EPILOGUE

Just when you think the water is safe, there's another shark attack. 

When I vacation in Mexico City, I cross the bridge, flag a taxi and commence the long drive to the bus depot or even the longer drive to the airport.

Most cabbies--as is their ilk--know everything. I question them as if I were grilling one of our local politicians although the questions are of a different nature: How's the violence? Does the Gulf Cartel continue to reign? Where are the best-looking prostitutes working? Has the Louisiana Bar remained open? Are there any new restaurants worth the effort? Are people on the streets at night?

Until a few days ago, there seemed to be a general calm in Matamoros although there are kidnappings and murders that the Matamoros press doesn't cover. Journalists have bull's eyes on their backs. I've listened to countless personal testimonies about family members falling victims to these vicious and merciless murderers.

When Brownsville advertises itself as "By the Border, By the Sea" among other false claims about the Third-World Capital of the United States, community leaders might think about editing out the "By the Border" description. When the authorities find bullet holes in the walls of UT buildings in the wake of gun fire across the river, a student may exit his class and the next thing he knows he has a slug in his forehead. None of this is good for tourism.

The snowbirds don't venture into Matamoros. They prefer the security of Nuevo Progreso 30 miles west along Military Highway. With the killing of two Americans and the kidnapping of two others the breaking news, nobody dares venture into the unpredictable world on the other side during these precarious times.

With these tragedies, business only gets worse in Matamoros when everyone thought that it couldn't get any worse. Even though thousands cross back and forth every day without incident, a climate of terror reigns. At any time of day and at any place in the city a fire fight can erupt. I don't doubt for a second that a confrontation could take place in Garcia's large restaurant the climate is so volatile.

Mexico's problems began with Hernan Cortez. A few thousand Spaniards ruled over millions of indigenous people. It is still a country of vast economic inequalities. Corruption planted it roots with Cortez and has flourished for more than 500 years. The drug trade has prospered for more than 50 years and now drug lords rule large parts of the nation with impunity. Moreover, they grow richer by the day as Americans consume their mortal merchandise.

There is no hope for Mexico. There are pockets of order, but the system in which criminals thrive has wrapped itself around the country like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of a doe. I believe that there is more to the story than reported of four Americans merely traveling to Matamoros for a tummy tuck as eyewitnesses assert they were specifically targeted; other sources counter they mistakenly found themselves in the middle of gun battle. Perhaps The New York Times will find the answers. The Brownsville Herald certainly won't. The dying daily hears no evil, sees no evil, writes no evil.

Will I wander into Matamoros? I will dash across for my meds, but I will not be lingering for a cold Tecate at Garcia's with the city on edge. When I travel to Mexico City, I'll take the taxi to the bus depot or the airport and receive the latest updates, but there will be no diversions from my destinations. Besides the cadavers that litter the streets but receive no coverage, there is a unanimous consensus on the American side of the Rio Grande: Matamoros is dead.