Take Me to the River by Will Hobbs Read Free Book Online

come?”
    â€œYou can stand in the river but not on the shore. That’s considered a visit to Boquillas, and Boquillas is off-limits.”
    â€œSay what? I thought we were going to visit the village.”
    â€œDid I say that? I said we were going to drop off the donations. That’s all we’re allowed to do.”
    â€œSays who?”
    â€œUncle Sam. After 9/11, the government closed the informal border crossings along the river. Part of the war on terror.”
    â€œIs Uncle Sam watching us right now?”
    â€œWithout doubt.”
    Rio took a quick look, then pointed across to the Texas shore, where a dirt track met the river at a break in the cane grass. A green-and-white Border Patrol truck was on its way down to the river. “See, they’ve got us spotted. He’s going to park right across from us to make sure we mind our p’s and q’s. If we visit the village we’re subject to a five-thousand-dollar fine.”
    â€œOuch. That’s beyond my budget. I’ve got a hundred dollars on me and a hundred I left at your place. Say, how will they know up in the village that we brought some stuff for them?”
    Rio said that wouldn’t be a problem. The black garbage bags on the front of the raft were our calling card. They could pretty well guess we were bringing scraps for making quilts, and other donations.
    While we were waiting for the villagers in the gathering dusk, Rio filled me in on Boquillas. A hundred years before, it had sprung to life as a silver mining town. The ore went across the river on a bucket tram and was transported by mule-drawn wagons all the way to the railroad at Marathon, Texas. When the mines went bust, the town dwindled to a village and nearly emptied out. It came back to life after World War II with the creation of Big Bend National Park across the river. Boquillas was flourishing in the 1980s and ’90s, with all the tourists visiting from across the river. They crossed in a small metal rowboat called the Enchilada and took a burro ride up to the village, where they bought meals and drinks and souvenirs. The people from Boquillas crossed to do their shopping at the store in Rio Grande Village.
    Back in May 2002, everything suddenly changed. Overnight, the United States closed the border crossing. Before long, Boquillas was going bust again. The village was one of the most remote in all of Coahuila, which in turn was one of the most remote states in Mexico. The nearest shopping was 120 miles south on a bad dirt road, and the bus ran only one day a week. A couple dozen men had seasonal work fighting fires in the U.S., and another dozen had jobs at a lodge high in the Sierra del Carmen, but other than that, there wasn’t work in Mexico to be had. From three hundred, the population of the village was down to less than a hundred.
    Two Texas women, a former river guide from Terlingua and a woman from Marathon who used to teach in the Boquillas school, decided to try to help if they possibly could. They hit on the idea of teaching the women of the village to make quilts and founded a volunteer group called Fronteras Unlimited. The idea worked. The quilts were sold at galleries in Terlingua and at church auctions across West Texas. The money coming in from the quilts was making a big difference. For the time being, Boquillas was hanging on.
    Dark was nearly upon us when we spied a couple dozen villagers, from kids to old people, starting down the path. Halfway down the hill, the Boquillans recognized Rio. They had big smiles on their faces as they closed in on us, everybody calling out, “Hola, Rio!” and “Bienvenidos!”
    What blew me out of the water was how astoundingly fluent Rio was. I truly couldn’t tell the difference between his Spanish and theirs. I wished I understood what they were saying. I had taken a little Spanish in school, but they spoke so fast I got only the gist of what they were talking about, and