ACROSS THE WIRE

Tijuana-born Urrea calls lice, scabies, typhoid, etc., the ``many ambassadors of poverty''; his vignettes of borderland misery (most appeared previously in the San Diego Reader) are like a series of painful and shocking introductions at a demonic embassy party. Born to a Mexican father and an American mother, and raised in San Diego, Urrea spent much of his childhood in Tijuana but never saw real squalor there until 1978-82, when he volunteered, under the direction of renegade missionary ``Paster Von,'' to bring food, clothing, and medicine to the poor. He has made several visits since. After a brief look at the plight of ``undocumented workers'' crossing into the US, Urrea focuses on the families that remain on the Mexican side, scavenging a living from the border's comparative wealth: One trash-picker, originally from Michoac†n, explains that ``At least here you have garbage!''; glue-sniffing children prey violently on gringo tourists and on each other, taking shelter in hellish underground burrows; police corruption and brutality affect even Urrea's father, who dies violently. Characters are glimpsed vividly only to disappear into chaos, but Urrea reconnects with one, a little girl barred from school because she's barefoot. Urrea buys shoes for her; when they're stolen, she's expelled; her family disappears; ten years later, she lives in a chicken coop with her children, but her spirit and personality seem intact. Descriptive writing here sometimes reveals more than it feels decent to know, but Urrea's recognition of intact humanity—along with his accounts of kindness and generosity—gives this nightmarish tour its redeeming affection and hope. (Photographs.)