The Founders' Plot

As Julio dressed for work the next morning, Marisol came home and went to see him and Carmella.

“How’s Ernesto?” Julio asked her anxiously as he buttoned his shirt.

She looked drained. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot, and her clothing disheveled. “The doctor said the infection was bacterial, not viral. He said bacterial meningitis is less serious and easier to treat. And he told me that Ernesto’s brain hadn’t been affected.”

“Oh, that is good news,” Carmella said. “Gracias a Dios. What a relief.”

“How long will he be in the hospital?” Julio asked.

“The doctor didn’t know for sure, but probably about a week, maybe more.”

“How is he feeling?” Carmella asked.

“He’s in good spirits. He doesn’t mind the hospital as much as I thought he would.”

“Then you won’t have to spend all your time there,” Carmella said. “Julio and I will take turns staying with him. I told the Anselmos what happened, and they said they’ll stay with him any time you like.”

But the good news was only a short respite from their woes. Julio and Marisol were meeting at her kitchen table with their real estate agent the next day when two ICE officers arrived. They presented their identification when Marisol opened the door.

“Mrs. Castellano?” one of them asked. “Marisol Castellano?”

“Yes.”

“May we come in?”

Marisol stepped back. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the chairs in the living room.

“No, thank you,” one of them replied as they stepped into the living room. He was tall, maybe six-foot-four. “This won’t take long.”

The real estate agent left, and Julio walked into the living room.

“Mr. Castellano?” the tall one asked Julio.

Concealing his anxiety, Julio said, “No. Just a friend.”

The agents were polite, but Julio could almost hear Marisol’s heart pounding as they questioned her.

“We’re following up on your husband Carlos,” the tall one said. “He was caught with counterfeit identification, and we have an arrest warrant for him. We know he’s here illegally. Is he home by any chance?”

Julio noticed that Marisol appeared in control of herself, almost calm. “No, she said. “He’s out of town. He found good-paying work downstate.”

“Do you know where?” the other agent asked.

“He moves from job site to job site,” Marisol answered, “so it’s hard to keep track of where he is.”

“We’ll find him eventually. If you cooperate, things will go easier for both of you. We can offer certain accommodations that’ll make deportation less of a problem, maybe give you more time to plan and make arrangements in Mexico.”

“I can’t help you,” she said. “I really don’t know where he is.”

“Mrs. Castellano, if he’s here illegally, we’ll naturally investigate your status as well. Do you have identification?”

She stared at them for a moment, not knowing what to say.

“Her purse was stolen the other day,” Julio said. “All her identification was in it.”

“Really,” the shorter one said. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

“I can get new identification,” Marisol said, “but I’m tied down with the baby and can’t find my birth certificate. My son is in the hospital with meningitis, and we’re trying to sell the building. That lady who just left was our real estate agent.”

“I’m sorry about your son,” the tall one said, “but you’ll have to produce identification soon. We can help with that. Come down to our office. If not, you’ll have to appear before an immigration judge, and we’ll start deportation proceedings.”

“I understand. I’ll start doing that in a few days. Is that okay?”

“That’ll be fine.”

When they left, Marisol sank into the couch. “Now what? Things are catching up to us so fast.”

Julio scratched his forehead. “We’ve got to sell the building and move as soon as Ernesto is out of the hospital. We can drop the price by four or five thousand dollars. Once it’s sold, we can get out of here. I talked to my cousin in Texas yesterday. They’re going to look for a place for us and try to find me and Carlos construction jobs. Have you heard from Carlos?”

“Not since he called three days ago. I’ll probably hear from him in a day or so. I don’t know if I should tell him about everything that’s happening, especially about Ernesto. He’d worry, maybe come home, and that would be bad. He might get caught and sent to jail because of the arrest warrant. And he’d almost surely be deported.”

“It might be a good idea to tell him about the ICE agents and the arrest warrant. But I think you’re right about Ernesto.”

Carmella came home from work, and they told her what happened. She sat on the couch next to Marisol. “You’re being very brave about all this. I wish I could be, too. But this eats away at me. I pray for Ernesto all the time.”

Marisol leaned toward her friend, but Carmella smiled and put up her hand. “Don’t worry. I promise not to cry.”