And Yesterday Is Gone Read Online Free Page A

watered. He shook with laughter, then motioned for me to give it another try.
    I did, reluctantly, and found that inhaling was easier this time, and I held it as long as I could. It was overrated as far as I was concerned. I certainly didn’t feel any different, only hungry—but I was always hungry.
    We passed the joint back and forth and talked. Juan was picking up English very quickly and I thought I was doing great with Spanish. We were connecting, and this time I rolled the joint.
    I was tempted to tell him—brag, even—about my experience with Lupe, but somehow I couldn’t find the words.
    He told me of his home, deep in the mountains, where his grandmother cared for him. Later a teacher lived with them and he saw very little of kids his own age in that tiny village. He said he had been lonely all his life.
    I talked about my home, of Ma and Sis, and told him about my stepfather’s encounter with Ma’s chicken-butchering knife and we laughed till we cried. We seemed to get the gist of each other’s broken language using our hands to diagram our words.
    Suddenly—or slowly—I lost track of time, ranch life got better, the rain wasn’t so cold and wet, the work wasn’t so miserable, and the sheep smelled good. But I sure was hungry.
    Later when we brought the sheep up, I had never been so happy and the beans and rice were the best I’d ever eaten.
    At supper that night I even dared to ask Ollie when payday was and, since I knew I’d been there about five months, I also asked about a raise. I didn’t sign on to dig postholes. He looked at me and squinted his eyes. “You okay, kid? You couldn’t be into anything—you must be gettin’ loaded on the smell. Don’t worry about money. God will take care of you.”
    Juan had sneaked five plastic bags—double-bagged to keep the smell down—of that high-grade Mary Jane. I’d stashed it in a Folgers Coffee can in a corner of the manure pile. I figured if I ever got out of there, I’d have something to compensate me for all those postholes. I knew God would take care of me, but I thought Ollie should help.
    I turned my head to see the scared look on Juan’s face and I realized the danger I had put us in with my big mouth. So I just looked as stupid as I was and said, “Smell of what? Sheep shit?”
    And he laughed then. “Got that fence up yet, kid?”
    â€œNot quite,” I smart-alecked back. “Only got about three more stumps to dig out and about forty more postholes to dig.”
    â€œI hope I don’t have to come down there and jumpstart your ass with the toe of my boot.”
    Then he looked over at Carlos. “I’m leavin’ early in the morning—special delivery. I’ll pull the truck around and you two can get it loaded by midnight—so get movin’.”
    â€œKid, you be ready by sunup to load them sheep—use plenty of hay. And when I get home, I better see a long line of postholes—got that?”
    He sneered. “Carlos, it’s all yours. Don’t wear it out—remember, I’ll be back.”
    I went down to the bunkhouse and found the baggie Juan had left for me. I lay in my bunk and smoked. I didn’t hear them come in, but I sure as hell heard that damned bell clanging at the cabin and it was still dark.
    Ollie was gone for two days and a night.
    We all slept in—what luxury. The sheep got fed late; the old ram in a rage nearly tore the fence down. Juan helped me nail it back up.
    â€œThat old son of a bitch is Ollie’s real father. They’ve got exactly the same hateful disposition,” I snarled as each nail was pounded home.
    That tickled Juan. He laughed so hard he couldn’t seem to drive a nail straight and I had to pull all those bent nails. Somehow his hand didn’t look right curled around the handle of that hammer.
    Carlos and Lupe didn’t show until just before