Under the Same Sky (9 page)

I was still in a daze when I walked into the kitchen after work. Automatically, I went to the refrigerator to get something to drink. There was a message on the notepad on the countertop saying that Randy had called. It seemed like ages since I'd talked to him. It had actually been the Sunday before, just eight days, but so much had been going on that it felt longer. After slugging down a glass of milk, I picked up the phone and dialed his number.

“What's up?” I said when he answered.

“José! Guess what? You're getting a day off from the salt mines.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?” I was still so distracted by what had happened that afternoon that I could barely think. I tried to push all that out of my mind.

“Friday's my birthday, man,” Randy answered. “Dad said I can take you and Jason to Darien Lake for the day. He'll pay for all the rides and games and junk food we want.”

It sounded great. Going would mean I'd be out a day's pay, but I couldn't miss my best friend's birthday, and going to Darien Lake was always a blast.

“We'll pick you up at eight Friday morning,” Randy said, adding before he hung up, “and, dude, be sure to get me a really cool present.”

Leave it to Randy
, I thought. Okay, I'd be out a day's pay
plus
the cost of Randy's present. But it would be worth it.

Dad had gone somewhere with Uncle Bud, so only Mom, Meg, LuAnn, and I were at the dinner table that night. I didn't want to talk about the I.N.S. guys and their guns in front of Meg, so I waited until we were finished and Mom and I were doing the dishes.

“Mom?” I said, sinking my hands into the warm, soapy water.

“Yes, honey?”

“Did Dad tell you what happened today?”

She sighed as she took a clean dish from my hand and dried it. “He didn't have time to go into all the details, but, yes. He said the I.N.S. came and threatened some of the crew, the ones whose papers aren't legitimate. You were right there when it happened, I gather.”

I nodded. “But I don't get it, Mom. You and Dad knew Luisa and those guys had fake papers?”

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

I waited, still not getting it.

Mom sighed again, then gave a little laugh. “It's a very peculiar situation, Joe. I'll try to explain.” She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts, then continued the circular motion of her dishcloth on the plate. “When Manuel arrived with the crew, we asked to see their papers. The law says we have to ask. They showed us papers. Now, your father and I had no way of knowing if the papers were genuine, but that's not our problem. In fact, the law also says we're not allowed to question the validity of the papers.”

“That's weird. Why not?” I asked.

“To protect foreign workers from being harassed.”

“But why would that be harassing them?”

“Well, all farmers aren't like your father, Joe. There are stories of bosses who find out about their workers' illegal status and use that knowledge to keep the crews in fear. They give them low wages and terrible living and working conditions—”

“Luisa told me she's worked in some really gross places like that,” I interrupted.

Mom nodded. “She might have felt she had to put up with it because if she complained, her boss could have turned her in. That's what happens sometimes.”

I scrubbed extra hard at the pie plate in the sink, thinking about somebody taking that kind of advantage of Luisa. I was glad there were laws to protect the workers from that stuff. But then I had another thought.

“Wait a second, Mom. It doesn't make sense. You said there are laws to protect workers from being harassed, right? So what were those guys doing in our field with guns? Isn't
that
harassment?”

Mom was putting some dishes away in the cupboard. When she turned toward me, she made a funny face. “That's what I meant when I said the situation is peculiar. There are laws to protect the workers from being treated cruelly. There are also laws saying that people who come here from other countries to work have to go through certain legal channels, or else they can be arrested and sent to jail or deported. That's where the I.N.S. comes in. They're supposed to keep people from crossing the border from Mexico—or anywhere else—illegally, and to find the ones who manage to do it and send them home.”

I finally understood what Luisa hadn't wanted to tell me the other day. She and Frank and Rafael hadn't produced papers for the I.N.S., because their papers were fake. They hadn't crossed the border legally, the way Manuel had. They had sneaked across somehow.

I thought of the people she'd told me about, the ones who had died trying to cross the desert. I wondered how she had gotten here, and groaned as I remembered asking her if she and Frank and Rafael had flown over. As if she could have gone to an airport and jumped on a plane for the States. She must have thought I was making fun of her, or trying to pry information out of her. Or else that I was a real dope.

But didn't she know I'd never do anything to make trouble for her? Maybe it wasn't easy to trust people when you were an illegal alien, which I'd finally realized was exactly what Luisa was.

What I didn't understand was why it was such a big deal. I mean, who cared if Luisa came here and worked on our farm? Handing Mom the last dish and letting the water out of the sink, I said, “Why does the border patrol want to send them home? What harm are they doing?”

“If you're asking
my
opinion,” said Mom, banging down a pot with a little too much force, “none. The truth is that farmers in this country, including us, couldn't survive without the labor of people like Manuel and the crew.” She took the last pot from my hand, shaking her head. “It makes me so mad when people fuss about how the foreigners are taking American jobs. From our experience, that's just not true. We've tried running ads for local workers, and not one person has ever even called. Not one. Nobody around here is willing to do that kind of backbreaking labor for what they consider such low pay.”

The dishes were done, but instead of running off the way I usually did, I wanted to stay and keep Mom talking. I'd never thought about all this stuff before, which kind of amazed me actually. But now that I knew Luisa and the rest of the crew, I wanted to understand what was going on.

I sat back down at my place at the kitchen table while Mom puttered around, wiping down the counters and setting up the coffeepot for the morning.

“Nobody wants to pay more for their food, Joe. The lawmakers and the politicians know that. They know the whole system relies on cheap labor. Which means foreign labor.”

“Luisa thinks she makes good money,” I said. “She says she couldn't make nearly so much in Mexico.”

Mom nodded. “Our workers have always been thrilled to have jobs. They're willing to take incredible risks to come here so they can work.”

“Some of them die trying to get here,” I said.

“I know. I just read about eighteen more people who died in the desert.”

“It's like some sort of crazy game,” I said, shaking my head. “One part of the government says they can't come here, and another part watches out for them once they're here, and another part arrests them sometimes and other times scares them to death but gives them a break—like today.”

Mom laughed. “It
is
like a crazy game,” she said. Then she frowned. “But games are supposed to be fun. And this one involves real people and their lives: the workers, obviously, and us, too.”

I looked across the yard, past the barn to the trailers where the crew lived. I imagined them inside, huddled together, trying to decide whether three of them should leave or stay.

“What do you think they'll do?” I asked Mom. “Dad told them they could stay if they want to.”

“I imagine they'll take a chance and stay, hoping the I.N.S. was bluffing. In a way, I hope they do. We need them, and I know they like it here. But, on the other hand, I'll feel terrible if any of them get arrested.” She shrugged helplessly.

“What are we going to do if they leave?”

Mom gave a little snort. “We'll probably run another useless Help Wanted ad that no one will answer. And you and your father and the crew will work harder, and LuAnn and I will help, and maybe Meg, too. And we'll pray that Manuel has contact with some other workers who can get here quickly.”

“What will
they
do if they leave?”

“They might actually go back to Mexico,” Mom answered thoughtfully, then added, “but I doubt it. As I said, they risked a lot to get here in the first place. I understand the migrants in this area have quite a network among themselves. Our crew may hear of another farm that needs workers and go there. And if we're lucky, some of the workers from that farm will come here.”

That really
was
crazy. It was like musical chairs. I was amazed by the weirdness of it all. Then I remembered something Uncle Bud had said. I asked Mom, “Why do you think the I.N.S. would bluff the way they did? If they
are
bluffing, that is.”

“I'm not sure,” Mom said slowly. “They must recognize how complex the situation is. I imagine they understand the futility of most of what they do. Maybe they're just trying to show that they're doing
something
. Maybe they figure word will spread that they're around, and a certain number of the illegal workers will get scared off without the hassle and expense of arresting them. I honestly don't know, Joe.”

That's what it came down to. None of us really knew what was going on. And how was the crew supposed to decide what to do when they had so little information?

Just then there was a knock at the kitchen door. I looked through the screen door and saw Manuel standing on the porch, along with Luisa, Frank, and Rafael. They must have come to a decision. As I jumped up to let them in, I realized that, like Mom, I didn't know what I hoped it would be.

We all mumbled greetings, but everyone knew this was not a social call. Manuel stepped to the side and motioned for Frank to come forward. Holding his Yankees cap in his hand, he nodded to Mom.

“Jim's not home,” Mom said quietly. “You can tell me what you've decided, and I'll be sure to tell him as soon as he gets in.”

Frank cleared his throat. “Señor Jim and you good bosses. Little Boss okay, too.” He smiled faintly at me, waving his hand back and forth in a so-so manner, teasing me even now.

I smiled back, even though my heart was suddenly pounding.

Then Frank pointed to himself and the two others. “We stay. But”—he hesitated before saying haltingly—“we don't know how long…We are scared. One day…” He made a rapid motion with his hand, indicating, I thought, a need to run away quickly.

Mom held up her hand to stop him from saying more. Smiling warmly, she said, “Jim and I are very happy to have you stay. If a day comes when you feel you need to do something different, well, we'll understand that, too.”

The two men and Luisa all nodded, their faces serious and grateful. I felt grateful, also, to hear that they were staying. Not just because we needed their labor, but because I realized how much I'd miss them if they went away.

But I was scared for them, too. That night, each time I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I saw Luisa's terrified face, and the I.N.S. man's hand reaching for his pistol.

At breakfast the next morning, Mom and Dad talked about the crew's decision to stay. I didn't say too much, even when Mom said she thought that with everything going on they'd better not go to the Olmstead reunion.

“It's only Tuesday,” said Dad. “We've got over a week to see how things go. I wouldn't rule out the trip yet, Viv.”

Mom continued to look troubled, but I thought what Dad said made sense. And I thought it was nice of him to keep Mom's hopes up, since in his heart he'd probably just as soon stay home.

We were still picking strawberries. For the next couple days, everything at work was the same—and yet everything was different. There were the same endless rows of plants, the same aches and pains, the same sweat and heat and bugs. But we were all nervous and jittery. I noticed that the crew took turns keeping an eye on the main road, the farm lanes, and the hedgerows bordering the field. It reminded me of the way geese feeding in the fields had sentries on the alert, their heads up for danger. I felt myself looking over my shoulder and peering toward the road every few seconds, dreading the sight of those white vans with their official green insignias.

The fear and paranoia wore on my nerves, and I knew it had to be even worse for the crew, especially for the three who were in danger of being arrested. But the days passed without incident, and without any reports of raids or arrests or even warning visits from the
migra
.

Wednesday was the Fourth of July. We were working, and didn't do much to celebrate. But when it got dark, the crew joined us out on the lawn. From there, we could see the fireworks the American Legion shot off every year down at the lakefront.

I didn't care too much about fireworks, myself, so I spent most of the evening sneaking peeks at Luisa, who seemed to be having the time of her life. She was wearing the dress Meg had told me about, the one her mother had embroidered with flowers and birds. She looked great. She and Meg sat together on a blanket, their eyes wide with excitement, oohing and aahing over every burst. I wished I could go sit with them, but I was afraid LuAnn would make some comment to embarrass me.

At dinner on Thursday night, I realized Randy's party was the next day. I'd been so preoccupied when he'd called, I'd forgotten to even mention it to my parents.

“Dad?” I said as I passed him the spaghetti. “I know I should have mentioned this before, but I forgot. Randy's birthday is tomorrow, and he invited Jason and me to Darien Lake for the day. Do you think I could take off?” I hesitated, then added, “Or should I tell him I can't go?”

I made myself look right at Dad, even though I figured I was about to get a lecture about the importance of responsibility and planning ahead. To my surprise, Dad continued serving spaghetti without any change of expression. “Up to you, Joe,” he said. “As far as I'm concerned, there's no reason you can't have a day off.”

I couldn't believe it had been that easy. I'd had my arguments all ready, figuring I'd have to convince Dad that Randy's party was an important enough excuse to miss a day's work. But he was even smiling as he added, “I don't suppose it'll kill you to wait one more day to get that Streak of Lightning, will it?”

For a second, I didn't know what he was talking about. Then I realized he meant the Streaker. It was weird, but I hadn't even thought about the bike for days. “I guess not,” I said.

I made a face, then said, “I'd be further along if I'd stuck with my hourly wage instead of going by the quart on the strawberries, though.” It felt kind of good to admit it.

“Manuel says you're getting up to speed now,” Dad said as he sprinkled cheese over his spaghetti. This remark, made so casually by Dad, stunned me. I probably shouldn't have been surprised that Manuel would report on my work, just as he probably did with the rest of the crew. But I felt ridiculously pleased that Manuel had noticed that I was improving. And that he had mentioned it to Dad. Maybe he didn't get as much enjoyment out of my screwups as I'd thought.

Okay, I had the day off. Now to the next tricky problem: getting a “really cool present” for Randy. Remembering how Dad had reacted before when I'd mentioned having Mom drive me around this summer, I turned to LuAnn and asked, “Lu, could you take me in to Wal-Mart after dinner? It'll only take a second. I've gotta get Randy a present.”

LuAnn looked at Mom, who nodded that it was all right with her.

“Okay,” said LuAnn.

I was suspicious immediately. I'd been counting on LuAnn, whose license was still new, to jump at the chance to drive
anywhere
. But, still, she had agreed, just like that, to do a favor for me? No deals, no bargains, no trades? A second later, I understood why.

“I wanted to go to town anyway, actually. I was talking to Luisa during the coffee break, and she mentioned that she'd like to go to the store sometime without Manuel so she could get him a present.”

“For what?” I asked, feeling a little jealous at the idea.

“Just because he takes care of her and is nice,” LuAnn answered. “Mom, is it okay if I go ask her if she wants to come with us?”

“Sure, honey,” Mom answered.

LuAnn got up from the table.

“I'll go with you,” I offered.

LuAnn gave me a funny look, but then she shrugged and started for the door, and I followed. I almost never went out back to visit the crew, the way LuAnn and Meg seemed to do when Mom let them. And sometimes, I guessed, when Mom didn't even know they were going. But I was eager to get a glimpse of where Luisa spent her time when she wasn't working.

There was another car parked in front of the trailers beside Manuel's old beat-up one. “Oh,” said LuAnn, sounding disappointed. “Ginny's here.”

Ginny, I remembered, was the woman who came and taught English to the crew.

“Luisa may not want to miss her lesson,” LuAnn said, stepping up to one of the trailers and knocking. Manuel answered, and I noticed his smile for LuAnn was a lot warmer than any he'd ever directed at me.

“Sorry to interrupt, Manuel,” said LuAnn. “Is Luisa here? I need to talk to her for just a second.”

Manuel disappeared and Luisa came to the door. “Luisa,” LuAnn whispered, “we're going to Wal-Mart. Do you want to come, or are you right in the middle of your lesson?”

Luisa glanced over her shoulder before answering, I guessed to make sure Manuel couldn't overhear. “I don't know when I will have another chance. I think I better come now, no?”

LuAnn nodded, happy, I suspected, to have company other than me.

I was happy, too. We all sat in the front seat of Mom's van on the way into town, Luisa in the middle, squeezed into my seat belt with me. Her leg was squished right next to mine, and her skin felt incredibly warm and soft. For a few minutes that was pretty much all I could think about. I was actually sitting right next to Luisa. Manuel wasn't anywhere near us. The only thing that would be better, I reflected, would be if
I
was at the wheel, making LuAnn unnecessary. But I wasn't really complaining.

I was so busy thinking these thoughts that I didn't notice how quiet Luisa was until LuAnn asked gently, “Luisa? Is anything wrong?”

“No,” she said. I could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she seemed to be hesitating. Maybe she wasn't sure if she should speak up, or maybe she was choosing the right English words in her head.

LuAnn and I waited.

When Luisa spoke, it was in an eager burst. “When you ask me is anything wrong, I was at that minute thinking how there was
not
anything wrong.”

LuAnn and I both nodded, not really knowing what she meant, and urged her to go on.

“Ever since the
migra
come, I am scared. At night I am afraid to sleep. I think they will come to the door
—crash!—
like I have heard before. But right now, in this truck, I am safe. The
migra
will not stop this truck to ask questions. So”—she shrugged and smiled, spreading her hands wide—“I am happy.”

A lump had swelled in my throat when she mentioned her fear, but I swallowed it and smiled back. LuAnn smiled, too. It was impossible not to, when Luisa's whole face was flushed from happiness and from the effort of making herself understood.

Nobody spoke for a minute after that. Then LuAnn said, “So, what are you thinking of getting Manuel?”

“I don't know,” Luisa answered. “I want it to be special, from me. Because he promised my father to watch out for me so much.”

I'd never really thought about it that way before. Manuel annoyed me by always watching over Luisa like a mother hen. But it was good, really. She was fourteen and far away from home, and I was glad she had someone to protect her. I just wished he would realize he didn't need to protect her from
me
.

I tried to think of something special that she could give to him. “How about some new tapes?” I suggested. “He's always listening to those headphones. I bet he's sick of the same old music.”

Luisa looked puzzled. Then her face cleared. “Oh, those tapes do not have music, Joe. They are lessons about—how do you say?—about your country, the Constitution, the laws. So he can pass the test and become a citizen someday.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid again. And kind of small and mean. All this time I'd resented Manuel's headphones, thinking he was enjoying himself while I was suffering. And all the while he'd been studying.

“But, Joe!” Luisa said, brightening. “This is maybe a good idea, to get Manuel some music.”

I felt a little better.

“Yes, this is good!” Luisa went on, giving me her brilliant smile. “You will help me to choose?”

“Sure,” I said, although I had no idea what kind of music Manuel would like.

Then she said wistfully, “I would like to get something nice to send to my little sisters and my mama and papa, too.”

“We can do that,” said LuAnn enthusiastically. “They have lots of toys. And kids' clothes, too. I love those little bitty sneakers for babies. They're so cute.”

“Yes,” said Luisa. “I would like to see my sisters in those. But,” she went on, shaking her head, “it is better to send the money orders instead. That is what they really need. Besides, Gilberto sent gifts back home to his family, and they never did get them.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“They were stolen.”

“Stolen? How?”

“At the border, at the post office, who knows?”

“That stinks,” I said.

She shrugged as LuAnn pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot. “Is what happens. People see a package from the U.S., they want it for themselves.”

When we got inside, we headed straight to the music section. I didn't know what Manuel would like, but Randy was easy. His favorite group, the Toe Jammers, had a new CD out. I checked the price: $16.99.
Man
. I tried not to think of how many quarts of strawberries that came to.

Maybe Randy would like one of the CD's on sale, I thought. I checked them out. Pretty cheesy stuff. What Randy would call “orthodontist office music.” I had to go for the Jammers or I'd never hear the end of it. I hoped he hadn't already gotten one of his parents to buy it for him.

Meanwhile, Luisa and LuAnn were looking at cassette tapes because Manuel didn't have a CD player. I joined them.

“What do you think, Joe?” Luisa asked. She pointed helplessly to the racks and racks filled with tapes. “There are so many…”

“What kind of stuff does he like?” I asked.

Luisa smiled and wiggled her shoulders a little. “
I
like music that makes you dance,” she said. “But Manuel, I think, would want to know what
you
would buy.”

Surprised, I repeated, “What
I
would buy?”

Luisa nodded.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Because you are, you know”—she smiled mischievously—“cool. All-American guy. This is what Manuel wants very much to be. Like you.”

LuAnn laughed, then slapped her hand over her mouth. I could actually see the effort it took for her not to make some kind of sarcastic comment about
me
being cool. But it
was
astonishing. Manuel wanted to be like me?

I was trying to take it in when I saw two girls from school headed our way. I wasn't sure why, but I hoped they'd walk by without seeing us. I didn't feel like talking to them right then.

Too late. They'd spotted me.

“Hey, Joe!” Kelly called.

“Hi, José!” said Laura.

I winced. She'd obviously been talking to Randy.

“Having a good summer?” she asked. Before I could answer, she put her hand to her cheek and said, “Oh, I forgot. You've got to
work
.” She made a pretend-sad face. “Poor baby.”

“It's not bad,” I said quickly. Trying to change the subject, I asked, “So, what have you guys been doing?”

They both looked bored. “Nothing much. Hanging at the pool,” said Kelly. “Randy and Jason are there every day, too.”

“I have to baby-sit the Blythe twins on Wednesdays,” added Laura, making another face. “We should switch jobs someday, Joe. I bet you'd never make it through eight whole hours with those two.”

Yeah, right
, I thought,
and I'd like to see you make it through eight hours of strawberry picking
.

“So, what are you doing?” Kelly asked.

“Getting the Jammers CD for Randy for his birthday.”

“Oh, I heard you guys were all going to Darien Lake,” said Laura. She made a little pouty face. “I wish we could go. I'm sick of the pool.”

She noticed LuAnn then, and everybody said hello, except for Luisa, who stood back, looking down at the floor. I watched as Laura and Kelly checked her out curiously, taking in everything they needed to know about Luisa in one long glance: dark skin, out-of-style clothes, old, torn flip-flops on her feet. Looking at Luisa, I could tell that she, too, had a good idea of what Laura and Kelly were thinking about her.