Remembering To Say 'Mouth' Or 'Face' - Excerpt

All that could be heard was a gentle lapping of water and the barking of bullfrogs. The dense air pressed the sounds of insects into a horizontal plane between fog and water. The travelers had long since quit speaking, and now pushed along at the depth of their chins. Now and then, a splash from a sudden drop-off arose like the leap of bass.

They followed the Rio Grande to a body of water called Amistad, then pushed along to find the mouth of Devils River. They had not expected the traveling to be so difficult or the voyage to be so long. They reached Amistad with the faintest signs of dawn. Not even the first dawn.

"The further past the river we get," Septimo whispered, "the better our chances of not being found."

Their strength was ebbing with the weight of their clothes. Maria Teresa had first tied her skirt around her waist, the others had simply waded in, but it didn't matter with the water at their necks. Raul floated in his carriage as a Lord on his raft, snake0bound, with a promise to return.

Further northward on the lake, they climbed ashore to rest in a niche of tall grasses. The banal sloped upward to a flat field and trees beyond. Not a person nor house was visible anywhere. Unlacing Raul from the chair, they laid him down on the grass. Maria Teresa brought down her skirts and within minutes they all fell into a pitch- black sleep.

They awoke to a group of young men with rifles standing over them, shouting drunkenly in English and gesturing menacingly.

Maria Teresa tried to speak, but a fat boy raised a fist as if to hit her.

"Damn wetbacks," the boy said.

There were seven of them, the eldest being just over twenty years old. The youngest, a gangly boy of seventeen, leaned against a truck parked above the bank. He wavered as though nauseated drunk. The smell of alcohol was strong.