52) At the edge of Matamoros I can see another city begin a mile a way, in the direction I want to go. I am not alone in this urge. So many want to go further. Though there are plenty of bridges and paved roads connecting the two, all are stopped up with barricades. Vehicles form lines to cross as far back as I care to see. Dark smoke billows the length. Too much waiting, too much visibility for me. So I must find another way. And I do, along a lazy bend in the dirty river, a river not grand at all. But before attempting these waters, I see a vehicle filled with uniformed men on the other side, a much reduced version of the strictures interrupting the more popular ways over. I size them up. They are tall and strong. When they get out to piss they tower over the grass. So strong was the flow of urine they make the weed and tussock bend. The men are pale, well proportioned, armored and armed. Binoculars. They have badged hats. They are not of the same wretched kind teeming at my back. They are complete, with a full complement of order and corporeal rigor in their bearing. No club foot, or hacking, or stoop, no diseased manner among them. At least from my viewing place. All points to caution, caution. No simple fording, this. I shall wait to see how others manage it, what strategy they employ. Oh, I could simply stroll across the water and end them with a gesture; but I might prefer a game today. Methinks games. I need only the rules.
I do not think they have seen me huddled in the creosote. So use to devastation they do not notice the growing ring of dying bush around me. I've chosen creosote for that very reason, it appears always to be dying. The men go about their business, watching the foliage for a shudder, speaking quietly among themselves, a laugh now and then, and, of course, pissing. The body needs all manner of release, its valves open constantly. Funny.
We begin even. That is how it starts. A game needs an imbalance, a first move. Behind me I hear stirring, noisy running to my left. Further up river a group of kids burst forth and leap to play in the water. Immediately the vehicle, whipping up a dusty cloud, is dispatched to meet them and counter their ways. I crawl on all fours, scurrying from brush to brush, to catch a glimpse of what might happen next. I hope learn the rules. In pursuit of the kids, those on the other side play well. They are out and after the scattering boys who are captured one by one. I haven't scuttled far when I hear breaking shrubs and branches to the right, near to where I just was. Another group, now men, enter the river there. It is as though this is the same scene repeated, with all the same people, aged a decade. Another vehicle races up, nearer to the men just crossed. Again, there is racing and loud chattering. And again, all are captured. Good game, but the rules are one-sided, favouring the pale, armored kind.
I'll just have to cross my own way. I rise. Feels good to stand up. I walk with slow deliberation. At the river's edge there is still too much commotion among the jostling teams to take note of me. So far, so good. But I am hooded and prideful. It is not long, a few steps into the noxious river, when the alarm is raised. The captured are handcuffed, stacked in a flatbed conveyance I did not see arrive. So the armored ones are now free to take a lively interest in me. They do. But I do not run. I walk. The uniforms gather, they wait for me to cross, thinking I am like the others. But I am not. They approach. I smile. One by one, like frail flowers in a heavy hand, they are crushed. Now that I know I am not a man it is easier to pass through them. Four, eight, fall, never to get up. I walk. The flatbed is all astir. Panic. Fear. The driver tries to speed away. The captured are tumbled off, and run bleeding to all directions. Those who've chosen the river return cannot swim constrained at the wrist. Drownings occur. I only walk. Of the rest, the shackled rotund or weak of foot, they retch and moan, make cries as I'm used to, then blink out like a porch light when the morning comes. Death is all around me. Others try for their destination. North, like me. If they are faster than I they'll make it. They don't. I tread over these soft stones paving my way. Forget me not. Only the driver escapes my sphere of influence. I don't care. I've somewhere to go. I'm coming, Dr. Creep.