José stayed in the hospital for a week recovering from the wound in his shoulder. His story was all over the newspapers. Mexican boys dying trying to cross the desert was everyday, but a Mexican boy being shot by Minutemen was only once or twice a year, so José had his name in the newspapers. Not that José cared whether he had his name in the papers, what he wanted to know was if he had to go back to Mexico. The answer was “Yes.”
The guard who rescued him was the one who tried to explain. He shrugged, “Sorry José. Shot or no you’re still unlawful. You still belong in Mexico.”
“But – but – I have to try again?” José asked, disappointed.
The guard laughed, “You’re SUPPOSED to stay in Mexico, José. That is the point of sending you back at all, remember? You’re not supposed to tell me that you’re going to try again.”
“Is there any way to keep from getting sent back?” José asked.
“Well, if some family offered to adopt you – that would work.” He said thoughtfully, “I guess I could ask around to see if anyone wants a rowdy, fourteen-year-old Mexican.”
José looked hurt, “Not THAT rowdy.”
The guard only laughed, “Ah, well, a little bit rowdy then.”
“And if a family takes me, they have to take Roberto, my younger brother. He’s in America too.”
The guard looked surprised, “Oh, really? Well, I’ll be sure to add that on. I’ll see what I can do.”
José waited in hope. Two days later, the guard came back. This time he had his young wife with him. “Hey, José! I have good news for you! In my family, it seems that both my wife and I have been missing something. Two rowdy Mexican boys would fill the gap perfectly. What do you think?”
José stared at him in amazement. “You’re going to adopt us?”
The guard bowed, “Of course.”
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