Leandro stood outside the Kroger, leaning forward as he shivered in the early March dawn. He hated this moment: the cold, the fatigue, the feeling of helplessness, the anticipation of another day ahead at his degrading job picking collard leaves under the eye of the redneck farmer. He would give anything to return to the comfort of Isaura’s embrace. But it was not meant to be.
Around him, but as isolated from him as if they were in another planet, waited four other men of various ages, all wrapped in their own miseries, all reluctant to open up to other men, afraid that in doing so they would reveal their weaknesses, the uncertainty of their condition as strangers in a strange land. Leandro knew all of them by sight, but had never learned the names of any and was taking no chances. It was better that way.
Soon the decrepit school bus would turn into the parking lot to pick up this lot of day laborers and proceed to the next pickup location, the CVS a few blocks down the road. Leandro knew the drill well, having gone that route many times since his arrival in town. The laborers the bus collected worked, like him, on the big farm across the border in North Carolina. Almost all the workers at that farm were foreigners, except for a sprinkling of black fellows that could find no gainful employment elsewhere.
***
Back in his home country, Leandro had been a bookkeeper at a small business. The pay was not all that great but it sufficed to cover the cost of living modestly and paying for the expenses that arose after Isaura gave birth to their child. Carlitos was sickly and Isaura had developed postpartum complications that required medical attention and a brief hospitalization.
Leandro was a working poor but he would have never left home except for his own indiscretion. He had not been shy about criticizing the dictator then in power and his comments had fallen on the wrong ears. He was visited one night by members of the government death squad, who beat him thoroughly and threatened with worse if he ever spoke out of line again.
It took Leandro weeks to get well physically, but he never recovered his lost nerve. He told himself that he was prepared to die, but his family needed him and he should do his utmost to stay alive and well. His heart was filled with fear as he prepared to flee the country.
It took Leandro over a year to raise enough money to pay the fee of the chacales who would transport him, Isaura and Carlitos to Mexico’s border with the United States and smuggle them into Arizona. The trip itself was a hair-raising experience which they nearly failed to survive. Having crossed the border, they barely managed to elude the border patrol, walked to a small nearby village, got on a bus to Tucson and then took two other buses for a trip to Northern Virginia, where Isaura had relatives.
Upon arrival, Isaura’s relatives urged Leandro and Isaura to apply for asylum as political refugees. Leandro demurred, because if their petition was denied they would be deported back to their home country, where he feared he would encounter imprisonment or death.
“It is not safe for you to stay in this area, so close to Washington, D.C.” warned Isaura’s uncle. “It is full of Latin Americans, many like you, illegally in this country. The government is cracking down on immigrants and trying to round them up for immediate deportation. We would love for you to stay with us, but each day you are around here you run the risk of being caught.”
“What can we do, then?” pleaded Leandro.
“Go to the southern part of the state. There are fewer Latinos there and you may escape detection.”
“What will we do there?”
“There are small communities and farms on both sides of the Virginia – North Carolina line. You can go out and explore to see what is available. In the meantime, Isaura and Carlitos can stay with us. I can lend you some money for you to live on while you search.”
“But my English is not very good. I won’t be able to get a decent job.”
“Well, give yourself a couple of weeks. If you can’t find anything, come back here and we’ll try to figure out what to do next.”
***
Leandro and his family went down to Blacksburg, on the Blue Ridge Mountains, a location Leandro chose because he had hoped to find some kind of professional job at the local university, Virginia Tech. They had rented an apartment at a low income complex and moved there, surviving at the threshold of poverty, Isaura too weak to work and having to take care of the baby. Leandro had found nothing at the university, although he had filed applications everywhere on and around campus. He ended up doing farm work and adding a three-hour evening shift as a handler at a warehouse. By the time he returned to his apartment each evening it was bedtime and he was only able to eat something before going to bed. He and Isaura barely spoke to each other; sex was out of the question except on Sundays, where both of Leandro’s jobs were idle.
“We can’t go on like this” Isaura had complained weakly. “This is not living.”
Leandro’s shoulders had slumped from guilt. “At least we are safe. Let’s wait until the end of the school year. Maybe jobs will open for the summer. If not, we’ll go back to your uncle.”
***
Leandro’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle turning into the Kroger parking lot and the screeching of tires. Looking up, he saw it was no school bus but a gray minivan that came to a halt in front of the men standing on the sidewalk. Three large men exited the minivan, all wearing black polyester hoodies with the word “ICE” emblazoned on the front in white letters. One of the men declared in a loud voice: “Immigration – You are all under arrest on suspicion of being illegally in this country – Get into the van!!”
One of the men protested: “Wait, I am a U.S. citizen!”
The agent shot back: “Do you have proof of citizenship, like a passport?”
“Well, not on me…”
“Then get into the van, right now!”
The man started to argue and the agent took out a gun. Waiving it, he threatened: “Get in voluntarily or I’ll have you handcuffed!”
While the exchange was going on, Leandro looked around, panic stricken. He could not be arrested! Isaura and Carlitos needed him! He turned around and started to run away.
He did not get far. The agent holding the gun turned it in Leandro’s direction, took aim, and shot him in the back.
Leandro felt a forceful impact, like being hit with a club, followed by an unbearable burning sensation, and fell to the ground, dead.
He had one final thought before everything turned black: “All I wanted was to live in peace and be free. Maybe it was too much.”
END
Bio:
Born in Cuba, Matias Travieso-Diaz migrated to the United States as a young man. He became an engineer and lawyer and practiced for nearly fifty years. After retirement, he took up creative writing. Over one hundred and ninety of his short stories have been published or accepted for publication in one hundred and thirty anthologies, magazines, blogs, audio books and podcasts. A novel, “When Cubans went to War;” an autobiography entitled “Cuban Transplant;” and four anthologies of his stories have also been published.