CROSSING THE ORANGE

Pablito gazed back toward Juarez. Over the crowded adobe rooftops, he could see almost everything. He rested his eyes on the ragged row of cottonwoods along the Rio Bravo, murky as always, and then upon the gray mountains to the south.

Back then he was only five, but Pablito remembered every detail. The mid-morning temperature hovered around ninety degrees. His parents, his nine siblings and Pablito sat crammed in their beat-up Caravan. It was always a treat when his cousins from El Paso came to visit them in Juarez but this was the first time Pablito’s family would cross the border to the north. His father had obtained a one-day pass for the whole family. The Border Patrol Station was only a hundred yards ahead.

His oldest sister, Nina shook her index finger at him. “You better eat that orange quick. If you don’t, la migra will take it away from you.”

“But I’m saving it for later,” he said.

His mother turned her head to look at them. She didn’t appear to be angry so he tried to explain.

“I don’t want to eat it now. I’m still full from breakfast.”

“Ooh Pablito, la migra’s going to bust you,” teased Jose, his older brother.

“No, they’re not!” answered Pablito. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just trying to scare me.”

“Okay, don’t say we didn’t warn you,” added Jose.

One by one the cars ahead of Pablito’s van were inspected and waved through by the gringo agents. There was a mechanical rhythm to their movements as if they were dancing to the same beat. When it was their turn, the agent leaned toward Pablito’s dad and peered into the vehicle full of elfin, brown faces with jet black hair. His father handed the agent the day-pass.

“You speak English?”

“Si señor. I mean yes, sir.”

The agent grinned, then peered more keenly into the vehicle. “Are these all your kids?”

“Yes sir, every one of them.”

Pablito’s brothers and sisters ranged from one to seventeen years of age. The agent studied each of their youthful faces. When he glanced in Pablito’s direction, Pablito leaned his head forward, pretended to cough and covered his mouth. After the agent made eye contact with everyone else, he stood up straight and pointed to a spot thirty yards ahead.

Pablito’s father drove the van to the designated area.

“Now look what you’ve done,” said Jose to Pablito. “They’re going to interrogate us. And it’s all because you still have that orange.”

Pablito was confused. How did the agent know Pablito possessed the orange? It was stuffed into his pants pocket out of view. Why had the other cars been waved through without incident and not theirs? Were they really going to be arrested?

Pablito’s mother had overheard the conversation. She turned around once more. “Jose, Nina, you stop that right now! You’re scaring your little brother.”

“What did I do?” asked Nina.

Just then, a second agent approached the driver’s side window. “Sir, please exit your vehicle. Have your family stand over there.” He pointed to a spot behind a yellow stripe on the concrete. Pablito’s family was becoming nervous. He could tell because now even Jose and Nina weren’t being smarty anymore. They simply were obeying orders. They piled out briskly. His mother lined them up like little soldiers awaiting inspection. He heard his mother whisper to his father.

“Que esta pasando?”

Pablito’s father did not look at her, but spoke softly. “Calma, Calma.”

Now Pablito wondered whether Jose and Nina had been telling the truth. He searched for the first agent and saw him flagging another van to where Pablito’s family stood.

The second van eased to a spot ten feet away. The driver was a Mexican boy, not much older than Jose. The passenger was older, closer in age to Pablito’s father. The old man alighted from the van and for some reason unknown to Pablito, put his hands on the roof of the van. Two additional agents rushed up and began to rub the sides of the old man’s shirt and pants as if looking for something. Pablito began to wonder whether the old man was hiding an orange and had been busted.

Jose leaned down to Pablito. “Where’s that orange?”

“In my pocket,” answered Pablito. “I’m not giving it up.”

Jose warned him in a stage whisper. “You’re gonna be in big trouble, buddy.”

What happened next transpired in a few heartbeats. The Mexican boy made a mad dash in Pablito’s direction. The man covered the ten feet in quick strides and before he knew it, Pablito was being shoved aside by this man.

“Stop! You’re under arrest!” someone shouted. The command was in English but Pablito understood its meaning. The fleeing man was a criminal and the agents weren’t playing around.

The Mexican boy spun around and pulled something from his waistband. Then, a sudden and deafening bang rang out. The boy knocked Pablito over as he broke the line of tiny soldiers.

Stunned, Pablito slammed against the concrete. Chaos ensued for a few brief moments. More agents appeared. One agent stood by Pablito’s family, as if shielding them from imminent harm. The only protection Pablito wanted was from his mother, in whose arms he now found himself embraced. He then realized all his siblings were crying, even Jose and Nina. Pablito’s mother tried to cover his eyes, but he saw him anyway. The fleeing man was motionless, lying in a pool of red. He groaned and reached for something in the sky before his body went limp.

After the commotion died down, Pablito looked down at his pants pocket, now soaked in orange juice. The agent guarding them looked at him too.

“I’m sorry your boy wet his pants, Señora.” He looked at the second van. “But their van matched the description of yours. We did this to protect everyone.” Then without missing a beat, he added, “Enjoy your visit to America.”