And Yesterday Is Gone Read Online Free Page B

Ollie was expected back.
    Juan and I scrounged around in that dirty kitchen and located the usual beans and rice, and we found the hiding place where a hen had thought her eggs were secure. So we ate all we wanted, smoked, slept and talked.
    Juan held a shovel while I dug three postholes one day with a posthole digger that I thought had probably been used to help build the pyramids.
    Just before the sun went down behind those tall, dark trees, Ollie drove in, pulled up to the chute and yelled, “Take care of them sheep. Throw a tarp over the truck. I’m dead tired.” Then he walked up to the cabin.
    I smelled food—the first Lupe had fixed since Ollie had gone.
    I was not surprised to see Carlos and Juan walking down the trail, like always—that big dog that slept by Carlos’ bed following like a shadow.
    At the table Ollie was quieter than usual. He turned to me. “Got that fence up, kid?”
    I said, “Sure, Ollie, piece of cake. I pulled another stump, too—and added thirty-five more holes.”
    He looked hard at me, then laughed. “Damn. Sometimes I like you, kid. Any new lambs?”
    â€œNo, but I think one’s pretty close—that old ewe has been up and down all day. I hope she doesn’t have any problems.”
    â€œIf she does, you come up and get Lupe. I’m so tired I don’t know if I can make it into bed. Be sure to check her every few hours.”
    I wondered how or when I was going to get any sleep.
    Then he added, “It was cold in San Francisco and I’m glad to be home. I’ll have a soft pillow to sleep on tonight. How about it, Carlos? Is it still soft?”
    That night I lay there, thinking about that old ewe and couldn’t go to sleep. Hell, she’ll be fine, I told myself and dozed off. Don’t know how long I slept, but I awoke with a start thinking of that ewe.
    Disgusted with myself, I fumbled for the lantern, located a couple of matches in my jeans. After a couple of tries, I got it going, then stepped behind the bunk to look for my jacket. Ma had given me that jacket for Christmas—it had a double-insulated, zippered lining. I hated to wear it out in the rain and anywhere near the crap of the sheep shed, but it was warmer by far than Ollie’s ragged and filthy cast-offs that Lupe had found for me and that hung on me like an overcoat. Besides, I had my “stash”—thirty-eight dollars from my stepfather’s wallet—rolled up the size of a cigarette and securely hidden, pushed up into a seam of that jacket.
    The dog growled, but Carlos never opened his eyes. I knew he was awake.
    I opened the door to the cold black night and hesitated. Hell, she’s had a dozen of ’em. Am I crazy?
    I ducked my head and ran to the lambing shed. Making my way through the sleeping sheep, I found the old ewe, stretched out, all four legs stiffly extended, straining with every contraction. I could see one little leg and what appeared to be an ear, bulging with every effort, but nothing was happening. I knew that both the ewe and lamb would be dead in the morning. I weighed that thought against the hell I was going to catch if I woke Ollie.
    I couldn’t stand to see the agonizing attempts of the old ewe straining to deliver a lamb that was never going to come without help.
    Ollie had said to call Lupe. I ran up the path—the long shirt flapping behind me—hoping, praying she would be in her own bed.
    I knocked frantically at the kitchen window. Nothing happened. I was desperate as I moved to the door and knocked again. Suddenly the door was flung open. Ollie stood there in his shorts with a double- barreled shotgun in my face.
    â€œOllie,” I screamed, “it’s me. It’s me.”
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing up here? You’re lucky I didn’t blow your brainless head off. It’s the middle of the night—what the hell do you want?”
    â€œIt’s that ewe.