“No Tengo Papeles”
A young man named Pablo came to see me and said, “No tengo papeles.”
He was telling me that he had no papers, that he was illegally in the United States.
I knew him only from the previous week when he appeared in my beginning English class, and now he was already confiding in me. I felt he was too trustful.
“Porqué, why? Why did you come without papers?” I asked.
“I had no work on the other side of the border. You understand, I have a wife and seven children, and I have my old mother to care for.”
“So you risked coming here to work.”
“Si. I hope to send money to my family each week.”
“Maybe we can talk again after English class tonight.” I was uncomfortable discussing his illegal status while we stood in the center of the labor camp.
Anyway, Rosalia was waiting for me in her room. She had strained the muscles in her back from lifting a sack of beans, and I wanted to know how she was feeling.
While June set up the flannelboard for the children and Helen swept the floor, I went to Rosalia’s room. I knocked on the closed door. When no one answered, I called, “Hello, Rosalia, are you there?”
The door opened.
“Pásele, Luisa. Come in and sit down. I’ll bring a cup of coffee.”
“Half a cup, please. I must go to teach the children.”
“Do you have room for one more child in the little school?”
“There’s always room for one more child.”
“Come, Carmelita,” she said.
I looked around to see where there might be a child in the room. I saw a pair of thin, little legs wiggling out from between cardboard cartons under the lower bunk bed. The rest of the body emerged.
She was about five years old, a delicate girl with long, black hair and with a frightened expression on her face. She backed into a corner of the room and stared at me.
“Come, Carmelita,” said Rosalia, “It’s all right. Luisa is our friend.” The little girl didn’t move.
“Whose child is this?” I asked.
“Mine.”
“I didn’t know you had a child this age.”
“She’s my youngest. Come, Carmelita, and greet Luisa.” Carmelita left the corner and timidly walked to me.
She offered her right hand. Politely, we shook hands and then she dropped her small hand to my knee, looked at me, and solemnly confided, “No tengo papeles.”
“Rosalia, the rest of your family has legal papers. Why doesn’t Carmelita?”
I was in Mexico visiting my mother when she was born. I left her with my mother so I could return to work in the fields. For five years mamá took care of her, but now we want her with us. She arrived last night with my cousins.”
“So she hides under the bed when someone knocks on the door?”
“Yes, we must be very careful.”
“Do you think it’s safe for her to go to the escuelita?”
“She must go to school so she will learn something. Domingo and I never had the chance to go to school. Never.”
Rosalia brushed Carmelita’s hair as she explained, “You understand, we couldn’t get the papers this spring because we didn’t have enough money.”
“Why does it cost so much?”
“We must pay many fees and bribes. But it will be worth it. After Carmelita has papers, it’ll be safe to send her to public school. Then she can learn to read and write. This is our goal.”
“Come, little girl,” I said. “We’ll go to the escuelita.” I reached for her hand and we went out the door.
When Bible school was finished for the day, I walked with Carmelita to Rosalia’s room. In her hand she carried a nativity scene cut from an old Christmas card. June had told the story of the birth of Jesus, and our activity for the day was to put colored yarn through the tops of the pictures so they could hang on the walls.
Rosalia’s door was closed again. She answered my knock and I went in with Carmelita. A strange young woman sat on the lower bunk. Her stomach was rounded in advanced pregnancy. Her long hair hung over her face and she was turned away from me.
“Luisa,” said Rosalia, “I wish to present Antonia to you.”
“I’m glad to meet you,” I said. Antonia mumbled a response that I couldn’t hear.
“Antonia is my brother Juan’s wife.”
“Juan’s wife! I didn’t know he was married.”
“Yes, but until now there was no way for Antonia to come. My cousins brought her when they came with Carmelita.”
I dreaded to hear the words that I knew were coming.
Antonia pushed back the long hair that covered her face. I could almost feel her fear, but I realized that she needed to tell me because, for some reason, she would feel safer if I knew.
“No tengo papeles.” But I came so my baby would be born on this side of the border.”
That was one of those days when I learned more than I wanted to know.
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Copyright 2012, Rolf Erickson