Free The Only Road by Alexandra Diaz Page A

focus, and a few more for his brain to register what the church looked like.
    To say it didn’t compare to the church in Tapachula would be like saying a rock wasn’t like a rainbow. The two had absolutely nothing in common. This one had a “natural” skylight where the roof had caved in, no paintings, and a crucifix that was little more than two branches tied together into a cross. Patches of the stone walls were missing; dust crumbs from the wall next to Jaime and Ángela clung to the tattered blanket. Bits of cloth were sewed together to makea curtain in the middle of the room, separating them from the men. In the thick humidity, body odor mingled with dirty diapers and whiffs from the polluted river occasionally joined forces. When Jaime grabbed his shoes, a black cockroach scurried from the laces to find a new hiding place.
    And then there were the people. About fifty women and children crammed into their half of the church, making it hot and stuffy despite the draft. On the other side of the curtain there were probably just as many men. Or more.
    â€œIs everyone here going to El Norte?” Jaime asked Ángela as he gave his shoes a good thump before putting them on.
    â€œ Me imagino .” Ángela looked around at the women and children waking up. “Gangs like the Alphas are all over Centro América.”
    Jaime stopped to think about it. If there were about one hundred people here, in this one little church, in a little town, how many other immigrants were there in other refugee centers throughout México? There must be thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, heading to El Norte every day. That couldn’t be right. He must be adding it up wrong; Miguel had been the one good at math. On the other hand, Jaime’s logic made perfect sense. “Even if only half of them make it across the border, which we know is very hard, how can one country fit so many extra people?”
    Ãngelalicked her lips as if she didn’t want to think about that. “That’s why they’re building a wall. I saw a picture of a fence going into the ocean. They say it’s to keep their country safe. But really, it’s to keep us out.”
    Jaime recalled a couple of photos that Tomás had sent of the ranchland where he worked—pastures and mountains with no buildings as far as the eye could see, so different from home, where houses clustered together with banana trees growing between them like weeds. True, El Norte was huge, and there were some empty parts. But how long would the land stay empty, especially if there were thousands sneaking in each day? He knew they were unwanted, unwelcome. He could only hope that there’d be some room left in the world for him and his family.
    He followed his cousin through the thick tropical growth to the river, where they kept watch for each other, before returning to the church hall.
    â€œMangos or tamales?” Ángela looked through their food bags. “Or there’s still some tortillas and a tiny bit of cheese.”
    If only Abuela had packed the breakfast she had made yesterday. They’d definitely enjoy it more today. Jaime’s stomach groaned and ached as he remembered home. “Tortilla with mango and we might as well finish the cheese, too, I guess.”
    A girl close to Ángela’s age with a baby slung aroundher chest and a handmade bag hanging from her shoulder looked up as she folded her tattered blanket.
    â€œThe church provides us with food.” She spoke with an accent that implied Spanish hadn’t been her first language. She didn’t look Mayan; Jaime wondered if she was Xinca or Pipil Indian instead.
    Ãngela smiled and waved hello at the baby. “Thank you, but we’re already grateful for the shelter. We shouldn’t take when we already have.”
    The baby reached out to Ángela with thin arms. The mother hesitated for a second before passing the baby over.