The cavernous chapel of the Church had a ceiling as high as an underground bat cave. I imagined them flying down screeching and attacking me. We arrived a couple of hours after the 5 o’clock mass and now this holy place was void of sound. A cough, the drop of a plastic cup, tinkling of a bell – each echoed like an alarm. Occasionally the thick front doors opened with a creak allowing in a flash of light at dusk, and some dark figure wearing a rebozo would walk in to sprinkle holy water on themselves, or light a candle for the dead, kneel and pray. Then they’d give the sign of the cross and be quickly gone. Walking around, listening to my pop music through earphones, I wasn’t bored. It’s the same whenever I’m in a holy place, like walking the halls of the hilltop monastery in the mountains surrounding Mexico City. The scent of incense and burning candles fills me with a calm peace.

For dinner my mother and I were offered chocolate atole and tamales potosinos bathed in a rich red sauce. As the hours passed, I fought to stay alert as we waited for our rescuer to knock on the door. Never let your guard down, the Comandante always told me, when the water is calm the beast lurks below the sea’s surface set to pounce on you as soon as you sleep. You must be ready for any disaster or it will devour you and swallow you whole.

Close to midnight, while lying in a pew waiting for my mother’s friend to arrive, just when I was about to fall asleep, cowboys dragged in their cars outside. We heard shots, and a glass-stained window crashed to the floor. A hawk came flying through the jagged frame. They must have been shooting at him. Fluttering around by its wings it hovered in the air, then entangled itself in hanging lamps, plopped against the wall and fell, until it recovered in midair and flew back up again. The feathered friend perched upon the head of a statue of Saint Francis. Chest panting, heart beating out of breath, it looked all around for a way to escape. The priests ran to see the pieces of the window shattered on the floor, and started sweeping, their necks craned upward surveying the damage. The hawk stared at me as I sat up in the pew. Julian, what are you doing here? Get out while you can. Don’t worry, I said, this is all part of a larger plan. The Fathers ran over to brush the hawk away with the heads of brooms. He turned his head 360 degrees searching for an open window, then shot like an arrow back to freedom again.

My mother who had been in a backroom smoking a cigarette rushed out to make sure I was okay.

“I thought they shot you Julian, the kidnappers. What are you doing out here by yourself? I told you to stay close to me.?

“Mama. I can take care of myself.” Staring as if daring her to stop me, I slowly pulled my phone which she had taken away from me out of her bag, plugged in my earphones and listened to Imagine Dragons and Justin Beiber. She rolled her eyes, threw her hands up and walked away. Like the comandante she wanted me to be ready and alert, but for different reasons. I laid back down again and tried to sleep.

While trying I stared up at the white angels painted on the ceiling battling red demons. Why can’t they make a truce and get along? Comandante says in the last days terrible things will happen and the battle for heaven will be in full force. When it does the good guys will win, but not before a battle that will be so violent it’ll literally shake the world.

I sat up and watched my mother pacing the side hall of the pews smoking, something the priests had forbidden her to do. She shocked everyone in her family when she flew us here to the border late last night, and it threw a giant wrench in the Comandante’s plan. I was supposed to be kidnapped by his monks yesterday in Mexico City from our apartment in the Condesa – I’m valuable property the Comandante says because my grandfather is an important politico whose conniving has robbed the poor of their land and deserves our resistance’s retribution.

I was alone in the apartment with Sol while my mother was nearby at the theater a few blocks away from Parque Espana, staying late at rehearsals. But she forgot her script and came home just when I was being abducted by this hooded thug who then panicked and held a knife to Sol’s throat. My mother threw a heavy vase at his head, and he fled. That was yesterday and now we were at the border waiting to be smuggled out of the country. Comandante is not going to like this one bit. I hope I got word to him on time.

11 pm passed and still no word from my mother’s knight-in-shining-armor. She didn’t know I overheard her say on the phone that the Americano was my dad, and I wasn’t going to mention it now. How do I know she wasn’t making the whole thing up? But my gut was telling me its true.

I tried dozing off listening to the Mexican pop band Bellanovo but it was no use. My mother was asleep beside me, her legs stretched to the floor hugging herself to keep warm in her white parka. I leaned over and tugged her sleeve.

“Mama, he’s not coming, let’s go.”

She woke up bracing herself in the pew as if an earthquake had moved the church. Realizing where we were she sat up and rubbed her eyes, blemishing her mascara. She reached over to hug me but I pulled away.

“Julian we’ve been over this, we’re going.”

“I don’t want to Mama. I’m staying here.” Didn’t she hear me the first time? She never listens.

“Give me those earphones. She held her palm out flat. And your phone too.”

“Mama!”

“I told you, they could be monitoring your phone.” They do things like that now.

I took them off and handed them over. You’re being paranoid, mama. Who does she think they work for, the drug cartels, CIA?

She searched through my knapsack one more time. Maybe she thought I was going to smuggle out illegal drugs as if I were some cartel’s mule. Yeah, right, I’m that dumb to try at the border. That’s not how I would do it if I wanted to, I’d stuff it in my pants and fly the skies. Even if I was smuggling drugs hidden on me now, we’d probably be caught and deported back to Mexico where I preferred to be anyway. Living in the United States is not for me. I’m happy where I am. I never wanted to go the US, who the Comandante says are our real enemies. I’m so against this plan of hers.

She nudged me to lay back down as if she were going to tuck me in. Does she think I’m still five years old?

“Go back to sleep, Julian. I’ll let you know when he arrives.” She took out a cosmetic mirror from her shoulder bag and gazed at herself. “Oh mierda, I look terrible.”

She stepped up out of the pew and briskly walked away to freshen up. Anxious to look her best – for him?

It must have been two in the morning when he showed. I was half asleep and my mother was in the church hall again, chain smoking. She shook me.

“He’s here, Julian. Get ready.”

The Father motioned us to follow him to the church vestibule at the side entrance. This is it. Oh my god. My heart -- pump-pump-pump…What’s wrong with me? Why am I so nervous?

“You sure you want to do this Mama? You really think this is what is best for us?”

“Yes.”

“We could get killed. Who knows what’s waiting for us in that wilderness.”

“We’re not crossing over the border Julian, we’re travelling beneath it, in a tunnel.”

Did she just say a tunnel? This is getting crazier. I don’t like it one bit.

My mother pressed her palms to her ears. “Julian, you don’t know Thad yet. He is very careful in everything he does. I trust him.” My mother touched up her hair, “do I look all right?”

Is she serious? What is this, an audition for Queen of the prom? That he’s gonna rush in wearing a tux, get on one knee and propose? The Father opened the door to the black of night and this man from Texas stepped in.

He was dressed like a miner, boots and all, and wore a light on his cap as if we were going cave spelunking. Even night goggles. Was he for real? If so, I am way under-dressed in sneakers and a black Raiders jersey. Mama patted my back and introduced us.

“This is my friend from the United States Julian, who I told you about, his name is Thadeus, but you can call him Thad. Now be polite and stand straight.”

The American held his hand out firm for me to shake. I started to take it but stopped. My palms were sweaty and wet. What do I do? This guy is my father, I can feel it. What is he going to think of me?

He extended it again. “It’s ok kid, don’t be shy.”

My mother bumped me with her elbow. “Come on, take it Julian.” She made a nervous smile at him.

I shook his hand but refused to make eye contact. I couldn’t, just couldn’t. If I did, he’d see the fright in my eyes. This is too much. He might really be my father, but does he have to be a gringo? Does he even speak Spanish? When we make it to the other side of the border, if we make it, I’m taking off on my own.

The entrance to the tunnel was through a wall in the basement of an abandoned maquiladora. I helped Thad move a line of crates to uncover it. He waved his arm and hand in front of me as if he were an usher offering me a seat.

“Lead the way sport.”

Sure, No problem. I put on the cap he handed me and turned on the stupid light and lead the way. Hurry comandante, please, hurry and rescue me before it’s too late.

Next Chapter: CH 3 Monastery -- the new Abbot arrives