Paul Clayton - Crossing Over

The man was in his thirties, with a full frizzy brownish beard. Like most of the people standing about, his face was reddened, his nose running. The man shook his head and smiled stoically. “Yesterday we waited for five hours. Then, when we were almost to the front desk, they closed the place down and made us leave.”

“Wow,” said Mike.

The man turned away. They waited for two hours, shifting their feet against the persistent cold, staring dull-eyed at the trees all around.

“I’ve had enough,” said Marie finally. “I can’t stand out here anymore. Let me take Elly and we’ll go see if we can find some of the things we need.”

Mike looked briefly at the people behind them waiting with bored, resigned faces. “All right.” In the other direction, the broad, curved roof of the immigration building was visible, but they were still about a city block away. “They’re probably gonna want all of us to be there for the interview. Hopefully today I can at least get us an appointment.”

“Okay.” Marie turned to Elly. “Come with me. We’ll see if we can do a little shopping.”

Elly turned to Mike. “Bye Daddy.”

“Bye, Elly.” Mike felt a familiar pang of sadness as he watched them walk away. He turned around and pulled his collar up. The line shuffled forward about ten feet and stopped.

Mike finally got into the building and to the reception desk an hour before they were scheduled to close. The woman who spoke to him was tired-looking and officious. He began to explain his situation to her and she cut him off. “Sir, the whole family has to be here for the interview.”

“I understand. I was hoping I could make an appointment for us.”

She looked down at her monitor, hit a few keys, and pulled a note pad toward her. “Next Tuesday, the 13th at nine.” She swiveled around in her chair and pointed to the rear of the building. “There’s a door back there for people with appointments. There’s no sign, but you’ll see one or two security guards there. Bring all your identification and don’t miss this appointment or you’ll go to the very bottom of the list.”

Mike took his time walking back to the camper. The cold hadn’t abated and there were not many people outdoors. He passed a camper with a small motorbike tied to the rear rack. He thought back to the twisted two-wheeled motorbike wreck at the militia camp. Hopefully that had been theirs. He passed two men standing between two camping rigs, warming themselves before a fire in a large metal trash can. Heaped on the ground around them were string-tied bundles of firewood selling for five dollars apiece. Mike nodded to one of the men.

“How many?” the man said.

“Just one.” Mike didn’t want to kill himself carrying two of them the half-mile or so back to the camper, and there was always the possibility of finding cheaper wood for sale along the way. He looped the cord over his shoulder and started toward what would be their home for, hopefully, no more than a couple of weeks.

On the day of their appointment, they walked up the road. Mike realized they hadn’t been this dressed-up since the last time they’d gone to church together a couple years back. Marie and Elly wore their overcoats and high leather boots as they walked past the people lined up to get into the building. Passing the point where the line turned into the entrance, a few of the people looked at them suspiciously. They went around to the back. A security guard stood by the door, a bored look on his thirty-something face, “When’s your appointment?” he said to Mike.

“Nine.”

The man nodded. He cast a quick appraising look at Elly before turning back to look in the window of the door. A few moments later he pulled the door open. “You can go in now.”

The same woman was at the counter and waved them over. As they approached, Mike looked around at the lines of people, the workers sitting behind the counters, the two security guards keeping a wary-eyed watch.

The woman gave them a packet. “You’ll have to fill all of this out first,” she said. “Then come back to me and I’ll assign you an interviewer. Do you have all your identifying paperwork with you?”

“Yes,” said Mike.

“Okay.” The woman pointed to a row of five high tables against the nearest wall. One of them was empty. “You can use that table over there.”

A half-hour later Mike, Marie and Elly again stood before the woman. She took their completed forms, looked them over briefly and picked up her phone. “Raza. They’re ready.” She looked at Mike and Marie. “Just a few minutes.”

A tall, handsome, olive-skinned man in a grey suit came up to them. “I’m Raza Shinde,” he said with a smile. “Please come with me.”

They followed him to a cubicle in the back of the building. Raza sat behind his desk. Mike, Marie and Elly took the three chairs facing the desk.

Raza’s face was handsome, with just a touch of excess fat. He opened the folder with their applications, paged quickly through them, then looked up, “I’ll go over this at length later. For now I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Sure,” said Mike.

Raza took another quick look at one of the forms in the folder and said, “How was your trek up here? We’ve been getting reports of fighting not far south.”

“Well,” said Mike, “fortunately we missed most of it, I guess.”

“We stayed one night in a militia camp,” said Marie. “They seemed nice.” She looked at Mike. “But other than that…”

“And what about you, young lady?” said Raza, leaning slightly toward Elly.

“What?” said Elly in her shy voice. She glanced at her mother for help.

“How was your trip up here?” said Raza.

“Hmm,” said Elly in a playful tone. “Okay, I guess.”

Raza laughed. “Just okay, huh? What do think about all this fighting, this civil war?”

Elly again looked to her mother for help. “What?” She looked back at Raza. “I don’t know.”

Mike said quickly, “We don’t talk much about it as a family. It’s just something that’s going on out there, like bad weather, something we can’t do anything about.”

Marie nodded in agreement.

“I see,” said Raza. He continued to look at Elly. “What do you think about moving to Canada?”

Mike became uncomfortable. Raza’s brown eyes were large and his smile hid something besides bureaucratic interest.

“It’s okay,” said Elly slowly, looking down at the desk. “I guess.”

Raza nodded slowly and thoughtfully like a school teacher assessing a student. “Yes,” he said.

He turned his attention to Mike and Marie.

“Well,” he said with a big smile. “Who could ever have imagined we’d see the great United States of America brought so low? And its people lining up to get across the border, like the poor Mexicans used to do?”

Mike seethed inside at the dig, but said nothing. Neither did Marie.

“Okay,” said Raza, “I think everything is in order. You’re obviously not drug runners or gang members.”

Mike kept his face a blank. Marie smiled politely and Elly made a face.

Raza appeared to have satisfied himself about something or other. He looked at Mike. “I’m going to give you some more documentation that you all will have to fill out.” He pushed back slightly from his desk. “We’re through for now. I won’t need all of you at the follow-up interview, just Mister McNerney.”

Mike nodded as they got to their feet.

Raza handed Mike an envelope full of papers. “See the woman you spoke to before,” he said. “She’ll schedule your follow up interview.”

Marie and Elly said goodbye and left the cubicle first. “Thank you,” said Mike, reaching out to shake Raza’s hand. After getting his appointment slip, he met Marie and Elly outside the back door.