Archive for October, 2014

James was kind enough to feature one of my tales. He has a lot of interesting stories of his own. Have a look and enjoy.  http://www.desertbookshelf.com/bookfe…

The lady is derived from Nuestra Senora de la Santa Muerte, or Our Lady of the Holy Death.  Also known as La Huesada, the Bony Lady.  Santa Muerte is a venerated folk saint in Mexico and the Southwestern portion of the United States.

She is representative of death, healing, protection and a safe journey to the afterlife.  She is a cartel favorite often displayed on dashboards and body pictorials.

The other morning I was standing out in the side yard with the dogs, Chihuahuas, I’m wearing pajamas, and drinking coffee. The Border is a short distance away.

Suddenly Thelma, Louis and Roger start barking, raising hell. I begin looking for a rattler. Roger found one the day before. I hear water running. The fence runs into the well house. Just outside the enclosure, attached to the well house is a spigot.

I turn and lean over the railing and there’s a guy filling a water bottle from the faucet. It’s morning cold, he’s wearing a broad brimmed felt hat, green hiking jacket, khakis and light brown blanket booties whose purpose is to hide his shoe prints. They’re tied up over his ankles.

He’s shaved, his face is clean, hell, he’s better dressed than I am. My pajamas are a little ragged

He looks like a character out of a Goya painting. A long pleading face, he holds up the water bottle, “Augua?” Looks at me, and I nod yes. He leans back and takes a long pull from the container and holds it under the waterspout again to refill what he just drank. He drinks again and refills again, then gives me a thank you salute with the bottle and takes off. All this happened in less than five minutes. I know I was surprised. I’m sure he was.

He headed north up our valley; I never saw him again. Probably looking for work, or maybe trying to rejoin his family.

My name is Wally Runnels and I write Border Pulp.

The Mexican American Border is a confusing place. It’s a single black line on a map. But when you’re standing on it and you see the trails that lead to it, you can see why it’s a source of conflict.

The North side says, “You can’t cross this line.” The South side says, “But we have nothing here and you have everything up there.” So people from the South start to sneak across and people from the North try to stop them.

And who’s the winner? The Border Patrol said they apprehend only a quarter of the illegal entries. No one knows how many more have died trying.

The lucky ones who have had a successful crossing stay in the north for the work, and save money. They pay their taxes, but being illegal receive few benefits. Many seek legal help from immigration attorneys to get green cards and eventual citizenship.

Others, who have crossed work and lay low without seeking to become citizens, but save money for the time they’ll go south to stay, to start a business and build a home in Mexico.

Illegal passage up and down is not uncommon. People who live away from loved ones get homesick and sneak back down to visit. Some who have created a family in the north might be deported and want to return.

Crossing the Border, North or South, becomes expensive and dangerous. To hire a coyote will cost two or three thousand dollars, and even with the help of a guide, many get lost and die in the desert.

Because we are a nation that holds humanity in high regard there is no easy answer to the Border dilemma.

My name is Wally Runnels and I write Border Pulp.