‘At the beginning of the century ranches round here were immense old cattle outfits, both Mexican and English. They endlessly raided across their neighbours’ lands and shot at each other whenever anyone could be bothered. They stole cows, horses, women, and used a secret track through the mountains to escape with them. God knows how, but Benjamín stumbled on it during the course of one of his crossings. He’s the only one who knows it, but it takes you to the other ghost town that used to share the schoolroom with Temerosa – Black Mesa. There’s nothing left of it now, but in the last few years there have been so many casualties in this bit of desert that the Humanity Patrol put up a water tank there. If you can get to the water, it’s possible to make it on to Temerosa.’

‘And if you don’t make it to the water tank?’

‘Well . . . then you pray for a miracle.’

‘Why do people cross here if it’s so dangerous?’

‘Why do people move to a different country in the first place? Why do they leave their families behind only to end up being exploited or victimized, and why do they still decide to stay even then? For a Mexican with no money and no work in his own village, that “Help Wanted” sign is pretty hard to ignore. The paradox is that there comes a point when the desire for a better life far outweighs the instinct for survival.’

I go on staring at the horizon. In spite of everything there’s something compelling about it, seductive almost, as though it’s willing you to cross.

Duval touches my cheek. ‘You weren’t scared back there with those army kids, were you?’

‘No . . . yes—’ I break off, unwilling to answer. I had been scared, but I’d been excited too, close enough to danger to feel the living, pulsing heartbeat of it.

‘You weren’t scared that day Winfred found you either. I saw it in your face. You don’t care if the cholla shreds you, or you drive a dozen nails into your leg. That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? The blind step in the dark and the freedom to take it. You came because you felt nothing any more, and feeling nothing is scarier than any number of Mexican soldiers with guns.’

‘Yes.’

He takes me roughly by the shoulders. ‘And now?’

I want to tell him that so much of my life I’ve felt numb, but that now I feel everything. I want to tell him that if he asked me to take off my shoes and follow him barefoot through the desert, I probably would. I want to tell him I’m in love with him, but then I look into his black eyes and I see he already knows.

*