Illegal (2 page)

The bank, with its chrome and shiny glass, was the bright spot in town. It was the only modern building we had, with room for two shiny desks and chairs. A heavy safe sat in the corner next to one computer and a phone. It sparkled on our dingy street in an odd way. It just didn't seem to belong.

No one had enough money to keep at the bank, but it was the only way to
get
your money if you had family working in the United States. At least half of the men in our town, including Papa and the Lievano
boys, had already left for the border. Soon the little boys playing in the doorway would disappear too.

The bell jingled as I walked through.
“¡Hola, Hector! ¿Cómo estás?”
I said.

Hector wore a navy striped tie. His short hair stuck out in six directions, refusing to obey all of the gel he used to slick it down. He was twenty years old and wore glasses like Papa. His wide face brightened into a smile. “Please tell me you want to open an account. The boss in Mexico City is begging me to open one account this month.”

“Maybe we can fill out an application for Lolo's pig. Do we need to get the old sow a voter's card too?” I said, trying to be helpful. Hector gave me a dirty look.

No one was ever in the bank. The town was trickling down to a few families. One day they would be here, and the next, someone else owned their stuff and they were gone. There weren't any more girls my age, either. No buyers or sellers meant no money.

“Give me your glasses. They are a mess. You never clean them,” I said, as cheerfully as I could. Hector pushed his wire frames in my direction. “Besides, no one in town has any money,” I said while polishing the glasses. It felt good to talk to him, like the way I used to talk to Papa. I watched my callused thumbs
rub the smudges away on the small wire frames with my shirtsleeve.

He pulled out his dusty paperwork. “If we don't get more remittances into this office, or even a few accounts, they'll close this bank and consolidate it to the next
pueblo
. We don't even have a stinking drug dealer in this town to spread the cash around.
Nada
.”

Hector was right, but I hoped to one day have a fancy job like his rather than working for the rest of my life in the orchard, because picking was so boring. We would both be left to the fields and the white mesh bags of a picker. Sunburned, without hope, and full of bug bites. At one time I wanted to be a teacher. I could teach here in Cedula and never abandon my students.

“Did you watch the new Brazilian
telenovela
last night?” Hector asked.

Grandma bought a TV for us years ago when the citrus crop was better. “I wanted to, but Grandma likes to watch Mass at seven,” I said.

Hector typed on his keyboard. “Ah, she can repent later.”

Grandma never skipped Mass or any holy day. “You need to tell her. I'd be thrown out of the house for suggesting anything against God, especially a
telenovela
.” I thought Grandma's heart would break when the nuns stopped visiting our church.

Papa had missed the past three weeks of telegrams. I heard the
ping
, and the printer began to stutter out the paper. It was a telegram from Papa!

Hector peeled bills out into a large stack. “You're in luck. The money is here with a message.” He clapped me on the back with enthusiasm.

I felt my sad smile dissolve as I rushed out the door. My focus tightened on Papa's note. I knew enough words to get by, but it was time to learn more if I wanted to go anywhere in life. My ambitions had to be tempered with my family's needs.

The computer didn't show any of his messy scrawls. I tried to remember his voice, but it seemed so faint that the absence of it made my heart sting.

A hot breeze pulsed through my hair, making me feel freer than I had in months. Maybe now would be a good time to ask for a pair of earrings.

When I delivered the stack of money, Mama squeezed my cheeks. “Thank you,
mija.
You are my
lucky charm.” Mama passed the money to me. “Do we have enough?”

My heart pounded. “Enough for what?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. It will never be enough.”

We.

The happy feeling crumbled, and I felt for my hair, gently pulling it back into a braid.

If we could be a “we” again with Papa, that would be enough for me.

The money was gone faster than it had arrived.

Dreadful feelings in my stomach turned into hushed whispers in my head that I couldn't translate. It was like trying to listen to an argument through a wall. You can't hear the details, but you know it's not good.

There had been eight weeks of silence from Papa.

Angry. Uncomfortable. Nervous. I felt like that every day. I tried to escape to my trees, but the swirling feelings in my head only made me dizzy on the
brittle branches. I braided and unbraided my hair again and again.

“Nora,” Mama called. “I need you to go into town.”

I lingered in the trees and pulled the last grapefruit off one of them. Our small farm was losing the last of its green. The trees were pressed closely together, but each branch clamored for water and fertilizer. I felt like I was watching my own little pets die because we couldn't afford to feed them. What could I do to help?

“Please!” Mama said in a way that made me feel guilty for not being more responsible. I couldn't dream in the trees forever. “I'll meet you at the market later.”

I walked on the craggy dirt that had been pressed down from a few trucks traveling this path, yet brambles still insisted on growing and throwing themselves into the road. Tall pieces of ragweed mixed with burned-out remnants of cypress roots stood motionless in the ground from lack of rain. One string of electricity hung from a pole, swinging toward our farm. I carried a ripe grapefruit for Hector.

A raven cawed from the pole as if he were trying to send me a message.

Do
something
.

I shook it off. I felt like I had to apologize for all of the time I went to the bank to ask Hector for the money and nothing would show up in the computer.

I swallowed hard and tried to re-create our old patterns, although I felt like I was trying to put on clothes I had outgrown years ago. My reflection in the glossy door showed me a worried face and shabby clothes. My once bright orange shirt was now a washed-out tangerine with the armpits turning yellow and thin.

“Nora.” Hector looked up from his computer screen.
“¿Qué mas?”

We never asked the question on the tips of our tongues: “What is really wrong?”

Mama's frustration mounted each time I came back to report there was nothing from Papa. “Same things as always,” I said, looking down at my shoes. Part of the heel was prying loose. “Is it here or what?”

“Don't act like a nasty little girl,” Hector said hurtfully.

An uncomfortable silence filled the space between us. I noticed his glasses were full of smudges, yet I pulled my hands away and stuffed them deep into my pockets. His comment burned sharply into my pride. I felt my cheeks flush.

Hector pecked at his keyboard and softened his
tone. “You know, I look every day. I've even called the main office in the United States. Nora, he hasn't sent anything.”

Shaking my head in refusal, I reached across the counter to look at the computer screen. “We have to figure out a way. I can't go home without something.”

Hector crossed his arms. “I can't steal money for you.”

“I'm not asking you to steal,” I murmured, a rock in my stomach growing cold. “I have always been an honest person. I just can't wait around anymore.”

Hector's mouth hung open for a second. “I'm sorry.”

I stood in silence, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Where is he?”

The pain in my stomach began to churn, and a headache spread across my forehead. Suddenly I felt like I was going to faint.

Hector rushed to my side and gently placed me into a chair. “Just try to breathe. Let me get you some water.”

I pushed my head into my hands. How would we pay for groceries this week? Or the taxes next month? This couldn't be real. The room slowly stopped spinning, but I heard a faint voice.

He's gone.

“What did you say?” I asked through squinted eyes. I needed to be stronger.

Hector patted my back. “It will be okay.”

“No, before that. You said my father was gone. What do you mean by that?” I said, annoyed.

“What are you so angry about?” asked Hector.

“My father is not
gone
!” Venomous tones spewed out of my mouth. I took the grapefruit and hurled it against the steel safe. The fruit landed with a soft
goosh
and the juicy bits sprayed against the wall.

Hector pulled back as if I had slapped him. “What the hell are you doing? I'm your friend. If your family needs money, I have a—”

“No!” I shouted at him. “He's coming back!”

I ran down the dirt street while my head exploded with thoughts about Hector, my father's absence, and my mother's disappointment. When I passed by the door of the old church, I took a rock and threw it against the old wooden door.

I sat in the truck holding back the emotions. My throat tightened, making me gasp to keep the tears from falling down my face. I remembered when Papa got this Chevy. It was already five years old, but it was new to us—our first car. I didn't want my dreams to be flushed away just because we were broke.

Mama and Grandma pushed themselves into the cab of the truck as I looked away to hide my face.

“I need to pay the grocer. Then we will ask the tax man if we can pay in installments.” She chattered on like I had a million dollars in my pocket.

Mama continued, “No more credit at the grocery store until I pay our old bills.”

My breath came out in jagged bursts. It was all I could do to keep the tears from spilling out. Was this the end? Was this where we give up?

“Nora.” Mama playfully tugged at my hair. “Did he send extra?”

“I can't,” I said, hiding my wet eyes. I couldn't say the words.

Mama's face held such hope. “Did he send extra money?”

It felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the sky. I couldn't look her in the face. “He…he didn't send anything.”

Mama slammed on the brakes and we all lurched forward. I could see the veins popping out of the back of her small hands. Her eyes flamed. “Where. Is. The. Money?” she roared.

I was gasping for breath from where the stick shift had gouged my stomach. Mama's disappointment
swelled. I felt myself getting smaller and smaller. Heat filled the car like an oven.

“The fruit isn't selling. The money is running out and where is your father?” she screamed.

I yelled back, “It's not my fault he's gone!”

Grandma yelled louder than both of us. “Please stop arguing!”

I flung open the truck door. “If I knew how to fix this, I would.” The air ripped from my lungs.

I slammed the door and watched the truck rumble away in a cloud of dust.

I was worried about Papa. I had the empty feeling that he was gone from our lives forever. Why was Mama the only person allowed to be mad? And why did all of this seem to be my fault?

I screamed over and over again, but the vulgar words provided no relief to my breaking heart.

As I stumbled toward the orchard, I reached the first tree and threw up.

I had to do something to fix us before we burst into flame and floated away like singed paper. I sat on the highest branch, staring at the moon until the night air gave me a chill.

Go home,
whispered the voice.

“Who's there?” I asked, but only the gentle creak of the trees answered me. I scratched at my ears and I almost lost my balance.

No one answered me. The voice was inside my head. It felt like the same voice from the bank. The
same voice rumbling from my stomach.

The leaves shuddered as a crow tried to land and quickly took flight, seeing me in its roost.

Another sound echoed through the trees. Mama's voice was hoarse, like she had been crying. “Nora, come in!”

I heard the fight continue between Grandma and Mama. “How could you say those things? What does a teenager know?” It was easy to hear Grandma roar from the house.

From my tree, I saw Grandma stomping back and forth in front of the kitchen window. The more I heard the words, the more I couldn't control the tears coming from my eyes. I wanted to be stronger than my silly tears.

You know,
it said again.

“She misses her father. She watches her crazy grandmother invent recipes to keep the fruit from rotting,” said Grandma.

I leaned forward on the branch to get a better view of my grandmother pointing her index finger at Mama. “She doesn't have to know everything. Let her be selfish for once. Let her want for candy, a whole family, and a
quinceañera.
She is changing into a woman as we speak.”

Mama yelled back. “Don't you think I know that? I see how the men in town look at her!”

Mama opened the screen door. “Nora! Come inside. We need to talk. Nora!”

I felt a shiver run down my spine. I could hear how she wanted to forgive me in her cracking voice.

Grandma's tone echoed angrily through the orchard like never before. “You don't have to take your frustration out on her.”

Mama's voice stabbed back at Grandma. “How am I going to explain that Arturo might be gone for good? How am I going to explain to her that nothing is left?”

Papa couldn't be gone for good. I still had a scrap of hope. Something could be done. The ache in my heart made the voice stronger.

Find him.

Who was saying these things? Me? God?

Grandma interrupted Mama. “Is this everything to you? Money?”

I considered going back into the house, just so we could all stop screaming.

“Of course it's about money. How are we going to explain that this orchard and everything in it will soon be lost because we can't pay the taxes?” said Mama.

Grandma sighed. “Aurora, we need to pray. God can provide.”

Believe.

Mama stood in the light with her hand to her forehead. “I don't know what to do anymore, and God isn't helping. Just look at this place!”

I knew what she meant. Cedula didn't hold hope for us anymore.

Go.

My heart jumped around in my chest. My stomach churned and I could taste the vomit rising to the back of my throat again. Lose the orchard? The voice made me doubt everything I knew and understood. I mean, why would God speak to me? What makes me so important? “You don't think I'm fighting too?” said Grandma. “We own this orchard, but it's not everything.
¡Familia!
That is what comes first.”

It was easier to pretend life was good and Papa was coming. It was more fun to climb through the trees than to look at the truth. I could just keep on being a stupid fruit picker and never think again. But I couldn't. I wanted more.

Mama stood at the door and called out, “Nora! I'm so sorry.”

How can you move when the world is tumbling down around you? I was trying to stay a little girl, even though womanhood sprouted out of me in a new way every day.

Papa would want me to fix this. The voice echoed in my head.

Go.

I shifted my weight in the tree. The branch creaked under my dress. A few leaves crackled. The branch split before I could grab for another limb. I lost my grasp on the postcard. The darkness swirled around me as I tumbled backward out of the tree.

With a thump I hit the ground, and everything went blank.