When Worlds Collide

[anm]

I'm going to put a few days of my Captain's Log here for all to read, some of it is fiction, some wishful thinking, and parts of it will even be true. There will be some swear words in it (not a lot) so if that will offend you maybe you had better not read it. Does this website use a swear-word filter? I will post approximately a day of log per calendar day.

Here is the first day:

Prologue

I am going to start this with a warning: if you go exploring in the Coranudas Mountains make damn sure you're prepared, there are very few other people around if you should need help! You must have sturdy boots. The thorns of the cacti can easily penetrated the sole of most boots right through to your foot. When hiking carry a small pair of pliers or forceps with you so you can remove any thorns. Since the footing on the loose stones is very unstable, the boots must be high enough to give good ankle protection and support. Use trekking poles, it makes crossing the lose stones so much easier! Take as much water as possible, you will need it. I have a Camelback given to me by one of my sons, it is perfect for this kind of situation. You will also need sunglasses, a hat and/or a shemagh. I use a wide brim hat as well as a shemagh around my neck. I thought I was going to be too hot, but it's amazing how much cooler the shemagh made me feel. It absorbs the sweat and the constant dry breeze evaporates it, cooling it down below ambient.

Day 1​

This is my third trip to Alamo Mountain, and I decided to spend a few days photographing the petroglyphs on the Western flank. There's a small parking and camping area there (Google map coordinates: 32.024221,-105.654118 (anytime you see numbers like these they're from Google maps)).
It was enjoyable, clambering over the rocks, seeing the wildlife, dodging the cacti, and then chancing on a beautiful drawing made by some struggling artist thousands of years ago. I doubt any of us will leave anything as memorable.
As much as I love the petroglyphs, the other reason I was at Alamo Mountain was to climb to the summit (32.032582,-105.638031). I had searched on the Internet and the route of choice to the top starts at the Alamo windmill (32.044379,-105.613709) on the NorthEastern flank. I tried to get there on both prior trips, but was thwarted by locked gates across the roads. This time I had a new route planned that looked promising, so I broke camp and set off. What trails Otero County euphemistically call roads are often nothing more than flattened grass, and that only if there was any to start with. It was very easy to lose the road and have considerable difficulty finding it again. But I persevered and then finally on the other side of the mountain the roads improved, and I could see the Windmill in the distance. I drove past it and up the trail toward the mountain until I could go no further, letting geology and physics decide where I was going to camp! It was too late for any exploring so I took advantage of the free time and relaxed.

 

[mockturtle]

LOL on the cactus. One day I unthinkingly kicked [or tried to kick] a cholla ball off the trail. Of course, it not only stuck to my hiking boot but drove spines right into the space between the sole and the toe. And they wouldn't come out. I was able to break them off from the inside using some long forceps but there are still fragments in there.

 

[anm]

Day 2​

I was up early, in time to see the sunrise, while the Coleman hissed away as it brought water for my coffee to a boil. A minute later I was eating a bowl of cereal and sipping my coffee while perusing a map. This time I was absolutely determined to make it to the summit. After breakfast I filled the Camelback, got my trekking poles, and started the hike up the mountain. I was a mile from the van when I remembered I hadn't locked it. No matter, I hadn't seen anyone else around in all the times I have been here, so I continued, over the loose rocks. I couldn't have done it without the trekking poles. By noon I had made it to the flat mesa, the top of the volcanic plug, a little more walking and I was at the summit. What views! I got some beautiful pictures of the other Cornudas Mountains. They are also on my list to explore.
I stayed at the top only a few hours, taking pictures, exploring old camp sites, and then started back down. As I got near my van I saw another vehicle there. Border Patrol, they're all around this area. About twenty miles outside of El Paso there's a Border Patrol checkpoint where every vehicle going East is stopped and inspected. As I approached, the Border Patrol agent confronted me and asked if I owned the van.
No I stole it, I thought, but said, “Yes.”
I showed him my license, and then the papers on the van, all of which he had to radio in and verify.
He said they were looking for a woman, she had been one of a group that had just been apprehended and were being returned to Mexico. At a rest stop she managed to walk away without anyone seeing her. I told him I had seen no one and pointed out the fact that we were many miles from the main road. I made us each a cup of coffee, and we sat in the van, at the dinette table, and chatted. He seemed compelled to tell me what would happen if I was harboring an illegal alien.
“They would seize your van, and throw you in jail.”
“Look around,” I said, “where am I going to hide someone?”
As I was talking with him, I glanced around the van — something seemed out of place. It took me a few minutes before I realized what it was. My pillow and bedding were neatly stacked on the front seat. I did not put it there, I know I put it away — away as in the storage compartment under where the Border Patrol agent was sitting. I suddenly had visions of getting arrested, my van taken and sold for scrap, and me spending ten years in the slammer.
****!
He would never believe that I didn't know she was there, and he'd be pissed off because she was right under his ass all the time. He'd haul me in, and I'd be lost in the system, never heard from again. This was not what I needed, so I did the only thing I could, and said nothing.
Ten minutes later I waved as he drove off. I made sure he was really gone and then I opened the storage compartment. Sure enough, there she was.
“What the **** do you think you're doing! Get out!” I yelled, but she didn't move.
“Damn it you almost got me arrested!”
I reached down, took her arm and pulled her. She still didn't move. I checked for a pulse, none!
“****! Why me Lord?”
Because you piss me off! A resounding voice answered.
I folded the dinette table down and put the cushion on it. Then I struggled, pulling her out of the storage compartment and lay her on the cushions. I tried to remember the CPR I had learned decades ago. I checked her airway and then pumped on her chest. Then I inflated her lungs and pumped her chest again. I tried to remember everything I was taught, I thought I was doing it right, but after a dozen iterations I wasn't so sure. I was getting ready to slap her, pound on her chest, do some macho thing like that, when she suddenly gasped. I was thankful that she had come around, but now I had a little Mexican to deal with. She coughed and started crying.
Is there a secret women's manual that lists that as what to do when nothing else seems appropriate?
“Are you trying to get me arrested?” I angrily asked.
She looked at me blankly.
“What are you going to do?” I asked her, “The Border Patrol was here a few minutes ago looking for you.”
I don't think she understood much more than the words Border Patrol, and she started talking in Spanish. I could only understand one word in twenty.
I thought about getting out of there, leaving that very night, just leaving her there, but my conscience wouldn't let me. She'd probably die, she had no food or water, nothing other than the clothes on her back. Then I thought of taking her somewhere near a road, and dropping her off, wiping my hands clean of her, but driving the dirt roads are bad enough in daytime, I'd rather not take the chance at night. I was pissed off because I had this forced on me. I'm retired, this is supposed to be my time to relax, enjoy myself.
I looked at her, she looked so forlorn.
“Hungry?” I asked.
She didn't understand me. I brought my fingers up to my mouth as though eating.
“Hambriento,” she said and nodded, then she pointed at herself and said, “Sofia.”
“Andrew,” I responded as I pumped up the Coleman and got it going. I put water and brown rice in one pot, and a couple of cans of chili in the other. She made some comment — about my culinary skills I suppose — tasted the chili and wrinkled her nose. She looked in my food compartment and found the chili powder and held it up. It was a Mexican brand.
“Bueno!”
She put two heaping tablespoons of it into the chili. Twenty minutes later we were sitting at the table eating — I let her have most of it.
“What's your story?” I asked her, but she had no idea what I said.
“You're Mexican, you come across the border?”
She knew I said something about the border, and she responded with the words, “Green Card-Green Card.”
“You have a Green Card?”
She nodded and pulled the dirty paper out of her pocket. I unfolded it and looked at it.
“It's expired,” I said, pointing to the date. She again started crying and a torrent of Spanish came forth. I caught the odd word, employer, house, baby, mister, and mistress. I think she was telling me she was an au pair or a house-keeper, something like that, but she said a lot and I understood very little.
“Look,” I said, “it doesn't matter, there's nothing either of us can do 'til morning.”
So we sat in the open doorway and looked up at the myriad of stars in the night sky, and shared a bottle of brandy. We didn't get much past the words for moon, stars, and planets, but we talked for a few hours or so. In that time we managed to increase our knowledge of the other's language by a few words, as we slowly got drunk.
I put the air mattress on the floor and gave her a blanket, while I had my sleeping bag on the foam mattress. I switched the ventilation fans on, turned the dome lights off, and we lay there, chaste, each in our own bed.
“No te gusta el sexo?” She asked in the dark, after a few minutes.
I could guess what that meant, but I was struggling to maintain my impartiality.
“No. Me gusta el sexo,” I said guessing at an appropriate response.
“Muéstreme.”

to be continued...

 

[anm]

LOL on the cactus.  One day I unthinkingly kicked [or tried to kick] a cholla ball off the trail.  Of course, it not only stuck to my hiking boot but drove spines right into the space between the sole and the toe.  And they wouldn't come out.  I was able to break them off from the inside using some long forceps but there are still fragments in there.

Those things can be deadly, sort of like a SouthWestern landmine!

 

[anm]

Sofia speaks Spanish and very little English, in fact she still doesn't, but she hasn't said much yet, and in most situations her meaning can be deduced so it's not a problem. Later on there will be longer sections in Spanish, those I will translate with Sofia's help. Keep in mind I don''t speak Spanish and she doesn't speak English so the translation may be a little dodgy in places.

Day 3​

I woke up early the following morning, Sofia was in my bed, and I was spooning her.​

Hallelujah!​

I lay there, unable to tear myself away from the only female companionship I've had in a very long time. She stirred as I held her, and pushed herself back into me. She was playing me, I knew it, and she knew it, but isn't that how it always starts? I was quickly losing my objectivity.​

My mind was in a turmoil, what should I do? By helping her I was complicit, and if we were caught I'd be lucky to avoid doing some jail time, whereas she would just be sent back to Mexico. But on the other hand, I had sex for the first time in ages. The solution that came to mind was to make a run for it. Sofia was quite a bit younger than me, pretty, and was willing to give me something that I have sorely missed, and anyway, if we get stopped I could always plead temporary insanity.​

I quickly got everything stowed and we took the back roads to Dell City, an oxymoron if there ever was one. We didn't stop, just took 1437 to 180/62 and then headed East. We were already past the Border Patrol Checkpoint, and should be able to hit Carlsbad, get the van fueled up, stock up on food and necessities, and then get lost in Lincoln National Forest.​

Get lost? What the hell am I doing? I wondered.​

“¿A dónde vamos?”​

In high school I took Spanish, one semester anyway, and the longer I spent talking with Sofia the more words and phrases came back to me.​

“Lincoln National Forest,” I said, making an educated guess.​

I had been threatening to hit the road, becoming a van dweller, well I guess this was it, the tipping point, the event that pushed me over the edge. I wasn't really setup yet, not like I wanted to be, but maybe it was better this way, just take the plunge and do it.​

We stopped at the Walmart in Carlsbad where we did our shopping, ate in their restaurant, and cleaned up in their restrooms. I was waiting outside the Ladies restroom for five maybe ten minutes when I realized she wasn't there. It was late, almost no shoppers around, so I took a quick peek in the Ladies' — empty. My heart sank. I dashed around the store, finally spotting her near the managers office, one of the security people had a grip on her arm. I took a deep breath and marched up to them.​

“Where the hell have you been Sofia?” I angrily demanded, “I've been looking all over for you. Take the cart! It's too damn heavy for me to push. "What's the problem?” I asked the security guard.​

“She doesn't have any papers and she doesn't speak English.”​

“She's mine, I've got her Green Card,” I said.​

I flashed it quickly in front of him. It was dumb luck that I hadn't given it back to her last night.​

“Get this damn cart out to the van Sofia, we are going to have a talk about this.”​

“Sir — ” she said.​

“Get out there now or I'll take the belt to you!” I exclaimed pointing to the door.​

“Si,” she said trembling, acting the part, at least I hoped it was an act.​

“Wait I have to — ” the guard started.​

“You have to nothing! If you want to carry this harassment any further I'm calling my lawyer,” I said getting my phone out, “What's your name?” I asked the guard, “and yours too,” I said turning to the store manager.​

The manager volunteered his, but quickly said, “There's no need for that, she just looked like she was a sh- lost.”​

I know he was going to say shoplifter, she looked like a shoplifter. How exactly does a shoplifter look?​

“She fucking acts like she's lost sometimes,” I angrily said shaking my head ruefully, “if there's nothing else?”​

“No.”​

“Man, what a shit! I'd hate to work for him,” I heard the guard say to the manager, as I walked away.​

I caught up to Sofia as she was crossing the parking lot, “Are you okay?”​

She looked at me, “Estás enojado?”​

“If that means 'am I mad', the answer is no, it was an act.”​

“Un acto,” she said and smiled at me.
We spent the night in the Walmart parking lot, amongst some large RVs. This time there was no pretense, Sofia climbed into bed with me. There wasn't a lot of room but where there's a will there's a way.

to be continued...
​

 

[anm]

Day 4​

We left Walmart and Carlsbad early, before it was light, and headed up Canal Street, 285 to Artesia, and finally 82 to Lincoln National Forest. I stopped and pulled off the road as soon as we were a few miles into the forest.
“I-I c-cook,” she said stammering in English.
After I showed her how to run the stove, Sofia made breakfast, while I looked at a map, trying to find a secluded camping spot.
“Andrés, alimentos.”
She had made burritos with eggs, chorizo, cheese, jalapenos, and salsa, not my usual breakfast faire. Over coffee I tried to find out more about her, where her family was, but our mutual incomprehension prevented much progress. After we had eaten we put everything back into the van, and drove to an area marked on the map for dispersed camping. I pulled well off the road, close to a small stream.
I took the black bag from the solar shower, down to the stream and filled it. Sofia watched everything I was doing. I connected the hose and hand shower to the bag and then she helped me lift the bag onto the roof of the van. Now we just had to wait, the sun would do the rest. I debated whether to put the tarp up as shower walls around the end of the van, but we were alone, in the middle of nowhere.
“In an hour or two there will be hot water for a shower,” I said holding the hand shower.
I sprayed it, and Sofia held her hand in the water.
“Frio,” she said.
“Cold?”
She nodded.
“On the roof,” I said pointing up, “the sun will heat up the black bag with the water in it —  una o dos horas.”
I felt like an idiot when I realized I was talking louder than normal, as if that would help her comprehension, but Sofia nodded. I think she understood.
I got out my computer, plugged it in, and sitting at the table, started editing my journal.
“Usted es un escritor?”
“Si.”
She watched me for a bit and then started looking at everything in the van. Finally she again tried the water.
“O, hace calor!” She exclaimed.
“Go ahead, have a shower,” I said.
She must have understood me, or maybe she didn't and was going to do it anyway, but she peeled her clothing off and holding the hand shower sprayed herself. I went into my toiletries and took out a bar of soap and handed it to her.
“Gracias.”
She took great delight in it, and I have to admit that I took great delight in watching her. She was like an habitually clean person who hasn't had access to a shower for weeks.
“Tu turno,” she said smiling, motioning to me.
I can't remember the last time I took a shower with a female of the opposite sex, but I didn't need much encouragement. I tried to prevent sex from rearing its ugly head, but it was all in vain. Sofia laughed.


to be continued...

 

[cyndi]

You've got great talent, Andrew. I like how you leave so much to the imagination. I, for one don't need or appreciate anyone drawing me a picture.

I'm waiting to see how much flack you receive; for your treatment of women and harboring an illegal. It's just fiction, so I don't care. It's a great story, so far.

 

[anm]

You've got great talent, Andrew. I like how you leave so much to the imagination. I, for one don't need or appreciate anyone drawing me a picture.

I'm waiting to see how much flack you receive; for your treatment of women and harboring an illegal. It's just fiction, so I don't care. It's a great story, so far.

Thank you Cyndi, I really appreciate your comments!

I believe that writing is a partnership between the writer and the reader, and leaving details to the reader's imagination involves them in the story in a much more personal way.

I've been expecting comments about my illegal heroine too, and my support of her...

 

[Almost There]

I agree with Cyndi - I definitely see talent.

You might even think about writing enough to do a book and shopping it around to publishers. Maybe not as fun as releasing each days' writings on a blog but might be an income stream for you.

It's a little known thing but a substantial number of the writers for Harlequin are actually male.

 

[anm]

I agree with Cyndi - I definitely see talent.

You might even think about writing enough to do a book and shopping it around to publishers. Maybe not as fun as releasing each days' writings on a blog but might be an income stream for you.

It's a little known thing but a substantial number of the writers for Harlequin are actually male.

Thanks Almost There!

I do occasionally think about trying to do it professionally, but then I think of this quote:

In the same way that a woman becomes a prostitute.
First I did it to please myself,
then I did it to please my friends,
and finally I did it for money.
 — Ferenc Molnar, when asked about how he became a writer

I'm stuck on 1 and 2, I just enjoy it too much!

 

[akrvbob]

You're good, I'm looking forward to every installment!! I'd publish it on the kindle!! You can sell it so cheap that you can feel good that you're helping people be entertained for very little money but you still make money.

It's surprisingly easy to do. Write it in Word and it's very simple to upload it to Kindle format.

Bob

 

[anm]

You're good, I'm looking forward to every installment!! I'd publish it on the kindle!! You can sell it so cheap that you can feel good that you're helping people be entertained for very little money but you still make money.

It's surprisingly easy to do. Write it in Word and it's very simple to upload it to Kindle format.

Bob

Thank you Bob, I appreciate you saying that, and I should also say thank you for providing the forum to do this!

 

[anm]

I have skipped ahead a few uneventful days...
​

Day 7​

We had been in the forest a few days when I heard another vehicle approaching.
“Quick Sofia, hide, go go,” I said to her, pushing her in the direction of the trees.
The Border Patrol agent pulled up close to the van. I recognized him.
“You lost or something?” I asked laughing.
“Or something,” he responded, “were you in Carlsbad a few days ago?”
“I don't know of any other way of getting here.”
“A security guard at the Walmart said there was a Mexican girl there with an old ****, couldn't speak any English.”
“You know perfectly well I speak fluent English, it must have been someone else.”
“Not you, the fuckin' girl! Where is she?”
“I don't know who you mean.”
“Bullshit, you're coming with me, turn around.”
He quickly put one of those large zip-ties around my wrists. Just then I heard a scream. The agent looked at the woods and shoved me face down in the dirt.
“Stay there old man!”
“No, déjalo en paz!”
Sofia, stepped out towards us.
“Lo dejó ir, voy a hacer lo que quiere.”
“At least one of you has some sense.”
He zip-tied Sofia's wrists and put her on the back seat of his car.
“You're fuckin' lucky old man, I'm gonna chalk it up to senility an' let you go.”
“I'm not fucking senile!” I yelled.
He cut the zip-tie around my wrists, and got in his car and drove off before I could get up. I could see Sofia in the back seat, looking at me.
I got up and watched the agent's car until it was out of sight. Then I started packing things up, getting ready to travel. I still wasn't sure what I was going to do. I'm retired, I have no one dependent on me, so I can pretty much do whatever I want. By the time I had everything packed my mind was made up.

* * *​

I slowed down as I approached the Border Patrol checkpoint. They don't stop people going to El Paso, just travelers going the other direction. I decided to pull in and see if I could find out anything.
“What the **** are you doing here?” The agent asked.
“Can I see Sofia?”
“You're crazy old man, get the **** out of here before I lock you up too!”
“She has the right to legal representation! I want to see her.”
“You her lawyer?”
“I demand to see her,” I said avoiding his question.
“Old man, you're no lawyer, if you were you wouldn't be running around in that beat up old van. Now get the **** out of here!”
“Can't I see her?”
He looked at me and shook his head, “The only way you're going to see her is meet her tomorrow in Juarez after she's been deported — and you're a fool if you do.”
“Hypothetically speaking, when will that happen?”
“She'll be there in time for dinner, now git!”
I got back in my van and drove up the road toward El Paso. I pulled off at Hueco Ranch Road and waited.

* * *​

As Sofia saw it:​

I watched from the tree line as the Border Patrol agent got out of his car. I could see Andrés and the Agent talking. The agent got angry and cuffed him.
“No!” I screamed.
The agent's head jerked up, he looked at me, and then shoved Andrés face down in the dirt.
“Leave him alone!”
Andrés had been so good to me, I couldn't let him get hurt because of me, so I stepped out from the trees.
“Let him go, I'll do what you want.”
The gringo looked at me as though trying to assess what my motive might be, then he cuffed me and put me in the back of the car. As I watched he cut Andrés free. Then he got in the car and drove down the gravel road as I looked out the back window.
We drove for a couple of hours, finally arriving back at the Border Patrol Checkpoint where I was put into a cell with a dozen other people being deported. After a few hours a guard came and escorted me to the gringo.
“Green Card-Green Card,” I said, reaching into my pocket.
He took the tattered piece of paper and unfolded it.
“Expired,” he said, “espirado!”
“I have a green card, I worked as a maid for a Mexican couple. But it's a trap for Mexican workers — ”
“Look lady I don't want to hear it — No quiero escucharlo!”
“They get us into the country and never get the green card renewed. Then we are illegal, threatened with the INS, forced to work for nothing, we are slaves. Their dog ate better than we do, and there is nothing we could do.”
“Yeah well someone should crack down on them, but it's not my job — no es mi trabajo.”

to be continued...

 

[Marie]

Andrew: could you please write faster? You're driving me crazy here!

 

[anm]

Andrew: could you please write faster? You're driving me crazy here!

LOL, I suppose I could...

 

[flailer]

LOL, I suppose I could...

Thanks, please do  

 

[anm]

Day 8​

I stayed in the jail at the Border Patrol checkpoint while they gathered a few more illegals from the surrounding area. We were fed, had a clean place to sleep, breakfast, and finally loaded onto a bus for the drive to Ciudad Juarez.
What was I going to do in Juarez? At least in El Paso I had a place to sleep and food to eat, even if it was worse than what the dog got. In Juarez, most girls like me end up in prostitution, hooked on the drugs forced on them by their pimps, trapped in a deadly downward spiral until they're found in an alley somewhere.
As we drove to the border and Juarez, I looked out the window, at the seemingly affluent El Paso, and then across the border at the ramshackle houses and shacks of Juarez. Something is not right there.
It took an hour to negotiate the border crossing, and then we were in the hands of the Federales. We were checked for any criminal record and released. It was seven in the evening by the time I was released, and it was getting dark. I was going to have to find somewhere safe for the evening. As I walked down the avenida I remembered the hospital — if I could make it there I should be safe until dawn.
As I approached the hospital two men stepped out of the bushes, and then I heard a third one behind me. One of them had a knife out and called to me, telling me in graphic detail what he was going to do to me. I continued walking but slowed up so the one behind would catch up to me before I got to the other two. As he got close he lunged at me, but I quickly dropped to the ground, tripping him. He flew over me, landing in a heap on the ground. I turned and ran, sprinting away from them, but I could hear them behind me.
“Ayuadame, por favor!” I called out in the vain hope that someone might hear me.
They were gaining on me, and there was nothing I could do. Then one of them grabbed at me, snagging my sleeve, spinning me around.
“Ayuda violación! Ayuadame!”
The last thing I remember was a brilliant flash of light as one of them punched me.

* * *​

I sat there, watching the traffic going by. The only breaks I took were to answer the call of nature, and to make something to eat. Then about mid-afternoon I spotted the bus, it was clearly labeled as to who operated it. Who else would it be transporting?​

I let them drive past and then followed, keeping well back. As I drove I couldn't help but wonder about my relationship with Sofia.
Was I being a fool? Probably — but don't we all have to seize whatever chance of happiness comes our way? I'm taking a chance on someone who as soon as they see a better opportunity is liable to grab it, but she has nothing, so is her doing that wrong? Would any of us do anything different if we were in her shoes? I think not, and who am I to judge her anyway? I should be thankful for the time we can spend together, no matter how short.
When we got to the border crossing I had to get in line with dozens of other cars. I habitually carry my 1911 with me when I go camping, but for some reason I had decided to leave it at home this time. It was a good thing since the Federales come down hard on foreigners with guns. I watched the bus pull into a reserved lane, and after a brief talk to the guards, was waved through. The driver unloaded his cargo and was driving back before I was anywhere near the border. It took me almost four hours to get through, most of it spent on the Mexican side as they searched the van, and afterwards as I put it all back together. I think they received a tip about hidden firearms.
It was late before I was finally able to drive, but now I had no idea where Sofia was. When we were together she told me that she hated Juarez, and that she was from Villa Ahumada, a small town south of Juarez. So I decided to stay on 45 — I figured Sofia would be heading home, trying to put as much distance between herself and Juarez as possible.
I followed 45, and had driven for about twenty minutes when I heard a scream. I had read 'The Daughters of Juarez', a book all about Juarez, the horrible ongoing murders of young women, and police ineptitude, and even suspected involvement. I looked around as I tried to locate the source of the screams, then I saw them, in a parking lot.
There they are, three of them! I can't do anything about those rapes and murders already committed, but I can sure as shit do something about this one!
I saw one of them hit the woman, and she went down. I was furious and drove the van straight at the men. They stood there as though daring me to hit them, but when they saw that I wasn't going to steer away they dove, one to each side. I slammed on the brakes next to the woman and waited as one of her assailants approached me, the one with the knife.
“Te vas a morir gringo!”
I pointed my trusty can of bear repellent at him and sprayed him full in the face. He screamed, fell over, writhing in agony on the ground as I got out. I sprayed the other man for good measure. Then I opened the side door, picked up the woman and put her in the van. I ran around to the driver's side and got in, but the one with the knife was determined — he staggered to his feet and came at me again, so I accelerated, steering close to him, and at the last minute kicked the door open, knocking him off his feet, sending him sprawling. Then I drove onto route 45 and continued going south.
“Señorita!” I called, glancing back at the woman.
“¡Oh!”
“Señorita, are you okay?” I asked.
I could hear her moving around, then she said, “Hijos de puta! ¿Dónde estoy?”
“Señorita, you're safe here — estás a-a safe aquí.”
I could hear her move around some more and then sit up.
“Andrés?”
“Sofia?” I said slamming on the brakes.
I pulled off the road, went in the back, and hugged her.
“¿Cómo sabías que estaba aquí?”
I knew Cómo was how and aquí was here. I think sabías is know, so I could almost translate it.
I guessed, “I didn't, I saw a Señorita a-a con un problema. I didn't know it was you!”
We sat in the van and I held her in my arms as her shaking gradually got less and less.
When she was more or less recovered I said, “Villa Ahumada?”
She nodded, “Por favor.”
We drove South, further into Mexico, for an hour before stopping at a small roadside shop selling food. We sat at a table under some bare bulbs, ate burritos, and drank beer.
“¿Por qué viniste por mí?” Sofia asked.
“Why did I — come for you?”
“Sí.”
I hesitated, taking a big swallow from my beer. Beer can hide a multitude of sins. I have always had trouble putting my feelings into words, especially words that I'm expected to deliver to the person those feelings apply to.
“I-I l-like you Sofia, I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“Like? — No love?” She said in English.
“Sofia I'm older than you, maybe twenty-five years older.”
“En México muchos hombres tienen esposas jóvenes. Es bueno para las mujeres y bueno para los hombres.”
I understood most of what she said, and I have to admit that my heart was pounding. I think I do love her, so why can't I tell her? Maybe it's what gets drummed into us, marry someone your own age or you're a pervert.
“What about your family, what will they say?”
“Mi familia? Usted me salvó. Ellos estarán encantados de verme casada con un hombre que puede cuidar de mí.”
I understood the first two sentences, but was lost on the third. Sofia could see I didn't understand.
She tried again in English (mostly), “Mi familia - will make happy - if with un hombre - is - valiente.”
I finished off my beer and Sofia took the bottles to the vendor and got two more, then they talked a few minutes.
“What was that about?” I asked accepting the beer.
She smiled and said, “Dormimos aquí esta noche.”
“We stay here tonight?”
“Sí, si me quieres en tu cama.”
I got the gist of what she said, leaned over, and kissed her. Then I parked the van behind the shop, out of sight. We lay in bed making love and talking. When we finally got to sleep it was almost dawn.

to be continued...

 

[anm]

Marie and flailer, you have misunderstood me. I said i 'could' write faster, not that I 'would'. I don't want to finish it too soon, I enjoy writing it, taking the time to get into the mind-set of my characters...

 

[anm]

Day 9​

I woke up to someone hammering on the side of the van.
“Señor, Señora, usted tiene que despertar!”
“Sofia,” I said shaking her.
“Qué es?” She sleepily asked.
“Señor, Señora, usted debe salir ahora!”
Sofia jerked upright, “Qué es?”
“Había un hombre en busca de usted.”
“Andrés, tenemos que irnos.”
Sofia hurriedly got dressed, and handed me my clothes, “Apresurar! Un hombre aquí!”
That last sentence I understood.
When we were ready I handed the shop owner a twenty, but he shook his head, refusing to take it, “Rápidamente - rápidamente, antes de que vuelva!”
“Gracias Manuel,” Sofia said hugging him.
We backed out and continued down 45, “How far is it? You know, miles?”
“Oh millas! Alrededor de un diez.”
I think she said ten, but we hadn't gone five when I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw a car coming up fast.
“Sofia, behind us.”
Sofia turned and looked out the rear window just as a bullet shattered it, and then embedded itself somewhere in my new bookshelves.
“Eeeee!” She squealed covering her face.
A few weeks prior I had done some work on the van's suspension, new KYB heavy-duty shocks all around, and high performance polyurethane bushings and links on the anti-sway bar. I was thankful for that now.
I slowed a little, letting our pursuer close in, but then I sped up, then slowed down again. I was trying to get him alongside, and eventually he did just that. I saw him take aim at the front tire, so I hit the brakes and did a quick flick of the steering wheel, catching his car on the rear quarter. He spun around, his wheels digging into the soft sand alongside the road. His car flipped and did two rolls in the air, hit the ground, still turning, finally settling upside down in an arroyo. Seconds later it burst into flame. We watched it burn.
“Andrés, nos dejó ir,” Sofia said.
Even though the man was an evil, despicable person, hell-bent on torturing Sofia and killing her, she still felt uncomfortable being there. I had no intention of reporting anything to the authorities, one can never be sure just who it is you're talking too. I have to replace the rear window, patch a bullet hole in the front fender, and touch up the bumper, and no one will know.
We got in the van and continued to Villa Ahumada. After another fifteen minutes we pulled up in front of a small house. I don't know what I was thinking it would be, adobe maybe, but it was a modern rancher style, with a barn, large garage, chicken coop, and goats. We pulled up in front and got out.
“Sofía, mi bebé!” Her mother said.
“Sofia,” her father said glaring at me.
“Esto es Andrés,” Sofia said indicating me.
Her mother looked down, and her father turned away. I knew it was going to be difficult.
“I should go Sofia,” I said opening the door to the van.
“¡No!” She said slamming it, “Este es el hombre con el que me voy a casar. No voy a dejar que le persigues distancia!”
“Él es mayor que yo!” Her father said.
“Sólo en años papá. Me salvó la vida, muchas veces. Espere aquí.”
Sofia went in the house and got two beers, and handed one to her papa and one to me. Then I sat in the open side door of my van, as she sat on the veranda and related to her mother and father all that had befallen her.
Her mother gasped and weeped, “¡Oh, mi bebé!”
“Esos hijos de puta!” Her father angrily declared.
That I knew was swearing, and by the time Sofia was done her father came over to me and shook my hand and hugged me. But I still had to spend the night in the van while Sofia slept in the house. I missed having her next to me.


to be continued...

 

[Marie]

Andrew: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I got my story "fix" for the day!