just follow the cat

Chapter 3: the dried spider

7:22AM PST, January 28th

Immigration Detention Quarters, San Francisco, California

("...the nationals were taken by bus from the detention quarters in San Francisco for the return trip to their homeland.")

– The Fresno Bee

Maria de los Santos pulled her infant son close to her breast. For a few seconds, the boy fumbled around searching for the nipple. His wet lips slid across his mother's skin until he found what he wanted. With that goal achieved, he gurgled softly and went to work. In his happiness, Francisco de los Santos poked his hand out from under his mother's coat. Maria counted the chubby little fingers and marveled at how pink they were despite the cool morning.

But it wasn't just cool, it was cold. Cold enough after sitting for five hours to wonder if the walls of the Detention Center were covered with ice. Although they were simply damp with humidity, Maria flattened her hand against the pale gray cinderblocks just to be sure. Even confirmation of the cool clamminess was little consolation, so she reached inside her coat to confirm that Francisco was still warm. For a moment, she was reassured. Though she was cold, Francisco was pinkish, warm, and happy. Then she imagined that she saw a puff of breath escape from the corner of the boy's mouth. Instantly, she pulled her coat up to her chin and sealed off all avenues for the cold to reenter the cocoon. It had been that way all night. Every squirm was countered and every cry was calmed.

Jésus, Maria's husband, was asleep on the bench beside her and he used his hands as pillows. They were large, doughy hands, so they worked well for this purpose. They were also exceptionally strong hands. Strong enough to poke four fingers and a thumb through five firm cabbages and then wiggle them as if they were lighter than helium-filled balloons. And yet, what was most amazing about his hands was how delicate they could be. In the spring, Jésus could reach through a tangle of strawberry vines and pull out a full pint of juicy berries without bruising any of the fruit. He had always been proud of his hands.

Jésus turned on his side and pushed his hands under Maria's body hoping to find warmth. Even through her clothes, Maria could feel the roughness of her husband's skin. The size, shape, and texture of his hands reminded her of two crusty loaves of bread – the kind her mother always made. Those loaves were rough and crisp on the outside, but with a softness inside that never failed to surprise. Maria's mother once told her that a man and his hands were one and the same. The best men had hands that would protect you from the harshest moments in life and then hold you gently like you were a clutch of dove's eggs. Maria had always loved her husband's hands.

Jésus moved his head onto Maria's lap while his feet dangled off the other end of the bench. Although his pudgy body had given him some padding against the wooden slats, it wasn't enough to make for a restful night. In the end, it wouldn't matter. When he saw the horizon begin to brighten, he knew that they'd be leaving soon. No announcement was expected and none would be made. Someone would simply point them in one direction or another. Then the entire family (husband, wife, and son) along with 27 more men of varying ages would walk single file toward their next destination.

ααα

The detainees had arrived at the Center at around 2:00AM. A battered bus with holes in the floor had brought them from a campsite forty miles northeast of the city to this place – a block-gray building with two small windows on each side.

The building itself was fairly large, but it had only a single door, and even that was too short for most of the men. So short that it looked as if the builders had forgotten that four connected walls might actually need an entrance. The doorway they built was too large or maybe the door they used was too small. When combined, nearly everyone had to stoop to get through and still there was a three-inch gap at the bottom of the doorway that let the air flow in. Ventilation in the summer. Something else in the winter.