EL NORTE                                                                     By Elvira Diaz-Ocampo                         First place winner of the 1999 Johnnie Harris Writing Award in fiction for short story

They travel cautiously through the brush, guided only by the moonlight.  The emptiness before them     seems to go on forever.  They’ve been walking for hours, are exhausted, but continue due north at a steady pace.  Every so often an “Ay!” can be heard from someone who has stumbled on a rock.  The group is made up of Emilio – El Coyote, Chucho, Amalia - the only woman, Santos and two older men from Guerrero.        They walk for almost another hour before a short scream interrupts their silence as Amalia falls to the ground.   Santos turns around and extends his hand out to her, “Give me your hand.”  His strong grip pulls her up.   Keeping a firm grip, he pulls, almost dragging her so she can keep pace with the group.                “Ya no puedo mas,” she gasps out of breath.       From the front, El Coyote’s stern voice is heard, “Keep up or we’ll leave you here and keep quiet.  I don’t care if you step on a rattler, and it bites you - La Migra’s close by and they can hear everything for miles.       He’d warned them before they left, “You’d better keep quiet and keep moving or we’ll leave you behind.   And if you see La Migra - scatter!  After all, those gringos can’t follow in all directions.  One or two of us will get through.  If you don’t make it the first time, we’ll keep trying until you do.”       Santos, Amalia, and Chucho were from the same town – Tetecala, Morelos.  After not hearing from her common-law husband, Santiago, in almost six months and not receiving any money to support herself and her children, Amalia decides to join him.  He’d gone to El Norte – The United States - about a year and a half ago.   At first when she didn’t hear from him for a few months, she worried that something had happened to him.  In Tetecala horror stories were told of people trying to cross the border, who were robbed at gun point, abandoned, and left to die miles from civilization.  It was usually at the hands of their own people.       After two months, the money arrived steadily.  Santiago sent 100 pesos a month.  In 1971, that was good money to live on.  He wrote her almost every week and told her how much he missed her and the children.   Amalia was able to save a few pesos.  The letters started dwindling and the money came further and further apart then stopped.  She started washing clothes for other people so she could feed her children and was forced to move in with her parents.  She was desperate and whenever she’d hear that someone had come back from El Norte, she’d visit them to find out if they’d seen her Santiago.  She’d heard rumors he’d taken up with a Pocha and was going to marry her so he could get his green card, but she didn’t believe it.       One day, while Amalia goes to the plaza, she runs into Maria, a childhood friend.  “Hi, Maria, how’re you doing this morning?  Have you heard from your family in the states?”       “Si, they’re all fine.  My sister’s got a good job working at a taqueria in Los Angeles.  She sends money for her children all the time.  She sent Ernesto a bicycle with Don Armando.  Don Armando just came back last week.”       “I’m so worried about Santiago.  I haven’t heard from him in a long time.  It’s been six months and I don’t know what to do.  Has your sister, Estela, seen him?”       “Well, Amalia, she did mention him in her letter.”       “What did she say?  Why doesn’t he write?  Is he ill?”       “Well,” Maria hesitated.       “Oh my God, he must be ill.”       “She didn’t say there was something wrong with him, so he must be okay.”       “Tell me, Maria, please - I need to know.  I’ve heard rumors that Santiago is going to marry a Pocha so he can get his green card.  Is it true?” she pleaded.       “Si, Amalia, es verdad - it’s true.  Women marry for money in El Norte.  There’s a woman Santiago’s been seen with.  Her name’s Yolanda.”       Without a word, Amalia goes home.  “Mama, I don’t understand why he’s doing this.  I wish he would’ve never left.  We didn’t have very much, but at least we were together.  Now, this woman, this pocha’s going to take him away from me!”       Her mother tried to console her, “Calmate, Amalia.  You won’t get anywhere by crying and scaring the children.  Maybe Maria’s sister’s wrong.  Or you know how some people are; they’ll say anything just to start trouble – son chismosas.  It may not even be true.  I don’t think Santiago would do this to you and the children.”       “I wish I could believe that, Mama, but he hasn’t written to me in a long time.  He’s already forgotten us.  I wish I could believe it’s not true, but I can feel it in my heart – I’ve lost him!”       Amalia spent the next few days thinking about what she could do.  He was so far away – he may as well be on the other side of the moon.  “The only way – I know, I’ll go see Don Armando.  I can go back with him!” Amalia exclaimed.       The following morning, Amalia knocks at Doña Mercedes’ hut and calls out, “Don Armando, are you there?”       An old man comes to the door, “Who is it?”       “It’s me, Amalia, Don Armando.  Don Fernando’s daughter.”       “Ay si, I remember you.  You were a skinny little thing, running around with a runny nose and barefoot the last time I saw you.  It’s been a long time.  What can I do for you?”       “Well, Don Armando, I heard you came back from El Norte last week and I was wondering when you’re going back.  I want to go with you.”       “No, Niña, I’m not going back any more.  I’m too old.  This time I’m here to stay.”       “But, I need to go to El Norte.”       “I’m sorry I can’t help you, but you know what?  I heard Chucho and Santos talking about going.  I overheard them the other day at the pool hall.  I tried to tell them they’d be making a mistake, but they were so excited, I don’t even think they heard what I said.”       “Gracias, muchas gracias, Don Armando,” Amalia said and with that, she set out to find Chucho and Santos.       Before he went back inside, Don Armando called out, “Be careful and good luck, muchacha.”  The old man goes back inside shaking his head, “Estos muchachos – no entienden.”       Amalia knew where Santos and Chucho lived.  She’d gone to school with them.  Chucho lived just down the street from Don Armando.  She reached his house and knocked on the door.  “Doña Francisca, Doña Francisca, is Chucho home?”       Doña Francisca came to the door, “Que pasa, Amalia?”       Doña Francisca, is Chucho home?  I need to speak with him.”       “He’s not here.  He’s probably at the plaza with his friends, but I’m sure he’ll come home for lunch.  Is everything okay, Amalia?”       “Yes, everything’s okay, I just need to ask him a question.  Can you please tell him I need to speak with him?”       “Okay, I’ll tell him.”       “Gracias, Doña Francisca.”       Amalia went down the hill to the Plaza hoping to see Chucho or Santos.  It was market day, so everyone went to the Plaza at one time or another during the day.  As she walked she spotted Chucho and called out to him, “Chucho, wait for me.”       Turning around Chucho responded with a smile, “Hola, Amalia!”       “Chucho, I need to speak with you.  Let’s sit down.”       They sit down on a bench and Chucho asks, “Que pasa?  You look worried.”       “I heard you and Santos are leaving for El Norte and I want to go with you.”       “Estas loca? – are you crazy?  Why do you want to go?  I’m sorry, we can’t take you.  It’s too dangerous and besides, you’re a woman, you’d just be in the way.  No, absolutely not!”       “Por favor, Chucho, please you’ve got to take me with you.  You won’t regret it.  I need to go.  I need to see Santiago.  Please Chucho!”       “No!  It’s out of the question.  Santos would not go along with it.  Besides, his mother’s giving him a hard time and we may not even go.”       “Will you at least think about it?  Please!”       “Bueno - Okay, I’ll think about it.  But that’s all and if Santos says no – it’s no!”       Amalia thought of that day at the Plaza as though it had happened long ago.  As she kept walking, her legs raw from brushing against the dry branches and thorns, Amalia felt her legs wouldn’t carry her much longer, but there was no turning back; she’d borrowed $100 to pay the Coyote, with the promise that once they reached their destination, her husband would pay the rest.  She’d left her children with her parents.  She thought of them now and resolved to get through this ordeal.  With a burst of newfound energy and Santos’ hand, Amalia moved forward.       Santos at nineteen was tall and slender, piel canela, with caloused hands.  At 62 kilos, he seems like an unlikely candidate to make the trip, but working in the fields most of his life has helped him build up his stamina for the long walk across the desolate terrain between Mexico and the U.S. border.  As he walks on, he remembers saying goodbye to his family in Tetecala.  Just a couple of days before, Santos went to his grandfather, Andres, and told him, “Abuelo, me voy a Los Estados Unidos.”       His grandfather answered, “Bueno Hijo, you’re a grown man now.  I’m sure you’ve made your decision already and there’s nothing I can say to change your mind.  Do what you need to do, but don’t forget about your mother and your brothers and sisters.  Have you told her yet?”       “No, not yet.”       “She’s going to try to stop you.  All women do, but you do what you feel is in your heart.  Xochitl will have to understand.”       As expected, Xochitl, Santos’ mother, is inconsolable, but Santos has made up his mind.  She tries everything in her power to stop him.  She even locks up his birth certificate and military documents thinking he wouldn’t leave without them.  When that doesn’t work and she finds out he’s broken into her wardrobe, she cries, “Porque, mi’jo – why my son?  There’s nothing for you out there.  You’ll only be risking your life!”       Chucho’s whistle is heard outside.  Xochitl moves forward, puts her arms around Santos’ waist and lays her head on his chest, sobbing, holding on tight, No te vayas, por favor!”       Santos places one hand on her head and strokes her long trensas, he places his other hand on her shoulder and tries to console her, “Mama, nothing’s going to happen to me.  Please don’t cry.  People go to El Norte all the time.”       “Yes, but you saw what happened to Dona Esperanza’s son, they brought him back in a coffin!”       “That’s not going to happen to me.”       His brothers pace up and down and his sisters start to cry in unison, especially, Flor, the youngest.       “Who’ll take care of us?  You know all your stepfather does is drink and spend the food money!”       “Don’t worry, as soon as I get a job, I’ll send you money.  You’ll see, I’ll only be gone for a year.  I just want to try my luck and I’ll bring home enough money to buy a piece of land and a few cows so I can start my own business,” Santos says gently pulling her away.  “I’ve got to go, Mama, por favor, deme su bendicion.”       Chucho whistles impatiently again.  Xochitl steps back, Santos lowers his head, and with tears in her eyes whispers, “Que Dios te bendiga, en el nombre del padre, del hijo, y del espiritu santo,” while forming the sign of the cross on his forehead.       Santos slips out the door.  The cries become louder - calling out to him.       The thump, thump of the tires against the asphalt make him realize they’re near a highway.  He looks up and sees headlights going by at high speed.   The Coyote motions them to stop and whispers, “We’re almost there.  Keep low.  When we get to the road, we’ll need to crawl under a fence.  After that, you’ll need to hide until I give you the signal.  There’ll be a camper waiting for us.  Comprenden?”       “Si,” the group whispers back.       Santos is the first one to go under the fence.  He hides behind some bushes near a building – Amalia sees him and follows.  They both crouch on the lawn.  Neither one of them notice the patrol car stopped about a 100 yards away until they see the flashing red lights turn on.  “Ay, Dios mio, La Migra!” Amalia whispers.       “Callate,” Santos whispers back.       They keep silent until they hear the whoosh, whooshing sound of sprinklers going off.  Amalia gives out a yelp at the sudden sound, but Santos quickly puts his arm around her head, places his hand on her mouth, and pulls her down to the ground with a thump.  The icy cold water from the sprinklers comes at them from all directions.  They lay trembling scared to move.  Voices can be heard from the patrol car, but after a while they hear a car door slam.  A few seconds after the patrol car drives off, they hear the faint whistle.  Cautiously, Santos releases Amalia and they get up soaking wet.       The Coyote motions them to him, “It wasn’t La Migra, it was only the Highway Patrol.  Come on, our ride is waiting up ahead.  Stay low and near the edge of the brush.”       A large white camper is parked up ahead on the side of the highway.  El Coyote, knocks on the window of the camper, “Hey, we’re here!”       Someone lowers the window, looks out, and unlocks the door.  They quickly pile into the camper.  The driver turns on the engine and looking back at them laughing says as he drives off, “Hola Amigos, bienvendidos a Los Estamos Sumidos.” THE BEGINNING