Paul Clayton - Crossing Over

“I’ll pay you,” said Mike.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jake. He pulled a little .22 caliber automatic pistol from his pants pocket. “You should have one of these.”

“I do, but Marie is real nervous about it, so I don’t often carry it. I have a little safe in the camper. Anyway, they cut our stuff loose, yanked it down, and ran off with it. I wanted to chase them but Marie wouldn’t have it.”

Jake nodded. “We got some stuff you can have. Want some coffee?”

“Nah. Already had mine. We can get to work if you want.”

They walked over to the work table Jake had set up on saw horses. “I can use you at our place in Canada when you come over,” said Jake.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You don’t have any other offers, right?”

“No. We’re just focused on crossing over. Figured we’d find something to do once we got there.”

“My back’s getting worse. I could use your help moving and carrying things, and refinishing. And with your background in accounting… yeah. What do you think, Carlene?”

Carlene was wringing some clothes out by hand. She turned her head. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea. Maybe they could stay in Anne’s place out back.”

Jake looked at Mike. “Her sister has a house a block from ours, with a little carriage house out back.”

Mike frowned thoughtfully. “Wow. That would be a great help to us.”

“C’mon,” said Jake, “let’s get a few more pieces down from the truck.”

Mike was getting ready to go up to the border office to speak with Raza when Marie and Elly came into the camper. Elly carried what looked like an Indian basket, crudely woven, the size of large pot. It had a thin red velvet pillow fitted into its center. Elly set it on her bed.

“What’s that?” Mike wanted to know.

“What do you think?”

Mike smiled. “A culturally-authentic pillow for an Indian princess?”

“C’mon, Dad.”

Mike laughed. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“It’s a cat bed. Or a small dog.”

“Oh, I see it now.”

Marie looked over. “Carlene showed us how to make them. We’re gonna make them and sell them at Carlene and Jake’s store when we cross over.”

“Wow,” said Mike. “That’s a good idea. It looks nice, and all the materials you need, except for the pillow, are all around here.”

Marie nodded. “Carlene makes the pillows. She has all kinds of fabric and an old treadle-powered Singer sewing machine in their tent.”

“Wow, I’m impressed,” said Mike. He looked at Marie. “I have to get going. I’m meeting with Raza in a half hour.”

Marie looked at him hopefully. “Okay.”

Mike walked up the road to the border office with twenty five hundred dollars in his pants pockets. Fists jammed down on the bills, his head low, eyes alert and wary, his boots crunched on the crusty snow. Once inside the building, he nodded to the receptionist and she picked up the phone. A few moments later Mike followed Raza back to his cubicle. Raza slid his big bulk into his chair and folded his hands benignly. “So, you have talked it over with your wife?”

“Yes. It will really set us back, but we’ll pay. We don’t want to stay here any longer. This place is getting crowded and ugly.”

Raza’s look grew somber. “Yes, and that is what I have to talk to you about. Things are changing quickly. Do you know how many people have arrived here in just this last week?”

“No,” said Mike, trying to control his growing annoyance. What was Raza leading up to now?

“One hundred and forty-five,” said Raza, his face growing more concerned. “Twenty five hundred dollars is no longer enough. There are people here willing to pay twice that.”

Mike couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. “But you said twenty five!”

“Please, Mister McNerney.” Raza looked out of the opening of the cubicle. “Not so loud.”

Mike felt his face flushing. “All we have is the camper, but I don’t know how much we’d get for it at this point. I don’t even know if we could sell it.”

Raza shook his head, the handsome smile back upon his face. “The camper is not all you have, Mister McNerney.”

Mike glared at him. “What are you talking about? I already told you. We don’t have anything else.”

The smile disappeared from Raza’s face to be replaced by a look of triumph. “You have the girl.”

Mike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Of course I do, she’s my daughter. What the hell are you talking about?”

Raza leaned closer, his voice quiet and reasonable, “Mister McNerney, come on. I live over five hundred miles away in Toronto. I haven’t seen my wife in six months. I haven’t been with a woman in all that time, certainly not the dirty whores who are trying to buy their way across. But your daughter… she is a virgin, right?”

Mike said nothing as his eyes bore into Raza’s.

“Of course she is,” Raza went on, “you and your wife have protected her well. But some man will take her. You already know that. You cannot protect her forever. I would be very gentle with her, and it would only be for one night. Then I will stamp your papers and you can all cross over.”

Raza leaned back in his chair.

Mike got to his feet. “Is that it? Are you through?”

“Yes,” said Raza.

Mike’s face was strained as he walked out. He felt like turning tables over, shouting, throwing punches. As he walked back down the road he was stricken by the mess the encampment had become. Trash littered the spaces between the vehicles. The people looked rougher than he remembered when they’d first arrived. It was a bad situation and getting worse. When he came up to their camper, Marie was outside raking up the leaves and scraps of paper that had blown onto their campsite. “Where’s Elly?” he said.

“She’s laying down inside.”

He nodded.

Marie paused in her raking. “So, what happened?”

Mike shook his head. “The price has gone up.”

“Dear God! How much?”

“Doubled.”

Marie turned away from him and began raking angrily. “Well, there has to be something we can do.”

Mike said nothing.

She stopped and glared at him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What can I say? We gotta sit down and talk about it. We’ll figure something out.”

Marie leaned the rake against the camper and went inside. Mike followed her. She was putting her hat on. Elly slept in her bed curled up with her coat on.

“Where you going?” he said.

“Anne Marie, the used clothing lady’s place. She said the Frenchman is going to be at her camp today. I want to go find out how much it would cost, and other things.”

Mike shook his head angrily. “You just won’t give up on that, will you?”

Marie shushed him, looking over at Elly. Her face was determined as she turned back to him. “I’m going to find out more about it, that’s all.”

“Shit,” he whispered, “I told you it was dangerous.”

Marie said nothing. She pulled her gloves on.

“Okay,” said Mike quietly. “Have it your way. Let’s go.”

Marie pointed to Elly. “We better take her over to Carlene to watch for a little bit.”

The light was pale, with a bluish tinge, as Mike and Marie walked past the different rigs, catching the occasional whiff of wood smoke, cigarette or pipe smoke, hearing a voice here and there. It started snowing when they came to Anne’s camp. Used clothing for sale hung from lines all around her site. A woman and man sat before her fire.

Anne smiled a greeting as they came up. She waved to the man sitting before the fire and he stood and came over.

He was a head shorter than Mike, and small of build, perhaps five years younger. He did not seem threatening.