Free Oscar Casares by Brownsville

with the immigration authorities stationed along the river. He concentrated on the work he was doing, letting the machete fall harder on the broken branches, but the need to find peace in his heart would not leave him.
    The sun was lowering itself by the time Domingo returned to the little room where he slept. The room belonged to the Ramirez brothers and was attached to their tire shop. They allowed him to stay there for free, with the understanding that he would watch over the repair shop at night. Since the brothers also stored tires in the room, the space for his cot was limited. He was grateful to them for offering him a place to sleep, but he never stayed in bed too long, because of the loneliness it brought him and the fact that the smell of so much rubber gave him a headache. His clothes were stored in a cardboard box under the cot. The only other belongings he placed inside the box were a photo of his wife with the baby and a tattered envelope with the directions for where to send his money back home.
    After he washed his hands and face at the sink inside the garage, he put on a pair of jeans and a green shirt la señora had given him. The jeans fit a little big in the waist, but that was what belts were for. He used a rag to clean the dust off his black shoes until they looked presentable. Then he grabbed his hat and locked up the little room.
    Holy Family Church was a short walk from where Domingo lived. He had passed by the church many times but had never considered attending the Spanish mass they offered Saturday evenings. By this hour, the services had ended and he was hoping to have a moment alone before the altar. He had always considered the church small compared with most churches he knew in Mexico, but now as he walked toward the entrance, he felt as if he were approaching a very large mountain. The saints on the stained-glass windows looked like images he had seen once in a long, fitful dream. Domingo pulled on the large wooden doors, but they were locked. He peered through the window and saw a single light shining down on the altar. He walked around to the side of the building, but the doors were locked there as well. In all his years, he had never seen a church with its doors locked. Perhaps his imagination, or even God himself, was playing tricks on him for having stayed away so long. But the doors were just as locked the second time he tried.
    Domingo was heading back to his room when he saw a couple, an older man and woman, walking with a small gray and white dog. The man used a cane and looked at least ten years older than Domingo. The woman was younger than her husband and she held the dog's leash. Domingo greeted the couple and asked them if they knew why the church doors were locked. The old man said he truthfully did not know the answer to this question, but perhaps it had something to do with the priest not wanting to work late. The man's wife shook her head and said the real reason was that the church had been broken in to too many times, and once, it had even caught on fire accidentally. She doubted whether he would find any church in town open at this hour. Domingo thanked them and kept walking.
    When he arrived back at his room, he lay on the cot and rested. Sometimes he bought beer and drank outside the room on a wooden stool. But he tried not to do that anymore, because it was difficult for him to stop after two or three beers and then he would miss work because he overslept. All he wanted now was to fall asleep and forget his failed trip to the church. The room was dark except for a ray of light that leaked in through a corner of the ceiling. He wondered if there was some way of entering another church, at least to light a candle and say a short prayer. So much time had passed, and now waiting another night felt like an eternity, the same eternity he and his wife had endured while they waited for God to bless them with a child. For years, he had felt cursed because his woman had not become