tucked the little black notebook under her arm, and went to make the call.

3.

Mercedes wasn’t sure how knowing the name of the Mexican village they were being kept in, could help their situation. Her uncle knew they couldn’t ask the police for help, so what was he going to do? Some kind of rescue? That didn’t seem likely, but everything around her was so unfamiliar, she wasn’t sure what was plausible and what wasn’t. All she could do was sit with Carlo and her mother, and wait.

The Coyotes had different plans.

Less than an hour after she hung up the phone with her uncle, two men they had not seen before opened the big metal door, and barked at them to come. “Just us?”she said looking at the others, wondering if the phone call had been a mistake. She wasn't sure if her family had been singled out to be killed, or if they were going to be taken into the US. She knew better to ask too many more questions, and let herself get pulled along. It appeared that the waiting portion of their journey was suddenly over.

4.

They crossed the border in the back of a truck that had a door that rolled up just like the one from the building in Mexico. Uncle Beto picked them up from a lonely gas station somewhere in Texas. The three of them slept almost the whole drive home to Miami.

5.

“What’s this?” Marianna asked, picking out the weathered notebook from the laundry pile.

They had been in Miami for only a week, and already Mercedes felt a bond with her Aunt Mari. The woman was quiet and kind, and she had welcomed the three of them as family with open arms.

It was the notebook! She stopped what she was doing and looked at the dusty pages in Mari's hand.

“You know, I never asked, how did Uncle get those men to release us? I know it has something to do with the address from that receipt, but no one ever told me what happened.”

“It was a bluff, mija. That’s what happened.” She said, tossing the notebook onto the counter.

“But how?”

“Ooh well,” She starts, chuckling a little at the memory “Beto told them that he was a big man, with people in Mexico, and that his people had found out where you three were being kept” she put the pile of folded towels on the shelf, and shook her head “Can you imagine? Beto, having people in Mexico! Anyway, he huffed and puffed and made himself out to be some kind of gangster. It was so silly that I didn’t think it would work, but they bought it. Scared them enough not to take chances anyway.”

“A bluff” she rolled word over her tongue. She liked the sound of that, she decided. She knew that she would use that word one day, when she told her story about how she came to America. Huh. It had been nothing but a bluff.

“Oh, no auntie, don’t through that away, I want to keep it.”

Looking at the beat up and dusty notebook her aunt raised an eyebrow and smiled “Okay Mija, go put it away in your room then.”

As she started for her her room, she knew that she had finally made it home.