Hunting Season Read Free

steep hill of 2,780 meters, or almost two miles in altitude. Some drive or ride horses but many more walk, and a few get on their knees and crawl for at least part of the way. Loja drove for about an hour in punishing, uneven, and twisting country roads before he got to the salmon-colored building with the wooden door that remains open almost around the clock, always ready to receive migrants in need of hope.
    The veneration of El Señor de Andacocha began in 1957 when a drunken farmhand found a tiny image of Jesus Christ, about an inch long, in a cross in the ground. He picked it up and kept it for a few years until, the locals believe, he had a dream in which God told him to give a Mass on His behalf. 2
    That dream eventually led to the building of a small chapel, and then, in 1974, the current one, where Loja found himself in August 1994 kneeling on the cold tiled floor below the imposing altar, asking for a miracle: to arrive safely in the United States and prosper. From where he knelt he could hardly see the image of Jesus found by the farmhand. It is nestled inside a glass case at the center of an enormous metal cross that is surrounded by dozens of vases with flowers. Behind the cross and to its sides, large stained-glass windows allowed the first scant rays of the sun as Loja quietly prayed.
    He knew that El Señor would listen to his prayers, not only because Loja was deeply religious but also because when he looked around he saw the smiling pictures of young men and women, people like him, who survived their journeys and had sent pictures from the United States. Under his breath, Loja recitedthe Prayer of the Peregrine:
Lord, Jesus of Andacocha, accompany me every day, from dawn to evening. Give me strength and courage for my journey. Guide me in the path of goodness and virtue. Fill my mind and my spirit with love and patience to forgive and forget. Give me intelligence to face all the adversities of life and to face pain with a smile. Give me faith to walk in high spirits and with hope in my heart. Señor de Andacocha, do not allow failures to make me weak. Protect my family always. In my plans and work, bless me. In my studies, give me wisdom and perseverance. If I fall, pick me up. If I’m sad, give me hope. If I’m lost, find me a way out. If I’m ill, give me health. If I’m alone and old, you be my company. If I migrate, guide me to the goal. If I’m happy, bless my happiness, Señor de Andacocha: bless me now and always. Amen. 3
    The next day, August 15, Loja left home early in the morning, after receiving multiple blessings from his parents. Along with a friend, he boarded a flight to a coastal city in Guatemala, where a coyote—a smuggler—guided them to a small room in a whorehouse. Loja had never been separated from his family and had never visited a brothel. He was uncomfortable but not afraid. If so many had followed this very route before him and lived to tell the story, it couldn’t be all that bad, he reasoned.
    For two full days they hid in the room with several others and took turns sleeping on cement beds with no mattresses. They were fed chicken, tortillas, and beans once a day. The heat was unbearable and so was the lack of information. No one seemed to know what would happen next. They had to trust handlers they didn’t know but to whom they had each given about $6,000.
    On the third day they were taken from the room to a port and ordered to board a boat to Veracruz, Mexico. Two dozen men and women crowded every surface of the vessel. For more thantwenty hours they sailed silently over the treacherous waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Some, unable to control themselves, urinated where they sat or stood. Loja, who was hunched over for most of the voyage, could barely walk when they docked in Veracruz. His back was throbbing painfully.
    At the time, Loja’s journey by sea was unusual, but it quickly became common. Statistics show that between January 1982 and March 1999, the US Coast Guard