Chapter 16: Valle de Guadalupe

Francesca arrived in Ensenada the next morning. There were problems at the border and the train was delayed for hours. There was talk among the travelers that a wanted criminal had boarded in San Diego and the security was working with US agents to apprehend him. Alone and frightened, she fingered her medallion. Uncle Paolo gave her an address of the Catholic parish in Guadalupe and an official diocesan document that explained the nature of her business. She didn't know the contents of the letter, but Father Paolo assured her it would explain everything to the parish monsignor.

Uncle Paolo said that the taxi drivers always knew the city best, but that she should be suspicious of cab drivers as a rule; kidnapping was a growing industry in border towns. She scanned the drivers faces and chose a man that appeared the oldest and the least threatening. The man's taxi was a yellow paneled Volkswagen Beetle. Lettered on the door in block letters, it spelled TAXI and a small plexiglass sign embellished the solid white roofline. She cautiously approached the parked cab.

"A donde vas, Chico?"Where are you going?” said the old man.

He appeared to be a family man in his fifties or sixties. Photos of family members hung from the mirror and others were taped on to the dashboard. He had large sad eyes and his gray mustache covered his upper lip like mountain moss.

"I'm going to the town called Guadalupe,” she said. “I have letter from my uncle that I'm to deliver to the monsignor of the Cathedral of Guadalupe."

"The cathedral of Our Lady of Guadalupe is not in Guadalupe. It's here, in Ensenada. I will take you there."

"But, isn’t there a church in Guadalupe that's also a cathedral?"

"No, but if your letter is addressed to the monsignor of Our lady of Guadalupe, it is here!”

By now the driver realized he was talking to a young woman. Looking at Francesca in his rear-view mirror he inquired cautiously the manner of her clothing.

"Why are you dressed that way?” he asked.

"Which way," she replied.

"Like a boy."

Francesca thought about saying she was a boy, but then reconsidered.

"I buy my clothes from the boy’s rack. Boys clothes fit me better and are more practical for travel."

The driver understood more than he let on and continued.

“I suppose that explains it, but I thought maybe you were trying to hide that you’re a girl. That’s very smart for a young woman to do, if she is traveling alone. Young women disappear all the time here and the authorities do very little to find them, that is unless of course the family has money."

" Girls disappear?” Francesca asked.

"Last year between here and Tijuana fifty-eight girls disappeared and only two were found and they were both found dead! I’d be very careful if I was you."

Francesca felt a curious affinity toward the taxi driver. Abuela said, always trust when the spirit speaks. She decided to confide in him.

"I am looking for the place where my father was born and maybe anyone that knew him."

"So, this is why you want to go to Valle de Guadalupe?"

"Yes."

"What was your father’s family name? I was born in the Valley. Maybe I can help"

"It is a name I've never seen. I’m not sure I can even pronounce it correctly. But I have a letter!”

"May I see it?"

"The letter?"

"Yes,” the old man replied.

Realizing, she was confiding in a strange man too quickly she reconsidered sharing the letter.

"I just met you. Why should I trust you? My Abuela warned me of evil men.”

Speaking to Francesca from the rear-view mirror the old man replied.

“I’m very sorry. Please accept my apology.” The old man continued to drive on.

Francesca didn't respond, but instead stared out the window at the scenes of the city. People on bicycles, men and women in fine clothing and beggars at street corners. Ensenada was larger than what she imagined. The Taxi came to a stop, and the old man spoke again.

"We're here. There’s the Cathedral.”

At the Cathedral the driver pulled the parking brake and turned around to face Francesca.

" Buena Fortuna.”

Francesca reached into her bag and gave the man four Pesos. The man looked at the money and gave it back to her. “I’ll wait out here until you finish your business in the Cathedral. If you need to travel further, you can pay me then."

Francesca stared at the massive cathedral. Its white adobe structure stood out like a great alabaster mausoleum against modern buildings. Maybe it was fear of the unknown or maybe it was just her intuition that told her not to enter. She turned and faced the driver.

"Will you wait for me, Senor?"

The old man leaned over the passenger side to see Francesca and replied.

“Si, but please call me Tony. You know, like Tony Curtis?” He forced a Hollywood smile of yellowed crooked teeth.

Francesca pondered his reference to an American movie star. She recalled that Tony Curtis had black hair, not silver.

"You don't believe me, do you? Here, look at my badge and you'll see the resemblance.”

He handed the ID badge though the open window. The man in the picture looked to be twenty years younger than the man driving the cab. He was a handsome man in his mid-thirties with jet back hair and Elvis- like sideburns, less the bushy mustache.