We didn't make much better time in the
daylight. There were trucks and buses to watch for, donkeys and
wagons, and the inevitable walkers. At least we could see them. And
the scenery was beautiful. But it was late and we were exhausted when
we finally reached Raquel's friends' place in Guatemala City.
I remember sitting in the big kitchen,
waiting for a bed to be assigned to my boys. James was eating Corn
Flakes with the men; he never missed a chance for a meal. Marcos had
fallen asleep in his chair. I was concentrating on staying awake, and
smiling vaguely in the direction of anyone that spoke to me.
In the morning we discussed strategy
over breakfast. Back home, there hadn't been time to collect the full
car-load of disaster relief necessities, so the church had donated
money instead. Paco had a shopping list: canned goods, powdered milk,
rice, water purification tablets, beans and citrus fruit. We needed a
case of Bibles or Scripture portions as well, Carlos said, and Paco
wrote that in. I said that we should be carrying all our own food
once we were in the devastated zone; we would be there to give, not
to take. Raquel started a new list.
Someone remarked how well things had
worked out; now that we would be leaving the children and their stuff
behind, there would be room in the station wagon for the new
supplies. "God had it all planned," he said. "If you
had bought the stuff in Mexico, you wouldn't have been able to bring
it." We all nodded solemnly.
It took two days to find everything on
the lists. For me, it was a pleasant interlude; the others did the
shopping, I waited at home with my boys. The house was built around
two courtyards, each room open to the grassy centre. In the rear
courtyard huge mango trees dropped ripe fruit, a luxury in cool
central Mexico. Here they rotted on the ground. The boys and I
collected the freshest and ate until we lost appetite for our meals.
We walked around the neighbourhood with
Leti, our hostess' daughter. The house stood on a steep hillside,
overlooking the city. Just across the road, a small earthquake had
recently set off a landslide that carried away several houses; Leti
pointed and I looked down onto fresh rubble far below. "Is it
safe to live here. then?" I asked. "How solid is your
land?"
"Oh, we're ok," Leti said.
"God protects us."
Yes, of course. I didn't say it, but I
knew I would be relieved when we came back to pick up the kids. Not
that they were in any great danger here; it was only for a week. What
could happen in a week?
The 30th of December we were finally
ready to leave. A week after the earthquake, five days after our
rushed departure from Toluca. I knew now that I would not be home to
be with Philip when he had his surgery, that it had never been a
possibility. I tried not to dwell on it. It would be wrong to
begrudge any sacrifices made at a time like this, when so many were
homeless and starving.
I smiled for my boys when we left.
"Have fun with Leti!" I said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Day 6: El Salvador
From Guatemala City, the Pan-American
heads south through El Salvador, then crosses a corner of Honduras
before entering Nicaragua. El Salvador and Honduras were at war, of
sorts, over a disputed border line. We couldn't be sure where the
checkpoints were, or what other difficulties might arise. The family
in Guatemala gave us an address in San Salvador, the capital of El
Salvador; they might be able to steer us correctly.
We crossed into El Salvador with no
difficulty, either with visas or the loaded car. The road was better,
straighter and less busy, and we made it to San Salvador by noon. We
found our address in the city quickly; a large building, half
furniture store, half living quarters. The owners welcomed us and
insisted on feeding us lunch. Boiled rice, boiled green banana, dry
salty cheese. The banana was like wet cotton batting with a slightly
astringent quality to it; I couldn't finish mine.
In the car, Carlos and Raquel had been
discussing powdered milk. Raquel didn't think we had enough; what
about all the babies in Nicaragua who had lost their mothers? We had
space, still, for a few of those big cans. And there was still money
we hadn't spent. So after lunch, they went shopping again, while
George and I rested under a big slow fan. It was late afternoon
before we were underway, this time with a big bag of several dozen
boiled eggs, still warm, to add to our food supply.
It was long gone dark, and most of us
were sleeping when we came to the first checkpoint. Carlos was
driving, Raquel curled up beside him. In the back seat, I leaned
against the window, trying to stay asleep in spite of the door handle
sticking into my ribs, George slumped beside me. On his right, Paco
stretched out, taking up more than his share of the space. It was
cold again, and I had a blanket up around my head.
The car had come to a stop. Voices with
strange accents barked out questions; "De donde vienen?"
(Where are you coming from?")
"Mexico." That was Carlos.
A border point. I would have to get out
my passport. I was too sleepy. Maybe if I pretended to be still
asleep...? I pulled the blanket tighter around my ears.
"Everybody out of the car."
Not me. I was asleep. Paco was stirring, slowly. Through my
eyelashes, I could see somebody's khaki midriff, and two hairy hands
holding a machine gun. I shut my eyes tighter.
Crack! I knew that sound from the
movies; the magazine on the gun. "Out!" the soldier
shouted.
I was awake. We were all awake, and out
of the car, stumbling over blankets, scattering pillows and shoes. We
stood there, shivering in a circle of weapons, answering questions
humbly, handing over our papers. Then it was over. The guns dropped.
"You can go. Have a good trip," someone said. "Be
careful, though."
We climbed back into the car
gratefully, assuming our previous positions. But I didn't sleep for a
long time.
Stories of Mexico: Non-fiction
©Susannah Anderson, 2001
©Susannah Anderson, 2001
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