Miracle At Los Flores...

By JUAN DAVIS CARRANZA
The Paz Files

NUEVO PROGRESO, Mexico - Rain started to come down with the arrival of a cold front as Raul turned south from the expressway, at Weslaco, for the eight mile drive to the border crossing at Progreso. He considered turning back, but had promised his tio, Mario, he would make the crossing and pick up his uncle’s heart medication.

In Nuevo Progreso, there is no visit-to-the-doctor or prescription required to buy most pharmaceuticals. Tio Mario was down to his last two tablets, so this errand could not wait. Nearing the bridge, Raul decided to park and walk across inspite of the rain, or more precisely, because of the rain. He knew the muddy, poorly-paved and patched streets in Nuevo Progreso would be slick with rain, and, the chance of an accident was high. An accident in Mexico would mean making a sizeable gift of cash to one or more police officers, even if not his fault. No, today he would walk.

Raul walked a short distance from the parking lot to the bridge. He arrived damp, thinking, "I’m wet, but at least I didn’t melt." The sidewalks on the bridge are covered, and the throng of mostly older persons was moving slowly once out of the rain. Near the center of the span, foot traffic almost came to a stop by a brass plaque announcing the demarcation of the U.S. and Mexico. Couples and small clutches of day-trippers asked passersby to take their photographs while posing by the plaque. The south end of the bridge had changed since Raul’s last visit in November. Gone from the foot of the bridge was the Mexican army tank, with its barrel aimed straight down the seven blocks of the main drag. Also missing were the sandbagged machine gun emplacements on either side. A temporary truce was in effect between the Mexican government and the cartels, one establishing a military checkpoint three miles south of town - and a cartel checkpoint seven miles south.

Otherwise, in Nuevo Progreso, or Los Flores as it is known locally by old-timers on both sides of the river, nothing much had changed. On this day, the narrow sidewalks were packed with locals and winter visitors alike, jostling elbow-to-elbow under awnings and overhanging facades, all trying to avoid the rain. The crowding was made worse by carts and business stalls lining the curbs, vendors hawking crucifixes, shoestring bracelets, bootleg DVDs, and, of course, by the many boys offering shoe shines.

Every corner was packed with men handing out cards and flyers for dentists, doctors, liquor stores, pharmacies, and the most recent commercial enterprise - waxing salons. And everywhere the streets and sidewalks were slick, coated in muddy water. Raul plunged into the press of bodies, with the sounds of Mariachi music blaring from a bar and snippets of conversations from the multitude of buyers, sellers and gawkers passing by. There was the babble of voices, and a wide range of accents, but mostly the flat, broad consonants and tonal inflections of the Midwest prevailed.

Raul set about finding Mario's pills. He avoided the pharmacy closest to the bridge because its prices are said to be high. On the second block, he entered Poncho's, a store offering almost everything Nuevo Progresso has to offer, except prostitutes. Regrettably, Poncho's pharmacy did not have the pills he was looking for. The pharmacist advised him to try Farmacia San Joaquin two doors down.

At the San Joaquin, he was advised to try El Medico another two doors down. So it went for six more stops, each just two doors down, until Raul reached Farmacia Crystal. Yes, they had the medicine in question, and yes, they would be only too happy to sell him a bottle. Raul, considering the length of the search, and the unpleasant aspect of having to return anytime soon, asked for two bottles of Mario's pills. Most solicitously, he was informed this was the last bottle in stock.

The pharmacist made a quick call to a sister store, and told him, that, in a few minutes, another bottle would be forthcoming. Ten minutes later, a runner arrived with the second bottle. Before leaving, Raul asked the location of the sister store for future reference. The pharmacist replied, "It is the first pharmacy you come to, on the right, after crossing the bridge." Exiting the pharmacy, Raul started to cross the street, squeezing between a cart vendor peddling tamales and a kiosk selling sunglasses. Halfway across the street, while waiting for an army truck full of soldiers to go by, Raul was almost run down by a bicyclist. The cyclist's attention was on the soldiers and not on where he was going. The rider looked ahead just in time, wobbled left and right and Raul took a quick step back. A handlebar snagged Raul’s shirt and the cyclist tumbled onto the muddy street.

Raul helped the man up, and then quickly faded into the crowd before attracting the attention of the police. Achieving the sidewalk, Raul headed back for the bridge. It was then he saw her. She was sitting on the cold, wet, muddy sidewalk with her legs drawn up beside her and her back against a storefront. She was wearing a long skirt and a plain white blouse, her long, braided black hair hanging almost to her waist, and she was thin, painfully thin. She held a plastic cup in one hand and with the other a nursing child. She was "Pura india," pure Indian; a class looked down on by many in Mexico who trace their heritage back to Spain.

Here, she was a figure of desperation, lost in the world. Looking closely, he could see she might have once been a beautiful young woman. Now, she looked tired and worn, much older than the twenty-five or thirty years he guessed as her age. It was easy to see that a hard life, poor nutrition, and giving what energy she had to the child at her breast, had drained her strength and stolen her youth. She sat there without a word. She did not beg or look up - she just held the cup in her lap and her daughter to her bosom. The moving crowd passed by, no one giving this woman or her child a second notice.

Raul saw in the cup a few coins, small change, far less than a dollar. Border wisdom says not to give money to the poor as it only encourages more beggars; and then there is the old saw, "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for life." Both were reasons to just keep moving, to continue on his way, to justify no action, but Raul could not simply pass by. Knowing there was nothing he could do to greatly change her life, but also knowing that, for an amount that mattered to him very little, he could feed her for the day, Raul reached in his pocket and felt some bills he had received in change at the pharmacy.

Pulling out a bill, thinking it was a ten, he leaned over to place it in her cup. As he dropped the bill, he saw it was a fifty. Raul was surprised, but the woman was visibly moved, all she could do was gaze at this "little miracle." Slowly, a look of wonderment came over her face. She looked up, as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and started to thank him. Raul quickly held a finger to his lips. He knew, if she attracted attention, that in a short time someone would relieve her of the money. She smiled, and, as her face lit and up - briefly there appeared a vision - the face of "Our Lady, Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe." There was a faint scent or roses, then, as quickly as the vision appeared...it was gone.

Raul was shaken. Stumbling backward, he quickly made the Sign of the Cross and was caught up in the moving crowd. He was shoved along until a half block down the street he was able to turn and look back. The "Little Madonna" was up and moving toward a café, her baby now held in both arms and the cup gone. She was away from the long parade of muddy shoes and boots and, away from the gnawing hunger in her belly - at least for one day.

Two blocks down, Raul encountered an obese man and a woman. They were standing, sheltered from the rain under an awning. As he passed, he heard the man say, "Let's stay here for a few minutes, and maybe the rain will let up." Sarcastically, the woman replied, "By all means Henry, we wouldn’t want you to melt."

Raul just smiled and kept walking. He didn’t care about the rain, he had seen a miracle. He was now giving thanks to God that he had passed up the first pharmacy...

- 30 -

[Editor's note:...Writer Juan Davis Carranza resides in San Benito. This is his second report for The Paz Files. He can be reached via Email at: juandaviscarranza@hotmail.com. Disclaimer: The Paz Files merely publishes this story without vouching for the existence of a God in the universe...]