12/6/22

By Josh Rubin

On the Mexican banks near the shadow of International Bridge 2 in Eagle Pass, Texas, a man contemplates crossing. His shoes and socks are off, and he has waded out into the river and stands on a rock shelf, still much closer to Mexico than to the the US side.

There is a cast on one wrist and hand, an ace bandage on his elbow. He looks up and down the river. Closer to the bridge, there are National Guard troops in military camo and personal armor floating in two inflated boats, their automatic weapons slung on their shoulders, four to a boat. On the US side, directly under the bridge, other troops are finishing loading just-crossed migrants onto an unmarked bus, and sent it off, likely toward detention.

Directly across from the man there are, in this order, a short steep bank, coils of razor wire, old train cars, a dirt road, a broad golf course, with golfers playing and carts, and beyond, a fence and a tree line. Just out of sight is the town. Unseen also is a street market.

The man tugs at his shirt. Two shirts. He starts to take one off. Stops. Waits. He stoops to dip his arm, the one with the cast, into the the river. At long last, one shirt comes off. But he stands there, looking upriver toward the guard troops.

And a moment later he is gone.