“I’m Saúl,” Saúl said, breathless, “I just got deported. And, I swear it, I’m your son.” The man, as Saúl recounted it to me on top of the hurtling train, opened his eyes as wide as possible. And then he exhaled, long and loud. And then a look of anger swept over his face. “I don’t have any kids, you punk,” his father said.
