The New American by Micheline Aharonian Marcom

Author:Micheline Aharonian Marcom
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2020-08-18T00:00:00+00:00

Black and black until the darkness on the eastern edge of the sky imperceptibly blues and then slowly begins to white-yellow. The vast bowl of the sky lightens and the forms take form on the land again, or perhaps the land itself slowly emits the light: the inverse of the shuttering of the previous night and Emilio can see clearly once more. Another dawn. He is becoming familiar with the intervals of sundown and sunrise when the contours of the earth are less sharply delineated, color is more richly hued, and despite his discomfort and the constant trepidation, he finds the light’s diminishment, its increase now with each moment, to be nothing less than wondrous.

The land rushes by them, through mist and smoke, high clouds crisscross the sky. Fields of corn and sugarcane and banana plants emerge. A small town with red tile roofs and white buildings appears in the distance and they are in the state of Veracruz.

If I still had my things, my journal and ballpoint pen, he thinks, I could record the passage of the days. He thinks about the old green backpack he used for years in high school and in college that was with him when he was arrested, of his blue jeans and baseball hat, and of the novel Antonia sent him because she thought it might entertain him during his wait in jail. Who wears my clothes, my red cap; who can read Great Expectations in English? Did that fat cop keep the wristwatch my mom gave me? Does the pedicab driver wear my Nikes or did he sell them because they were the wrong size? He regrets again what he has lost.

Jonatan gets up and goes to the end of the car where the migrants give each other privacy to urinate. Afterward he says he’s going to ride up top with Pedro and William. I’ll continue to work on my suntan, he jokes. You two stay down below.

They watch the palm trees and lush fields in the countryside move by them. Emilio’s stomach is growling again. When I get home, he thinks, I will eat as many plates of chicken, black beans, and tortillas as my mother will serve and the next day we’ll go out for Italian, that’s what I feel like eating this morning, and I’ll order two portions of spaghetti and meat sauce and garlic bread and a big piece of chocolate cake to finish the meal and cold water in every glass every day and the best sourdough baguettes from Acme Bakery with sweet butter for a snack later.

The last time I made it this far the only friendly ones were in La Patrona, a Salvadoran sitting near them says. The ladies who prepare food. We should pass through the town some time this morning.

They cook for us? Emilio asks.

You’ll see, muchacho, a hot meal can’t be too far ahead.

Not more than an hour later they approach another town and the train begins to slow. The horn blares.

Attention! yelled out from above.

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