20.

Two nights later I was in the town of Creel. Since I had refused to travel deeper into the canyon, this had cut our trip short. We had planned on spending four or five nights in the canyon; as it was we spent only two, not counting the night we spend on the canyon rim. So the rest of my party had agreed we would spend at least two nights in the towns surrounding Copper Canyon. Paul and I settled on Creel, while my father and stepmother went on to another town, populated by German immigrants who had settled there generations ago, so that they could see all the things that they found so interesting.

On the train, on the way to Creel, my father sat down next to me. "You don’t look like you’re doing so good," he said. "What’s going on?" "It’s Mexico," I said. I refused to elaborate. "What is bothering you?" he said. "It’s Mexico," I repeated. I remember sitting there, realizing that the problem wasn’t quite Mexico, that the problem was with me, trying to get control of my thoughts, before they ended up in a full-blown delusion. I would say to myself, if the thought crossed my mind that I was a telepath, "No. Don’t even consider it. This isn’t the place to get psychotic." I simply would not allow myself to fall into the delusion that, had I been under less circumstantial necessity to hold it together, certainly would have taken me over. While my thoughts continued to run, while I was still terrified and thought the Mexicans were after me, I realized on some level that Mexico wasn’t the problem, that my mind was the problem. I was resolved to merely go through the motions, to get a hotel, to stay there, to take the train back to Chihuahua City and the bus back to Juarez and then go into El Paso and Texas. Whatever went on in my mind, my physical body would not be affected: my physical body would go through all the actions that were necessary to get me home safely.

There was a hotel in Creel where tourists, many of them native English speakers, stayed. They were mainly backpackers and adventure seekers from places like Australia, the US, and Europe. I chose this hotel, while Paul chose a more expensive one. When it came time to get a room, the girl who was to show me the rooms didn’t speak much English. She communicated to me eventually that there were fraternal rooms, where I would be sleeping in bunks with strangers in the same room, or there was one room I could have to my own, for more money. I was confused as she was explaining this, using mostly Spanish, and I began to grow frustrated. I got it across to her that I wanted the room I would have all to my own. She began to explain something I did not understand. I took it that there was some sort of problem or another, and it might be easier if I took the fraternal room.

I suddenly grew very confused, and under my confusion was a frustration with everything, with the Spanish I did not understand, with the Indians who had sought to kill me, with this dangerous place that was all confusion to me. Suddenly I said to her in English, in almost a scream, "What! what! what!" and then a string of nonsensical syllables, half Spanish, half English, came out of my mouth. I was trying to say: "I don’t understand this place, I don’t understand what it means, I don’t understand what I need to do to survive here, nothing makes sense here. I am so sick of trying to escape danger here; all I want is to survive, and no one will let me." I didn’t quite know how to explain this to her, to my father, or to anyone; and so all I could do was to let nonsensical syllables come from my mouth. Then I calmed down, and asked simply, "¿El cuarto está libre?"—Is the room free? She replied, "Sí," and without saying another word to me, she led me to my room, handed me the key, and left.

A couple of years ago, my father and I were watching on video the movie, The Blair Witch Project. When it got to the part that the woman finds some sort of bizarre wooden object at the door of her tent, my father said to me, "Remember what Donna found at the door of my tent at Copper Canyon?" "No," I said. "There was nothing outside your tent." "That’s right," said my father; "you were sleeping, and we thought it would be better not to tell you. You were afraid enough as it was." "What did she find?" I said. "Someone left some sort of doll made of straw and wood," he said. "We found it in the morning." "It’s a good thing you didn’t show me," I said.