– Fiction by Dean Gessie –
Featured in Issue 17 of Dreamers Magazine and tied for First Place in the 2024 Sense of Place & Home Contest
Arziki said, “I laid down in the desert with the dead bodies. I played dead so the men would leave me alone. It is not easy for me to do,” she said, smiling ear to ear. “Nobody dies in Africa. Does it look like this?” She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue.
Emilia ignored the sick joke. Arziki would come back as a ghost to her own funeral just to tell jokes. It sometimes made Emilia angry that Arziki would joke about almost anything. “I was dead, too,” said Emilia, “but not pretend dead.”
And it bothered Emilia that Africans were coming to the Mexico/United States border. According to Emilia, Africans were trying to take the place of Latinos who wanted to live in America.
A few minutes later, Oscar the Philosopher said, “We need the desert more than the desert needs us.” Oscar the Philosopher made clever and wise statements. And he always waited before speaking. It took time to think of things clever and wise.
“It’s true,” said Emilia. “I was struck by lightning and thrown into the air. When I fell to the ground, I felt this intense heat and pain throughout my body. I died for a while and then God saved me.”
Arziki chose her words carefully, “Praise be to Allah.”
“Yes,” said Emilia. “Praise be to Jesus.”
Borys added to the religious discussion by finding common ground. Surely, he thought, Allah and Jesus believed in the devil. Speaking to Emilia, he said, “The Evil One would have burned you and made a lump of coal of your body. End of story.”
Arziki looked at the group and made another joke. “I’d rather be a burning lump of coal,” she said, “than a freezing kid in an icebox!” The children were kept in a room that each called the icebox. It was freezing cold.
And then Arziki spoke to Emilia. “The evil one must be the Jinn. They are spirits made of fire and air.”
But Borys wasn’t talking about spirits made of fire and air. Borys was talking about the world leader that had attacked his country. In Ukraine, it was considered bad luck to even say his name. Everyone simply called him the devil or the Evil One.
Emilia continued her own story. “Anyway, the border guards thought I was dead.”
“A goner,” said Marcela. “Dead as a door nail! A piece of toast!” In Guatemala, Marcela’s mother had taught her daughter how to say the same thing a million different ways. Some of the others at the immigration center did not like Marcela. They believed she was always showing off how smart she was. “They will never send you away at the border,” Marcella’s mother had said, “when they hear how beautiful you speak American!”
Borys shifted beneath his thin, silver blanket. “And you have to walk for days in the Devil’s Highway just to get here. If the heat doesn’t kill you,” he said, “the lizards and scorpions will.” The Devil’s Highway was a path in the Arizona desert between Tucson and Yuma.
“Don’t forget the mountain lions!” said Arziki. “And the rattlesnakes!”
No,” said Borys, “I don’t forget the lions and the snakes. And I don’t forget the minutemen, either.”
Everyone wondered why the border guards were called minutemen. Oscar the Philosopher shared an idea that was clever and wise. “Because,” he said, “if you meet a minuteman, you have run out of time! They will send you back to where you come from. You will never live in America!”
“Desert only has one s”, said Arziki, “but the dessert you eat after supper has two.”
“So?” said Emilia. “How is that funny?”
“Well,” said Arziki, “one serving of the desert may kill you but two servings of dessert will only make you smile like a cat with a mouse!”
Emilia was losing her patience. She looked about everywhere and said, “I’ve lost my patience! Has anyone seen my patience?” And then she did something shocking and unexpected. She removed her shirt to expose her back.
Those close to Emilia were amazed and terrified. Others in the room came closer, too.
“The lightning strike,” said Emilia, “left this big scar on my back. You can touch it,” she said, “but you boys had better not try anything.” Emilia kept her arms tightly folded over her chest. The scar looked like a pink tattoo in the shape of branches, leaves and roots. “The lightning strike almost killed me,” said Emilia, “but it left the tree of life on my back.”
“Well,” said Arziki, “I’m shocked, but not as shocked as you were!”
A boy named Carlos did not hear the joke because he was deaf. Some in the group had negative feelings toward Carlos. Because of his disability, Carlos would be at the front of the line. He would be let into the United States before anyone else. Those who felt this way also felt ashamed. They were ashamed of their unkind and selfish feelings.
Anyway, Carlos approached Emilia and touched her scars. Carlos came from Agua Prieta or Dark Water in the Mexican state of Sonora. He could read lips and he could communicate with his hands. But no one understood what he said after touching the tree of life on Emilia’s back. The hands of Carlos said community, but no one understood.
Emilia put her shirt back on because she began to shake and shiver. Emilia’s body shook and shivered because of the freezing cold and she shook and shivered because of the touch of Carlos.
Komi from Togo smiled at Emilia. He knew the feeling that was in Emilia’s skin and bones. He understood the connection she felt with Carlos. “I don’t know where my partner is,” he said. “In my country, if you are gay, it is very bad for you to say so.”
No one spoke for a long time after that. This was serious and sad business. But Oscar the Philosopher used the minutes to think of something clever and wise. “We all know,” he said, “that Shakespeare wrote the play, Romeo and Juliet.”
Marcela loved the theatre. She had performed at school many times. “They were two kids in love,” she said, “and everyone tried to keep them apart. Their parents were not smart. They were dumb as doornails!” Marcela was not finished. “They were not sharp tools!”
“Yes,” said Oscar the Philosopher, looking directly at Komi, “but did you know that the actor that played the role of Juliet was also a male? Romeo and Juliet were both male actors. In Shakespeare’s time, the female roles were all played by male actors.”
“Imagine,” said Komi. “The whole world clapped for male lovers! And one of them dressed like a girl!”
Everyone understood this very positive story about gender and social acceptance. But Borys had a much darker point of view. He had negative feelings about gay people, feelings that were shared by both his father and his father’s father. “Yes,” he said, “and Romeo and Juliet killed themselves, didn’t they?”
The children did not say anything for a long time. More and more, they were finding fault with each other. More and more, each was feeling hopeless. And more and more, they blamed each other for being kept in the immigration center. Finally, Marcella spoke. “Well,” she said, “someone has to say something.”
“Yes, of course,” said Arziki, smiling ear to ear. “Someone has to say something in the icebox. Someone has to break the ice!”
Emilia was losing her patience. She looked about everywhere and said, “I’ve lost my patience! Has anyone seen my patience?” No one said anything and Emilia expressed her frustration with the group. “We are so close to one another,” she said. “We are packed in here like refried beans in a tin can! But,” she added, “in some ways, we are more far apart.”
“Sister,” said Arziki, “that’s no joke!”
Borys said, “I feel like screaming. I could scream!”
“That’s it!” said Emilia. “We could have a grito contest.”
“What’s that?” said Borys.
“We shout as loud as we can,” said Emilia. “We shout as loud as we can for as long as we can. Believe it or not,” said Emilia, “that’s how modern Mexico started. People were angry. They wanted change. Let us scream!” she said. “We will all feel better!”
The group was glad for Mexico, but they did not want to have a grito contest. They did not want to shout as loud as they could. And they did not want to shout as long as they could. The border guards would surely be angry with them. Each sat in silence for a long time and waited for Arziki to speak. Everyone knew what she would say. “Well,” said Arziki, smiling ear to ear, “we’re in the icebox. Someone has to say something. Someone has to break the ice!”
Komi looked like the others, sad and annoyed. “We are all,” he said, “one piece of wood.”
Borys sat up. The sound of his voice was unfriendly. “What does that mean?” he said.
“Well,” said Komi, “in my country, friendship rings are cut from the same piece of wood. And they cannot be separated from each other. The strength of all the rings together depends upon the strength of each one.”
Marcella smiled. Her eyes looked like Christmas tree lights. “I have an idea!” she said. Marcella explained how she and others in a school play made their own group stronger. “Before we practiced the play,” she said, “we listened to the life story of each person.”
Oscar the Philosopher raised his hand to show that he was thinking. Then, Oscar the Philosopher said, “We speak loudest when we listen.”
No one was quite sure what that meant, except Carlos. He made language with his hands. He said, “We love ourselves best when we love others.” No one else in the group was quite sure what Carlos had said, except one person. Emilia’s body shook and shivered because of the freezing cold and she shook and shivered because of the language of Carlos. With her own hands, she said, “I understand.”
And so each followed the suggestion of Marcella and took turns with someone else in the group. Each listened to the story of another person in the group. And then they shared their own story with that person.
Borys said, “I lived in Mariupol. The Evil One bombed our city. There was nothing left. Both my parents were killed in the first week. I remember the smell of gun powder and the smoke of fire.”
Marcella said, “I belong to the Yuki Yuna tribe in Guatemala. After my father died, bad men did evil things to my mother and sister. My father used to plant corn. Now, he lays in the earth with his corn.”
Oscar said, “There were so many gangs in El Salvador. You pay the gangs for water. You pay the gangs so your feet can go outside. You pay the gangs so you can make and sell bread to the gangs.”
Emilia said, “My brother put me on the train in Honduras. ‘I cannot protect you from the drug dealers,’ he said. ‘They will buy and sell you.’ My brother loved me so much, he sent me away.”
Komi said, “I was taken from my home by strangers. They beat me. They cut me. They left me in the desert. They said, ‘You are gay. Therefore, it is only right that we do this.’”
And Arziki said, “My people speak the language called Hausa. My name means one who is successful. I was married when I was thirteen. My father sold me to a rich man four times older than me. The crops would not grow. The river had no water. The rains would not come. My father said, ‘Now, you are successful and your brothers and sisters can eat.’”
And Carlos read the lips of each. And each spoke slowly to Carlos and with great care. And then he, Carlos, used his hands to share his story. He did so over and over again with the whole group. And each member of the group understood some small part of what Carlos said with his hands. And all of them, together, built the story of Carlos. And each shared with their hands some of the words of Carlos.
And then Marcella surprised everyone. “Well done!” she said. “But we are not finished!” And Marcella explained that each must speak to the group as if they were someone else in the group. Each must share with the group the story of another person as if they were that person.
Borys was asked to speak to the group as if he were Komi. Borys had negative feelings toward gay people, but these feelings were changing. Now, he knew Komi’s story. He felt bad for Komi. “I told the police what these men did,” said Borys, pretending to be Komi. “The police fed a dog on the floor. ‘No’, they said. ‘We will take care of this dog, instead,’”
And then Emilia spoke as if she were Arziki. “The man who bought me,” she said, “called me goat, because I was his property. He could do what he wanted with me. I ran away. Goats have four strong legs to climb and run. And goats have many teeth. I tell jokes and use my teeth to smile. But I have many reasons to cry. I have stories that children shouldn’t hear.”
And Oscar the Philosopher spoke as if he were Marcella. “People died in the truck because there was no food or water or air. We travelled three days. They put me in a motel where more bad men lived. A woman with golden hair brought me here. She said, ‘It is for the best.’ And I told this woman that I am from the Yuki Yuna tribe. And she said Yuki Yuna is also a Japanese hero, a magical girl. I didn’t want to live, anymore, but now I do.”
And Carlos read the lips of each and shared details of the stories of each person. And all pretended to be Carlos, too, sharing the words they had learned with their hands. And the group grew in learning and they grew in respect for one another. And they did not stop until a border official entered with juice and cookies.
Marcella said, “Always with the juice and cookies! We want to live in America!”
And Carlos said with his hands, “Juice and cookies, again?”
And Arziki and Emilia spoke with one voice. And they shared one joke and one religion. “I am sure,” said Arziki, “that Jesus did not share orange juice at the last supper!” And Emilia said, “And I am sure that Jesus did not share Oreo cookies at the last supper!”
And Borys said, “Only the Evil One would serve juice and cookies five times a day!”
And Oscar the Philosopher did not say anything too wise or too clever. Oscar the Philosopher only said, “I can’t do it. I can’t drink more juice and eat more cookies! When,” he said, “will you send us to live in America?”
The border official spoke of more interviews and difficult decisions. The border official left the room.
Borys expressed the group’s frustration. “We have each done the interviews,” he said. “We have told them over and over why we have come to the border. We have told them over and over why we want to live in America.”
Marcella said, “We have talked forever! We have talked until we are blue in the face!”
Komi said, “Why haven’t they taken us to live with a family? They have heard our stories. What is wrong with our stories? And what are these difficult decisions?”
Oscar the Philosopher had been thinking carefully. “Our problem,” he said, “is that we compete with each other.”
Everyone wondered what Oscar the Philosopher meant. They all said, in one way or another, “What does that mean?”
Oscar the Philosopher said, “It is a game of winners and losers.”
Everyone wondered what Oscar the Philosopher meant. Again, they all said, “What does that mean?”
Said Arziki, “Our stories are awful and sad. They are all awful and sad.”
Komi said, “They try to choose who to send back and who to send forward.”
Borys said, “We must no longer speak as individuals. We must only speak as a group.”
Emilia said, “Oscar is right. They want to make winners and losers. We cannot let them separate us. We are a family, now.”
And then Carlos did a shocking thing. Absolutely everyone in the group was shocked. He slowly moved Emilia’s body, turned her away from the group so that each could only see her back. And then Carlos gently lifted Emilia’s shirt to the height of her ribs. And Emilia quickly folded her arms over her chest. She refused what Carlos was doing.
Some in the group moved to stop what they were seeing. They were scared for Emilia.
But then Emilia shivered with the cold of the icebox and she shivered with the power of the touch of Carlos. And she looked into his eyes and she understood. And she looked into the eyes of the group and said, “It is fine.”
And she raised her arms and Carlos slowly removed her shirt. And then Emilia folded her arms over her chest while Carlos lay his hands over the pink scar on her back. And then the others did as Carlos did. And all touched the tree of life caused by a bolt of lightning. Each laid a hand over the pink roots, the pink branches and the pink leaves. And Carlos only lifted his hands long enough to say what no one had understood the first time. Now, each was ready to see the word, community.
And Tomi said, “My name is Emilia. I had 500 pesos in my pocket. The disgusting man at the border said, ‘You can put your hand in my pocket and leave the money. Or you can put your hand in my pocket without the money. Your choice.’”
And Oscar spoke as if he was Marcella. “People died in the truck because there was no food or water or air.”
And Borys spoke for Komi, “And these men that beat me uploaded pictures on social media. It was a death sentence. I ran away.”
And the stories of each became one story. The details would change every time someone spoke for the group, but the history of the group remained the same. And they were all one voice of many genders and races and abilities.
“My name is – ,” they said, with their voices and with their hands. And each was always the name of someone else in the group. “I am from – ,” they said, and each named one of the other countries where one of them lived. “This is what happened to me – ,” they said, and the story that each one told contained details from everyone’s story. And it was true. Each single story was always new, but their shared history was always the same. “This,” they said, “is why we have come to America – .” And they spoke of hope and safety and love and belonging.
And they all knew that interviews and difficult decisions would change forever. And they all knew that border officials would hear from each of them parts of the stories of everyone. But they also knew that the ending of each single story would always remain the same. Every single person would finish their story the same way. “We are all part of the tree of life,” they would say. “We are all one community.” And each would say, “We will live in America as a community or not at all.”
About the Author – Dean Gessie
Dean Gessie is an author and poet of global renown. Among other honors, Dean won the Aesthetica Creative Writing Award in England, the Enizagam Poetry Contest in California, the Samuel Washington Allen Prize in Massachusetts, the Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest in Florida, the Draper’s Guild Short Story Contest in New York, the COP26 Poetry Competition in Scotland, the Ageless Authors Poetry Competition in Texas, the Frank O’Hara Prize in Massachusetts, the Indigo Open Prize in England, the Editors’ Prize from the Spoon River Review in Illinois, the UN-aligned Poetry Competition in Finland, the Allingham Arts Festival Poetry Contest in Ireland and a Creators of Justice Literary Award [Fiction Category] from the International Human Rights Art Festival in New York. Dean Gessie’s short story collection, Anthropocene, won three international awards and his latest book, goat song, won the Seven Hills Literary Competition in Florida for best poetry collection published since 2020. Dean Gessie lives north of Toronto with his wife and dog.
Did you like this story by Dean Gessie? Then you might also like:
The Identified Patient
What I want the surgeon to know
Sanctuary, and other poems
The Body as Poem
Metaplasia and other poems
This is What Death Does
Where Courage Lives
The Psychiatric Patient Profiled in My Application
Modern Medical Miracles
What the Mirror Says
Writing Myself Alive: An Episodic Poem
Breathing; Love These Lively Things
Oh Emma; Slow Dancing
In the Mirror, For My Mother
Zenstronomy: Zen of Instruction, Godma, Astrophysical Reality
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