chicken shit was overpowering. One of the chickens had died in the wooden crate near her feet. The others had started to peck at it but there was little that either she or the old man who owned the chickens could do. It was two days now since Veracruz, a journey so beset with delays that she had prayed many times to San Cristobal for their safe passage.
Ray whimpered with thirst and she pressed a bottle to his lips, aware that they barely had any water left but afraid to try and leave the train. They had stood for three hours now, but Catalina felt she couldnât move for fear of losing her place.
â
Agua! Agua! Vendor agua!â
The voice outside was a lifeline.
There was a scramble at the window and two of the stronger men wrenched the planks down from the open frame with a loud cracking and splintering of wood that made four year old Ray flinch. But they made a space that was wide enough for money and precious water to change hands. A shaft of sunlight reminded them all that it was morning again and illuminated the pale face of a young white woman a few feet away, clenching a backpack with the same ferocity that Catalina held onto her son.
â
Agua?â
said Catalina. âWater. You want water?â
The young woman smiled gratefully and passed across her money. After the transaction she pushed a few more pesos onto Catalina for her trouble and Catalina didnât even bother trying to demur. They needed everything they could get, her and Ray, and she was grateful for the chance to try out her hesitant English. Her English would set her apart from the hoards that were descending on this new city,
Kanâkun
. A place which the government had dragged from the swamp and made into paradise. She struggled to conceive of a beach resort springing into life where before there had only been sand dunes and mosquitoes. It sounded impossible and there was still a tiny part of her that was scared of arriving at the coast to find it was cruel hoax. She had seen pictures, they all had, of towering hotels with thousands of rooms, swimming pools and restaurants, standing on Mexicoâs eastern face and turning a proud face towards each rising sun.
She stashed one bottle of water in her thin cotton satchel and then drank long and hard from the second before giving the rest of it to Ray. He smiled at her, so trusting still, despite the ordeal of this stinking, crammed train heading miles away from home on nothing more than the promise of a better life.
â
Go
,â her father had said when he pressed the train tickets on her. â
Take the boy and go.â
They were both crying when she left, her mother and her father, they knew that it was unlikely they would ever see her again. And she went because she respected her father and believed that he was always right. He had been right about the father of her child when he said he was no good. She looked down at Ray. She should have listened to her father then. It was the right thing to do, the only thing. There were no jobs left in the city where sheâd grown up, instead there were more beggars on the street, and here and there human beings fought over scraps like dogs. The city she was born in became a frightening place to live and she stayed away from the waterfront at night as it fell into disrepair, reduced to a slum of gutted buildings, dark and dirty streets blocked by milling vendors, and ever more vacant lots. Finally the government announced to the world what they all knew in their hearts, that the country was penniless, the collapse of oil prices and the soaring interest rates had dragged their beloved Mexico to the brink of ruin and humiliation.
The train started to move and as they pulled out of Merida, the last stop before the land on which her dreams were pinned, she turned her tired face so that little Ray would not see her cry. There was a squawking as the old man thrust his hands into the cage of chickens and removed the carcass of the one
Ray whimpered with thirst and she pressed a bottle to his lips, aware that they barely had any water left but afraid to try and leave the train. They had stood for three hours now, but Catalina felt she couldnât move for fear of losing her place.
â
Agua! Agua! Vendor agua!â
The voice outside was a lifeline.
There was a scramble at the window and two of the stronger men wrenched the planks down from the open frame with a loud cracking and splintering of wood that made four year old Ray flinch. But they made a space that was wide enough for money and precious water to change hands. A shaft of sunlight reminded them all that it was morning again and illuminated the pale face of a young white woman a few feet away, clenching a backpack with the same ferocity that Catalina held onto her son.
â
Agua?â
said Catalina. âWater. You want water?â
The young woman smiled gratefully and passed across her money. After the transaction she pushed a few more pesos onto Catalina for her trouble and Catalina didnât even bother trying to demur. They needed everything they could get, her and Ray, and she was grateful for the chance to try out her hesitant English. Her English would set her apart from the hoards that were descending on this new city,
Kanâkun
. A place which the government had dragged from the swamp and made into paradise. She struggled to conceive of a beach resort springing into life where before there had only been sand dunes and mosquitoes. It sounded impossible and there was still a tiny part of her that was scared of arriving at the coast to find it was cruel hoax. She had seen pictures, they all had, of towering hotels with thousands of rooms, swimming pools and restaurants, standing on Mexicoâs eastern face and turning a proud face towards each rising sun.
She stashed one bottle of water in her thin cotton satchel and then drank long and hard from the second before giving the rest of it to Ray. He smiled at her, so trusting still, despite the ordeal of this stinking, crammed train heading miles away from home on nothing more than the promise of a better life.
â
Go
,â her father had said when he pressed the train tickets on her. â
Take the boy and go.â
They were both crying when she left, her mother and her father, they knew that it was unlikely they would ever see her again. And she went because she respected her father and believed that he was always right. He had been right about the father of her child when he said he was no good. She looked down at Ray. She should have listened to her father then. It was the right thing to do, the only thing. There were no jobs left in the city where sheâd grown up, instead there were more beggars on the street, and here and there human beings fought over scraps like dogs. The city she was born in became a frightening place to live and she stayed away from the waterfront at night as it fell into disrepair, reduced to a slum of gutted buildings, dark and dirty streets blocked by milling vendors, and ever more vacant lots. Finally the government announced to the world what they all knew in their hearts, that the country was penniless, the collapse of oil prices and the soaring interest rates had dragged their beloved Mexico to the brink of ruin and humiliation.
The train started to move and as they pulled out of Merida, the last stop before the land on which her dreams were pinned, she turned her tired face so that little Ray would not see her cry. There was a squawking as the old man thrust his hands into the cage of chickens and removed the carcass of the one
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