“Zegher! Beringer! At attention!”

I launched myself off the chair and into a salute so fast my cap fell off. As I bent down to pick it up, I could hear Robbie mutter under his breath something about my shirt pocket. I straightened back up and he whispered again. I looked down. One of my buttons was out of place. I was in as much trouble as a hamster in a microwave.

The commander, however, seemed distracted. At a closer look I saw a swift flit of fear caress her brows. She looked at me hard. “What were you doing?”

“It's my break, Ma'am,”

“That so? Have you eaten already?”

“Yes, Ma'am,”

“Alright, then, I expect you on the border in ten- there's a group of twelve or so Mexicans on the radar coming toward us mighty fast and I don't expect they have passports,” Chief began to walk away, but turned and looked at me for a second, “And button that button, Beringer!”

“You didn't even get in trouble,” Zegher whined as we marched to the South end of Del Rio Station, “You and I both know that if it was anyone else in CBP, they would've been doing 30 or 40 push-ups, but noooo, you're Chief's pet, so-”

“Robbie, I didn't fly under the radar because I'm a pansy. She didn't reprimand me because something's wrong,”

“Yeah, right. It's just a couple of Mexicans. We're stationed on the Mexican border, for Christ' sake!

“Zegher,”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. All yer Jesus stuff and what not,” Zegher paused for a second.

“Anyway, it's not like the Nazis have been resurrected or something, it's just a coupla Meh-hecans,” He continued.

“I don't know, the Chief seemed uneasy, like.... Well, like she expected something unexpected, you know?”

“Sammy if I wasn't your best friend you'd sound like a nut-job, but.... yeah, I know what you mean. Chief did give off a lackadaisical aire, you know, like she was trying to cover up being tense, so she went too far in the opposite direction by accident,” 

“Beringer! Zegher! Meet Lowell down at 4, got it?”

“Yeah, no problem, D'Cruze,” I shouted.

I started to say something but halted. Zegher was right; Chief was covering something and when Chief covered something, it was big. We walked the rest of the way in silence; dreaming of the worst-possible situation and attempting to retain a calm and collected look

*   *   *
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Shut up, Zegher, listen for a second,” I hushed him quietly. He could sense the urgency in my voice. Dusk had come and gone hours ago and, at about 2300 hours, Lowell had retired for the night.

“I don't hear anything,” Zegher whispered.

All of a sudden there was a knock on the door. “Zegher, get that. I'm gonna go get some fresh air. The tension's getting to me,” I told him. As I walked up to the watch tower, and the hushed voices of Zegher and what sounded like Iason Olmos, receded, I pondered the footsteps I heard. It was probably just Olmos, I told my self reassuringly.

“Hey, D'Cruze, it's me, Beringer,”

“You left your post?”

“Olmos and Zegher are there- I needed some fresh air, I've been hearing things, I think,” I laughed quietly. The stillness of the night demanded quietness.

“Yeah? Well then we're both going funny. So did I,”

“Did the radar see anything?”

“Eh, just a couple of kids testing the border, you know. It's probably nothing,”

I let his words sink in, but the rock in my stomach continued to persist, “What if they're not just some kids?”

“What if they are?” D'Cruze shot back, “Hey, Beringer, I'm sure Zegher and Olmos can handle it, why don't you rest in section 2 for a bit, we'll be up bright and early, you know,”

That sounded wonderful to me, “Yeah, maybe,” I replied. I had every intention of sleeping, but being tired and anxious has a way of making you wide awake.

As I left the loft, I wondered about what D'Cruze had said. It probably was just a bunch of kids but what bad was there in checking one last time?

I walked out and the crisp air was welcoming. I sat on the ground, with my back against the watch tower wall and the crickets lulled me into a dangerous sense of calm peacefulness.

Soft footsteps woke me up abruptly. I raised my head slowly and looked up. It was about 0300 and a figure stood not twenty feet away from me, head cocked, arms limp. He wasn't carrying a gun and no badges glimmered, just a beaded pouch strapped to his left leg. What's in the beaded pouch? I wondered sarcastically. The man took a step forward and looked behind him.

I stood up silently and grabbed my pistol, pointing it to the ground and advancing a step.

Apparently, I wasn't quiet enough.

The man turned and faced me like a deer in headlights, but this deer had a knife and I had a hunch this deer's pouch was filled with cocaine.

“¿Dónde está su pasaporte” I asked.

The man took off, fleeing at a rate impossible to meet wearing the CBP issued boots.

“Hey!” I shouted running after him anyway, “No dudaría en volver a disparar si es preciso!” I  warned him,  “I will not hesitate to shoot if I must!”

“Al diablo con ustedes!” He shouted over his shoulder. “To hell with you!”

I spoke into my walkie-talkie rapidly, struggling to switch back to English so quickly, “Close the East puertas! There's a man with a knife 'bout to atravesar the border!” I shouted, cursing quietly as I barely managed to speak English.

“Sammy! It's me, Lowell. Calm down. It's gonna be okay. We've closed the East gate- he has no means of escape. Corner him and most importantly keep yourself safe! We're sending troops toward you now,”

“Oh, and take a deep breath,” He added in a last burst of motivation.

“Lowell, I'm putting my mik on speaker so you can hear what's going on, okay? Don't flip if you hear a shot, okay? I've got a pistol. And didn't you go to bed?

“Couldn't sleep. I had a funny feeling,”

“Know the feeling,”

“Over and out. Be careful, Beringer,”

“Bye, Lowell,”

I switched my mik on so he could hear what went on. A sharp click echoed and I knew Lowell had activated a recorder. My attention switched back to the situation at hand.

“No hay manera de salir. Levanta las manos y el cuchillo hacia abajo y podemos negociar,” I told him as calmly as I could muster. There's no way out. Raise your hands and put the knife down and we can negotiate.

“Ha!” The Mexican laughed a short, harsh laugh, “You think I fall for that mierda?” He called tauntingly, “How much of us you shoot? Much, eh? And why? We no amenaza to you,”

He was only trying to make me nervous, I knew that. Nevertheless, his psychology was working.“You have a girl at home? You want to see her again? Put down the knife,” I told him, shaking my head clear.

The man laughed. I did not.
God save me.

The man seemed indecisive for a moment. But I had made my decision.

“Sir, please put down your knife,”

The man bent down to drop his knife, but quickly lunged toward me, brandishing the knife and thrusting it forward.

Pain coursed through me. A shot echoed. Where had it come from? I turned around. No one was there.

My pistol was discharged.

I rushed toward the man and cradled his head. He was surrounded by feathers, as though I had shot down an angel.

I pulled off his coat, which I noticed no longer contained a feathery interior, and inspected the wound. But my eyes lingered on his face and body. The man had a hairless face and soft hands. His chest was slender and narrow, each rib visible through his skin. I gazed once again at his face.

It was innocent.

It was young.

He was young.

“What's your name, kid?” I asked hoarsely

“Perdonar,”

I continued to inspect the wound, as if I hadn't heard. Forgiven? Ha. I shot a kid. Forgiveness was far, far into the realm of unreality.

“It's not deep,” I said finally, “I'm sure you'll be fine,”

He didn't answer, just stared at the stars above.

“La luna llena esta noche,” The moon is full tonight.

“You're not going to die, Perdonar, you're going to be fine,” I  repeated persistently as the blood seeped onto the ground, staining the concrete. Who was I convincing?

“Mi mamá solía cantar una canción sobre la luna,” My Mother used to sing me a song about the moon, he replied quietly.

“Sing it to me,” I whispered

“¿Cómo es la luna? Redonda, redonda. Como una rueda, como una ronda. ¿Cómo es la luna?  Chiquita y bonit. También me alumbra media lunita. Yo no sé, yo no sé.  De dónde viene y a dónde va. Yo no sé, yo no sé.  Pero Mamita me lo dirá,”
His voice cut through the humidity and echoed off of every cactus and pebble making a beautiful Spanish harmony.
As the last verse was uttered, the started the song one last time.
“¿Cómo es la luna? Redonda, redonda...” He sang softer and softer with each passing verse, until finally he stopped. I opened my eyes and looked into his. They were wide open. I lifted my hand, closed his eyelids and began singing.

¿Cómo es la luna?
Redonda, redonda
Como una rueda, como una ronda
¿Cómo es la luna? 
Chiquita y bonit
También me alumbra media lunita
Yo no sé, yo no sé
  De dónde viene y a dónde va
Yo no sé, yo no sé
Pero Mamita me lo dirá...