Five-four-seven-six-nine.  Jose Guadalupe didn’t know whether he would have to show the card with the numbers or whether he’d have to repeat them.  And if he had to say them, would he have to say them in English? He would be inside the American Embassy.

           Jose’s appointment for a visa interview was fast approaching.  Only a 4 day backlog had existed when he made the Telmex call.  He took that for sign of good luck.  The 3 week wait that Carlos suffered almost killed him.  Carlos had bought good papers and had memorized the answers to the standard questions.   But  3 weeks of  liquid courage had made him forget.  Jose was determined to stay sober and to remember his new identity.

           Four days wasn’t long enough for mama’s novena to Our Lady of Guadalupe but if “Lupita” blessed his trip north, he’d get the visa without the novena.  He was sure that his mother had been saying prayers to make him stay here.  But then, she needed a roof on the cement blocks which almost formed a  2 room house.  Jose couldn’t provide more than a piece of tin on his minimum wage job of 32 pesos/day.  Friends who had been  to ‘the other side’ had told him that he could make enough money for his mother’s roof and for a car, TV and satellite dish.  Jobs were plentiful and he could send a small fortune to mama.  He just had to get there.

          Jose had been ready to go with the coyote who took Carlos.  But Carlos left 3 months ago and he hasn’t heard a word.  Maria Esperanza at her Tienda de abarotes, made sure that the phone was free every night between 7 and 9 when Carlos promised to call.   Maybe he was wandering in the desert, lost and disoriented.  Maybe he had been killed by polleros rather than give up his gold charm and cross hidden deep in his boot.  Jose knew that Carlos would never give up his charm because it was his collateral for the other side.  Carlos hid a watch and some dollars that he expected to use as ‘morditas’.  But never the charm.

           No word from Carlos was bad news.  Jose was sure that he was dead.  Otherwise he would have called Maria Esperanza’s as planned.  Silence from Carlos made Jose decide to try his luck with a visa.  Silence and the convincing words of a new coyote who promised that his new supply of documents were  just what the visa officer wanted.

          Jose invested four month’s laborer’s salary on his new papers.  The coyote told him that the documents showed that he was a school teacher who owned a house and had money in the bank.  Jose recognized the logo of the bank on some of the papers.  Those would tell the visa officer that he had ‘economic solvency’.   So, with the exchange of some pesos, Jose had a respected job with a good salary, a house and savings.  Oh, if  life were that easy!  That’s really all he wanted out of life.  And now he had it.  Folded inside his shirt, close to his heart.

           Now he had to remember to thrust the papers in the exact order they were placed at the official and to act confident.  Confidence, almost arrogance, the coyote had prompted him.  That’s what the Americans want to see.  That’s how people with money act.  Jose tried to imagine that he was the person in the papers.  Did he look like a school teacher? No, everyone would take him for the campesino he always has been.  But maybe the Americans wouldn’t know.  Jose knew that he’d have to rent a suit and shoes.  Carlos told him not to wear his wide brimmed straw hat.  That would confirm his old identity and day laborers never get visas. Jose didn’t know how he could feel confident without his well worn sombrero.  It grew on him as naturally as his hair.

          The trip to Mexico City took only two hours on the local bus.  Jose and Carlos had come to the outskirts of the city a few years ago to watch a bullfight.  But Jose had never been downtown  where the huge buildings  were higher than the clouds.  Carlos gave Jose the address of his cousin, Lupita.  Jose took that as another sign of good luck.  He needed all the help from   Lupitas!  His mother prayed to  la Virgin de Gualalupe every day for his future.  Jose had been waiting for his luck to change and he felt it in his bones that this was the beginning of his future.  Our Lady of Guadalupe never failed those who prayed hard enough.  His mother had even gone on her knees to the Basilica.  Jose had a good feeling about his interview even though mama hadn’t had time to say her surefire novena.

          Mexico City overwhelmed Jose as his eyes searched for the tops of buildings and the traffic whizzed by him on Paseo de la Reforma.  He stood in front of El Angel which was his landmark.  Finding the Angel, a huge brass topped statue,  brought him to the block in front of the embassy.  Within that one block he could find everything that he needed for his interview.  The pesos in his pocket would supply the wardrobe and accessories to make him look like a prosperous teacher.  He would even find someone who could fill out his application and take his picture.  Carlos told him to go to Foto Lerma for the application and to watch when the woman wrote down his answers.  But Jose wondered how he would know what the woman was writing.  Jose was determined to remember the information confirmed in the property title, pay slips and bank statements.  “Confidence, almost arrogance , and 5-4-7-6-9.”  Jose repeated the mantra as he pondered his appointment the next day.

          Five a.m. approached much too quickly.  Jose put on his rented suit and squeezed his feet into the hard soled shoes.  On second thought, he’d carry the shoes till he went in.  His appointment card said 7:30 but he knew that he had to stop at Foto Lerma for the application and picture.  In his haste out of Lupita’s one room house,  he almost forgot his packet of documents.  Confidence, almost arrogance, numbers AND the papers.

          In front of the embassy milled thousands of people.  How could he ever find where he was supposed to go.  Did all these thousands have appointments at 7:30?  Jose had never seen this many people in one place.  Not even the time he went with Carlos to the bullfight.  Sweat started to stain the underarms of his rented shirt.  He didn’t feel right without his hat in this crowd.  It defined him.  But then, he was a teacher today.

          As the line snaked its way towards the  Pavilion, a one story waiting area which encompassed a city block, Jose observed the guards asking the people questions and separating them into sections.  He was sure that this is where he’d have to repeat his numbers.  The guards looked like Mexicans.  Good.  He couldn’t remember how to say the numbers in English.  The coyote had made him repeat them 100 times but Jose’s nervousness left him with just Spanish.

          Still 50 meters from the building,  Jose could see the security line and hear the guards circulating, probing .  What is the purpose of your visit to the American Embassy? Do you have an appointment?  What time is your appointment?  Please proceed to the door of the building.  Or, please wait in the line on the other side of the street.  Or, without an appointment, you can not enter this restricted area.  Please call the Telmex number on this card and request a day and time.

          Jose blessed himself 3 times and silently repeated his mantra.  When his turn came, Jose showed the card and was directed to the entrance.  He didn’t even have to say his numbers.  5-4-7-6-9.  They had become a kind of soothing chant.  The numbers along with: Confidence, almost arrogance.  Keep the bank logo on top.  Thrust the papers with confidence.  Walk tall.  5-4-7-6-9.  Jose relaxed a bit more as he looked around.  There was an organ grinder and a monkey providing entertainment across from the entrance to the visa pavilion.  Pavilion.  What a name for a tin covered city block!  He was 4 groups away from the opening.  He observed the other members of the line.  Did he look as desperate and poor?  Everywhere he looked, Jose could hear dialogues being practiced.  Where are you going in the U.S.?  Why are you going?  How long do you intend to stay?  All kinds of advice was circulating.  Coyotes circulated with prepared answers you could buy for between 10 and 1000 pesos.  The higher the cost the better the answers, Jose surmised.  Why would anyone buy the 10 peso answers?  He was confident with his packet.  He was a teacher with a good income, a house and money in the bank.  Jose could almost imagine the house.  He furnished it in his mind.  His mother would really like it.  She would have a separate kitchen and there would be running water in the indoor bathroom.  He could almost smell the tamales steaming in the tiled kitchen.  He hoped that the visa officer would ask him all about his house.  Not the job.  Jose couldn’t imagine what he would d o as a teacher other than demand discipline from unruly children.  Also, money in the bank was a foreign concept.  He used every peso he earned.  Why give it to a bank?  Jose wanted to feel the pesos in his own hand and buy what he needed when he had enough.

          Slowly the line moved and Jose found himself inside the pavilion.  Hundreds of people were directed in orderly lines towards the various stations.  He passed the identity check.  He showed his new passport and the Mexican guard checked his face and the one in the passport.  Then a Mexican lady checked his application, made him put his hand on a screen and lean forward.  He heard a snap but didn’t feel anything.  Jose stood in another line and was told to have his documents ready to be inspected by the anti-fraud unit.  The coyote had told him that the papers were good so Jose felt no fear.  Others around him were shuffling papers and hiding some under others.  Jose knew that if he changed the order in his packet he’d never knew which was what.

          Papers were glanced at and both blue and red marks made on his application.  Jose was told to move on.  He was told to wait for his number to flash above one of the windows.  He clutched his ticket with the number.  What windows?  Oh, now he saw the Americans.  The officers were sitting behind glass windows.  He had imagined all of them as tall, blond, blue eyed men.  But of the fifteen Americans, only one matched his image.  Some of the officials looked Mexican and maybe  African.  He had never seen such a variety of people so close up.  Most were smiling.  That made Jose relax a bit more.   He signed the cross again three times.  He felt so close to getting his visa.  He had the right papers, he made the trip, he said the prayers.  Mentally he was crossing the border without fear of being robbed or killed.  He would make his new life in Texas.  He would send money home and his mother would be proud of him.  Maybe he would stay long enough that mama could come and live with him.  Jose wanted his mother to be proud of him.

        The guard was saying something to him.  Oh, yes, that was his number.  Jose proceeded to the window.  The American was a young woman about his age.  He could smile at her and charm her into believing his story.  Confidence, almost arrogance.  Jose finally felt that confidence.  Smiling broadly he thrust the documents at the officer through the opening at the bottom of the window.  “No, not all of them.”  said the officer.  “Only your passport and your application, please”.  Jose knew those documents because one of the examiners had separated those two and put them on top.  The officer quickly glanced at the passport.  “Why did you get a 3 month passport?”  she inquired.  Jose snapped to reality.  What did she mean?  He didn’t answer.  The officer looked at the application and smiled at him.  “What do you teach?” He was ready for that.  “How do you like teaching?”  “Very much”.  “Tell me about your teaching schedule”.  Jose kept his answers short and crisp.  They sounded good to him.  The officer must have been convinced because she moved on to his travel plans.  “Where are you going?”  “Disneyland”  “How long are you going to stay?”  “One month”  “How much is it going to cost you” “$500”.  Show me your bank statements.”  He thrust the papers at her.  “No, just the bank statements from the last 3 months.”  OK.  That should be easy.  The papers with the bank logo.  “These papers say that you have an account but they don’t show the balance.  Please give me your statements.”  He once again tried to push all the papers under the opening. “No, sir”, just the statements from the last 3 months.”  “I guess I left them at home.  On top of the table in my newly tiled kitchen”.  He wanted to get her to ask about his home.  The officer moved on.  “Who are you traveling with?” “By myself”.  “So you are going to Disneyland by yourself for a month and going to spend $500?  Do I understand correctly?”  Jose started to shake.  This sounded so right to him but the officer seemed to doubt him.  “That’s right”,  he said.  “I’m sorry, the visa is denied.  Your plans don’t make sense.”  “Please take  my papers.  My papers are good.”  “Yes, but you can’t tell me what they say.  You say you are a teacher and yet my instinct tells me that you can’t read.  Is that right?”  “Right, but please look at my papers.  They will show you that there is money in the bank.  I am economically solvent.  That’s what I was told I had to prove.  The papers say that.”

         I’m sorry, sir.  Your papers may say that.  But a teacher would know how to read.  I’m sorry.  Please take your passport and proceed to the exit.”  Devastated, Jose retrieved his passport and shuffled defeatedly towards the exit sign.

         As Jose left the pavilion and crossed the street, he was accosted by another coyote.  “What were you missing? I can get you any document.”  Jose took issue with the document vendor.  “ I have great papers.  I bought the best.  Mine say that I’m a teacher and that I have money.”  “Oh no.  You don’t look like a teacher.  You need to be a land owner.  Your hands show that you work outside.  I can sell you papers to say that you own 2000 hectares of prime farmland.  You’ll get the visa for sure with these.”

         Jose left the embassy area his old bounce back in his step.  Next time he would be a landowner.  He didn’t look like a teacher.  The suit wasn’t right.  He would feel more comfortable in farm clothes.  He could rent a good shirt the next time but  his own sandals would make him feel more grounded.  And he could wear his hat.  He always felt better with that wide brim.  Jose’s momentary disappointment lifted as he walked away with new dreams of the land he owned.  Next time mama would have time for a novena.  Lupita would surely bless him.  Mama was convinced that with the full 9 day devotion Our Lady of Guadalupe would inspire him with the right answers and guide him through the process.  With Lupita on his side, with  his lucky hat and his new papers,  Jose could almost feel the fresh wind from the other side.  The next time would be the charm.