Escape, The Conclusion

This is the conclusion to the story I posted last week. To read part one and to see a picture of most of the people in this story, go here: Escape, Part One. And I will soon be out of town through the weekend, but I will catch up on your great blogs when I return.

Liza followed the direction of his pointing arm and what she saw made her drop the food, cover the children's eyes, and pull them close to her.

The passing telegraph poles now held bodies; bodies of men, women, old people, children. Some were hanging, some were nailed on, crucifixion style.

She stifled a scream and forced herself to close her eyes. Other women on the flatbed were unable to choke back their reactions though, and wails and unfettered sobs pierced the otherwise pristine morning.

Inexplicably, the train slowed its thunderous roll and she raised her head in alarm. All over the car, women and children let loose fearful cries. Meli whimpered in her mother’s lap while Carlos wrapped his arms around both of them. The telegraph poles they passed now were free of the gruesome cargo, but the abject horror of what they’d seen sat like a leaden cannonball in their souls.

A railroad man made his way gingerly to the flatbed. “Please, sir, what is going on? Why are we stopping?” Liza asked with as much control as she could muster.

“Only a stop for refueling. We’ve got to make it quick. We don’t know if it was the Villistas or the federales who left that…,” his voice trailed off as he jerked his head in the direction they’d come from.

The next hours on the journey to the coastal city of Tampico blurred. Liza occupied herself with keeping the children’s minds on happier things, but her heart ached.

Tampico was not the haven they’d heard. While open fighting had not yet broken out there, the food shortage was acute. The three went through the hurriedly assembled food supplies Liza kept in her bag despite her efforts to ration it. There were many hungry, especially lone children at the train station, and just as it was in her home, no one around her would go without, except of course her, although she kept that hidden from Carlos and Meli.

She managed to find them a small place to stay, really the back shed of a blacksmith shop, but it was a roof, four walls, and a place more sheltered than the openness of the train station.  It took most of the money she had, but it was all she could do for the present. After the first night spent sleeping fitfully on the dirt floor and knowing she’d be unable to appease her children’s hunger for another day with just long draughts of water from the cold well nearby, she pulled Carlos to her and bent down close to his face.

“Do not, Carlitos, DO NOT,” she emphasized as she squeezed his shoulders, “open this door for anyone but me, OR let Meli or you go outside for ANY reason, not any at all. Do you understand?” She spoke slowly, letting each word sear into him.

“Yes, Mama, I understand,” Carlos replied solemnly, protectively reaching out to Meli.

Liza furtively slipped through the chaotic streets, where people were in a confused flurry, trying to prepare for something, but for what, they didn’t know, and where thousands of refugees from the violence, just like them, flooded in by the hour.

Her feet ached, she felt weak from not eating since they’d left home, and she knew she would break down in a second if she thought of her husband, marked for death and in hiding, but she pushed on. His last words to her, “We’ll find each other again, I promise you,” became her lifeline to sanity, and she allowed herself to dwell on the strength and certainty of them.

Finally, she found one vendor who had something edible to sell, but it took all the coins she had left. It was birdseed, and even at the inflated wartime prices, she was grateful to find it. If birds could eat it, so could they for a little while.

It seemed the streets got more sinister and the people more aggressive as she moved back to the little shed as quickly as her weakened body would allow her.

In sight of the shed, her breath caught and her heart ceased for a moment. The door, which she’d carefully pushed closed and had Carlos latch from the inside, was slightly ajar. She saw a shadow pass inside near the lone window, much too tall for a four and five year old.

Now she was running, sobbing, not caring who she careened into. Her feet had never carried her faster and she hit the door with so much force it banged off its top hinge and broke.

Her eyes expected the worst after what they’d already seen on the journey there, and she thought she’d faint dead away when the reality of the scene hit her. She brought her hands to her face and choked out great, heaving, gasping sobs.

“We found each other again, just like I told you, sweetheart, just like I promised you,” her husband said as he stretched out his hands to her, although it was hard for her to find room in his embrace with the two children already folded inside it.

She sank into his strong arms and continued to cry, but tears of happiness.

They made eventually made it back to their home and hotel in San Luis Potosi, and although there were other near escapes for my great grandfather, the rebels never caught him. He lived out his days in Mexico, and my great grandmother lived to be 95, still one of the strongest and most loving women I’ve ever known.