Crossing the Wire by Will Hobbs Page A

because without it, they would starve to death.”
    I got back to the subject of crossing. “Julio, why are you trying to cross into Arizona this time?”
    â€œBecause everybody is saying Arizona is the way to go. Its border is so long, so full of deserts and mountains, the Migra are like a hundred cats trying to catch a million mice. You know about La Migra, I take it.”
    â€œAmerican immigration, U.S. Border Patrol. That much I do know. What kind of work will you try to do this time?”
    â€œAnything. I’ll wash dishes in a restaurant, sack groceries, do landscaping or construction. I’ll even pick lettuce. I’m a good worker, and they’re always looking for good workers up there. The truth is, they know we work harder than they do. Grab my backpack off the backseat, will you? I’m busy driving.”
    â€œWhat do you need?”
    â€œFood and water. You hungry?”

9
Nogales
    I HAD NEVER UNDERSTOOD before, what a long, long way it was to the border. The train continued on through the night and into the next morning and afternoon. Whenever it stopped, we knew we were in danger. We would turn the radio off and listen to the sounds from outside. Once, we heard people running, and the shouts of police ordering them to stop. I was sure that our hiding place would be searched, but it wasn’t. After half an hour, the train was moving again.
    Inside our Suburban, there was hardly any rocking motion and practically no noise. I rested easy again. Julio was pretty sure that the carrier wouldn’t be searched until the final inspection before the crossing of the border, when every nook and cranny of these vehicles would be searched for people and drugs.
    I asked how we would know when it was time to get out, and Julio said we would wait until a stop lasted for an hour. Until then,we wouldn’t even poke our heads out to see where we were.
    â€œHow will you know it is Nogales?”
    â€œBecause I’ve been told what it looks like. It’s a city spread all over the hills, looking down into Nogales, Arizona, which they say is much smaller. There’s a metal fence, more like a wall, in between.”
    â€œHow is that possible to be looking down from Mexico into the States? Aren’t they above us?”
    â€œListen, I’m telling you what I heard. Here’s something else. There are two really long tunnels that run under the border. They carry the storm waters that run off the Mexican hills. That’s how I’m going to cross. You can come with me if you want.”
    â€œWouldn’t you drown?”
    â€œThe tunnels are dry most of the time. People live in them, that’s what I heard. Street kids. Cholos.”
    â€œGangs?”
    â€œThey take people through for money, but if you know the password, they’ll just let you go by.”
    â€œDo you know the password?”
    â€œForward and backward.”
    â€œWhat about the police on the Mexican side and the Border Patrol on the American side? Don’t they try to stop people from crossing through the tunnels? It sounds too good to be true!”
    â€œHave you been living under a stone? On the Mexican side, the police are easily bribed.”
    â€œWho bribes them?”
    â€œThe coyotes, who else? In this case, it would be the cholos. As for the American side, who knows? Maybe the Border Patrol doesn’t watch their end of the tunnels all the time. Maybe they get paid off, too.”
    â€œIt sounds like you have it all figured out.”
    â€œYou never have it all figured out. Something unexpected always happens. You do what you can and hope for good luck.”
    â€œDid you have good luck once you finally got to your aunt and uncle’s in Texas?”
    â€œAt first I did. I worked five months at a turkey farm.”
    â€œDoing what?”
    â€œSweeping, mopping, shoveling, chopping heads, plucking feathers, pulling the guts out. Hard work, ’mano, but