Jovencio lay flat of his back, motionless, as the intense rays of the searing July sun beat heavy upon his brown skin. A large, salty bead of sweat ran from his forehead to the corner of his left eye, yet he made no movement to wipe it dry. He guessed it had been an hour since the poison first entered his bloodstream. In this heat he knew his time was short.

His mind wondered away for a moment from the pain of his swelling calf and his dire circumstances. He imagined his two children back home. He pictured them enjoying pineapple raspas under the cool shade of the laurel trees, amidst the colorful buildings that outline the square in Guanajuato. He saw his daughter, laughing, as his young son comically lunged to snatch at a fat pigeon that had ventured too close. A pleasing smile came to his face as they made their way up the narrow cobblestone streets towards their simple house perched on the side of a hill. He tried hard to see the brightness in their eyes as their mother opened the front door, but was saddened that he could not put together the details of each face.

For a brief moment he tried to believe that they would miss him, but as the last remnants of a smile faded from his lips he knew that they would not. He had been in the North for almost four years now and had not returned even once. The work was good and he had made the money that the family needed. His children were well taken care of and were able to attend school. When his daughter needed glasses, the money was there. He took solace in knowing that food was always on the table, that no child of his would suffer the same youth as he. But that empty hole in his heart never left him.

To be sure there were many things about Texas that Jovencio enjoyed. Even after he sent the lion's share of his earnings home, he had enough left over to buy decent clothes and better food than he had ever known. His living quarters, though old and in need of paint and repair, were comfortable. He even had satellite television with over ten channels in Spanish. On Sundays he made his way into town, to the house of a widow lady from Aguascalientes, where many of his kind would gather to eat and talk of home and drink beer and Mexican brandy and try to forget the sacrifices they all were making. It was on one of these Sundays that a friend had told him of the man back home that his children now called "Tio." It was on one of these Sundays that he had met the girl that helped him to forget the things he had lost and, at the same time, made the loss so much more painful.

Jovencio's imaginations were interrupted by a streak of needle-sharp pain racing from his lower left leg up into his side. He clenched his teeth and groaned loudly as his upper body contracted towards his knees. The heat now was suffocating. His clothes were soaked through with sweat and the light of the high sun was blinding. The sweat in his eyes was now mixed with tears of pain and regret. After the bite he had crawled from the brush into a clearing amidst the cedar break. It was in this clearing, in a slight depression in the rocky soil, that he now lay. He accepted that this place would be his grave. No one would find him before the coyotes and raccoons and buzzards had had their way with his body.

He closed his eyes for the last time as his mind drifted back to the cool shade of the square.

Learn more about this author, Craig Jones.
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