Dear Delia,
I miss your face as much as I would miss the sun if it died in the sky.
I am afraid I have some hard news for you and for my family. I was robbed last night. All the money I have saved was taken. I am exhausted from raging and screaming. It was my own stupidity. Too often I counted it where other eyes could see. I trusted the men I work with on the soy farm, and now I am paying dearly for that trust.
Rather than feel sorry for me and try to help me find the thief, the other men just think me stupid. In this world, if you are a victim, you are the one at fault. I know that makes no sense to you, but it is so.
It makes me want to be a thief myself, but don’t worry. I will not become one. I will just work harder and longer or find a cut-rate coyote to help me get back. But, as you know, it is not just a matter of getting across the border. I must also find work waiting for me and a place to live and hide. Without money and a false identity, I would be a desperate lizard, and I will not be so.
So I must ask you to be patient longer. I hope your love for me is strong enough to last.
As before, I must keep my exact whereabouts unknown not only to you but to my family. These letters are all that I can risk. It is better that they remain unable even to make a mistake. It would be an unfair burden to put on them and on you.
Kiss my mother for me.
Ignacio
I lowered my head to my arms and sobbed silently. Then I took a deep breath, drank some more of my cool soda, and rose. When I looked into the living room, I saw that Ignacio’s father had left the house. His mother sat sadly, her head turned to the window.
“Here is my letter to him,” I told her, and gave it to her. She looked at his letter in my hand. Her husband forbid her to read them, and even though he was not in the room, she would not disobey.
She took the letter from Ignacio and gently closed the envelope.
“He asked me to give you a kiss for him,” I said, and leaned over to do so.
She smiled through her tears. “You will have something to eat with me,” she said, “and tell me about school.”
What she hoped was that I would reveal what was written. I wondered if I should give her the hard news and was reluctant to do so but then thought it was better she understood why it would take him longer to return. We retreated to the kitchen for my visit.
It was truly as painful for me to tell her the contents of Ignacio’s letter as it was for her to hear them. However, Ignacio’s mother reminded me a lot of mi abuela Anabela. She had the same power of acceptance for bad news. I say power because she was able to keep it on her shoulders and go on. She, as did Abuela Anabela, believed in the will of God.
“Perhaps this is his penance,” she said, which was her only comment.
We both looked up when Ignacio’s father stepped into the kitchen. He looked from Ignacio’s mother to me and back to her.
Without comment, she handed him the letter. This time, he simply tore it into shreds and threw it in the garbage. My heart ached to see him do that. He knew, however, that if he didn’t and I took it with me, I would probably sleep with Ignacio’s letters, and there would be danger.
“I’m sorry, Señor Davila, but Ignacio does not send good news. He was robbed of all his money.”
“Maybe God is telling him to stay where he is, then,” was his response.
I couldn’t blame him for his hardness. He had suffered great pain, and in having to pretend to mourn his son, he probably buried him in his heart, not believing there would be any happy ending to our story.
Ignacio’s father left us to do some work, telling Ignacio’s mother he would have lunch with some of his friends at a local eatery. I continued to visit with Ignacio’s mother, trying to tell her only good and happy things about my schoolwork.
Afterward, she walked me out to wait for Señor Casto. He was there already, however, parked and waiting patiently on the side of the road. Ignacio’s brother apparently had gone with his father.
“I’ll see that your letter is delivered the usual way,” Ignacio’s mother told me. “I am sure he waits as anxiously for it as he did for the others.”
“Gracias, señora. I will see you soon, I hope.”
“Yes, soon,” she said.
We hugged, and I hurried to Casto’s car so she would not see the tears that I could not hold back.
Casto glanced at me and drove off without speaking. We rode a long time before either of us spoke.
“You do not have good news,” he said, confirming what my face easily revealed.