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Show in my father's house/ 119 unchanging horizon fenced with mesas. We traveled until the dawn, then raced the sun down the highway. "When are we going to stop? I asked my mother. "Shh. Put your head on the armrest and go back to sleep." "It hurts my neck." She sighed abruptly. "Well, I can't help it." Her eyes were dark and empty. I put my head on the armrest beside Mar-got's and let two silent tears roll off my chin before I was content to fall asleep, savoring their salty trails with my tongue. When I awoke the sky was black again and we had pulled off the road. Aunt Helga was talking to a young man from our group. The other carload of my father's children had run off the road. One of the children had a cut forehead. Aunt Elsa and Aunt Rachel had bumped their heads on the windshield. "I'm sorry," the young man was saying. "I was just too sleepy. I don't dare drive any farther -- and Elsa and Rachel have their babies. I'll pay for a motel room." Aunt Helga agreed to stop at the next town. We had to cross the border into New Mexico to reach the next town, and Aunt Helga told us to keep our mouths shut. "We mustn't give them any idea who we are. With the FBI involved, the border patrol might be looking for us." Her voice was grim. As long as we were moving down the road, I had felt safe. |