The white van came to a stop on the blacktop of State Highway 70. Jose crawled out with his canvas sack and shut the door behind him. He gave a wave to his driver as the van pulled away. The drone of the engine quieted and it was dark again. He watched the taillights vanish into the void.
The sugarcane smoke seemed to linger in the air. A moon had passed since the last burn. He filled the smell into his nostrils and shouldered his sack and walked down the dirt lane.
Summer was reaching apex and the night was warm. His clothes grew damp and stuck to his back as he walked under the gentle moonlight. The humming began and he knew that the mosquitos had found him already, even while he walked. He swatted at his head when they crescendoed.
The parallel canals he walked along were placid in obedience of the moon. He stopped, went to the edge, and looked into the ink, kicking some of the dirt down the embankment and watching the surface ripple. It settled and he saw the moon. He turned his gaze away from the reflection and to its origin. The mosquitoes serenaded him and he left the bank and continued forward, drawn by the light.
A waxing crescent. The same moon as back home. He remembered her laugh and the way they would hold each other and the shine of the pale light upon her face. They would run through the agave fields and sit down by the tracks to watch the train cars rumble by in the night. A time long gone. Jose sighed and walked onward.
He heard the rumble before he saw it. Down at the edge of the last draw, coming from the tree line, a big rig loped through the canals. A late harvest. It was coming straight for him, moving on the bumpy dirt. Jose got down from the crossroads he stood upon and stumbled down the bank of the canal, keeping low. His feet lay submerged and the insects ate. He remembered the boat and the sway of it and the dance of the water.
The truck tumbled past and the cab was dark. He could see nothing. The truck went by and the cloud of dust behind it dimmed its lights and then it faded on into the night. He crawled out from the bank in his sloshing shoes and dusted the loose sand from his work pants. He continued to walk down the lane.
The cane field was long and orderly. The little locks and their gatehouses greeted him every few hundred yards and he tried each door after looking into their ancient windows. None opened and he would continue on his march and repeat. And then he reached the tree line.
He entered the orange grove, finding respite from the warm night. The leaves and branches made shade even in the absence of light and he bathed in their cool darkness. The fruit still hung heavy on the trees. He picked an orange from a branch and sat down on the loose earth, propping his back against the trunk. Biting into the rind with his teeth, he then peeled around the flesh with his thumbs, removing pith and peel. He ate each segment one at a time while airing his body with the front of his shirt, pumping in and out. The juices ran down his face and neck and he used the old sack to wipe it off. He finished the orange and walked back out of the grove and to the nearest small canal, lowering himself down and then washing the tack from his upper body and arms. He brought the tepid water to his neck and around his hair and bathed lightly. After staring at his visage for some time, he came out of the ditch and walked back through the grove. Jose kept his head down and watched his feet for the oranges. Fruit lay broken and rotting on the ground and he could hear the small animals up ahead scatter into the other rows as he made his way through the orchard. The branches would rustle ahead of him and orbs would fall to a stop as he broke the silence. He would stop and wait and listen and sense nothing but the weight of unknown eyes.
The grove ended and he came to an open clearing. He ate another orange while seated on the ground and looked over the field. A house was at the far end, a few dim flood lights on. He could barely see it but he knew it was there. There was a small shed opposite the house in the back corner of the clearing and another small cabin up against the dirt drive, closer to where he was. No lights were on. He began walking along the edge of the grove and scanning the ground. He came upon the small saw palmetto and felt along it, moving his fingers with the serrated edges. Then he moved the other way and drew blood, cursing himself, and felt the citrus work its way inside of him. He sucked the finger and cursed himself again, then pulled out his sack and donned his gloves.
He was efficient. He pulled the dark berries out from the heart of the plant one at a time and placed them in his sack. When he felt and saw that there were no more berries on the plant, he stood up, stretched his back, and bent down to the next one and continued the work. He worked down the whole line along the edge of the orchard until he reached the dirt drive near the cabin. The moon was moving through the sky and his sack began to fill. He sat down by the point where the orchard and the road met and looked down into the sack and felt around the berries with his fingers.
He breathed in their sweet smell and held them close, rocking to himself and watching the moon. It sneered at him and he gathered himself up and crossed the dirt road near the cabin. He went on with his work sitting by the palms in industrious prayer until he heard the click behind him and slowly raised his hands while getting up.
“You FDACS?”
Jose said nothing.
“Motherfucker, you FDACS? Turn around.”
He continued to stare into the dark orchard in front of him until he felt the cool barrel of the gun press against his neck. He raised his hands and then slowly turned around with his sack on the ground at his feet.
“Oh.” The man lowered the gun and looked at Jose. He stared at his muddy boots and dusty work pants and up to his tattered T-shirt. His hair was cropped close and the sweat ran down from his temples and mingled with the dried orange juice on his lips. His hands shook with terror and his young face was pale even in the darkness. “You can put them hands down. Come on, put ‘em down, hermano.”
Jose lowered them slowly and glanced down at his sack. The other man swung his backpack around and opened it up, showing Jose its contents. Jose looked down into the bag of berries and back up at the man.
“I’m here for the berries too.”
“Bayas?”
“Sí, sí, hermano. Bayas de palmetto.” Jose bent down and picked up the sack. “Sorry for puttin’ the gun on your neck. I thought you was FDACS.”
“FDACS?”
“Yeah. Permit. Permissio de goberno. Necesitas.”
“Ah, sí.”
“Else they’ll fuck you up. Big time. I know you wouldn’t want to get caught out here. No way.”
Jose smiled at him and took his hand and shook it. “Hola.”
“Hola, hola. Where you come from?”
“Hm?”
“De donde?”
Jose pointed out beyond the road and to the orchard he had walked through.
“No, no, no. De donde nacional?”
“Ah, sí, sí, México.”
“Yeah, you look it, hermano. Sorry again bout the gun.” Jose stared at the man in the darkness. He was also wearing work pants and boots and his light beard was patchy. The sores on his face flanked his broad smile. “Come on, aquí.” Jose shrugged and followed the man through the field. He stepped over clumps of cut grass and walked between the phantom cutouts, targets on their heads. The specters whispered to him in the low light and he saw their dim faces stare at him in stoic surprise. When they reached the cabin, they sat down on the small wooden porch and looked out over the field together.
“Cerveza?”
“Por favor.”
“Bueno. Gimme a second,” the man said. He got up and opened the door to the cabin and then came back out with two long-necked bottles of beer. He twisted both open and handed Jose one and sat back down next to him, sipping long and then sighing to himself. “Shit, hermano. Thirsty work.”
“Qué?”
“Mucho trabajo.”
“Ah, sí, sí”
They sat and drank and stared up at the stars and moon, sharing the silent night with each other. Jose offered the man an orange from his sack. He shrugged and took it.
“Gracias, hermano. Best to eat before, anyways.” He sat and peeled it and ate it along with the dregs of the beer. Jose glanced around the porch and back at the ajar door.
“Tu casa?”
“Casa?” The man laughed. “Nah, this ain’t my house. I’m out here for them berries just like you. They got ‘em good along their land here. I know you know that though, otherwise you’d not be here.”
“Qué?”
“Bueno terra. No mi casa. No mi terra.”
“Ah, sí.”
“A man and woman live over there in that big house. They got the best palms in the state right here just as you know it. How you hear? Thought I kept it secret. Of course FDACS knows. They’re always lookin for us. Motherfuckin’ bastards.”
Jose smiled at him.
“How? Como? Como find la terra?” He pointed out to the field and along the groves.
“Mm, mm, sí. Mi amigo.”
“Your amigo. Hm. Heard. Need a new spot. Hard to not come back here.”
He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and offered one to Jose, who took it. The man lit his own and then held the lighter up to Jose’s face and watched the orange glow on his mustache and brown eyes. He puffed in and out and got the cigarette lit and then they both scooted back on the porch, leaning against the wall of the cabin with their legs spread out in front of them.
“I been coming here for a long time.” The man blew out blue smoke. “They got to know by now. They just got to. I know they harvest the berries theyselves. They pushing up their own harvest each year to try and beat me. But I try to get out earlier. Of course they buddy fucking buddy with FDACS and the sheriff and tip ‘em off this time of year. That’s why you spooked me so much.”
“Money?” Jose clapped his fingers and thumb together.
“How much I make? It’s true. What you heard is true. If I don’t get at least ten big ones from one night’s gatherin’ then I’m surprised. Maybe a little let down. Money is money, though, sure enough.”
“Big ones?”
“Dolares. Diez uno oh oh oh.” He made a circle with his hand and punctuated it as he spoke. “Diez uno oh oh oh. Thousand.”
“Thousand. Mil?”
“You bet your ass I wish it were a million. I’ll take what I can get.”
Jose nodded at him, holding his sack closer.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry. I won’t take nothin’ from you. Plenty to go around.” The man nodded to another sack of his own at the edge of the porch, lumpy and full. “I just can’t stop from coming back here. These folk leave this cabin unlocked all year long. Sometimes I’ll even come when it ain’t harvestin’ time. Nice to get out and away. I’m just out by mornin’. That fella shoots up a storm on those targets almost every mornin’ and I’m not tryin’ to be here for him to find me when he does.”
Jose smiled at him and nodded in understanding.
The cabin door behind them creaked and Jose jumped. and a small woman walked out.
“Hey there, honey. You get a nice nap?”
“Mhm.”
“This here’s my girl.”
Jose nodded and smiled at her. She wore thin overalls and her lanky hair hung low, the thin strands gracing the sores of her face.
“Howdy. You pickin’ them berries too?”
“Bayas, honey. She meant the bayas,” the man said to Jose.
“Sí, sí. Las bayas.” Jose held up his sack and showed its hanging weight to the two of them. “Muchas bayas.” He grinned wide and the woman giggled.
“He’s funny.” She sat down by the man with her arm around his backside. “Where you from?” she said to him.
“México, honey. He’s from México. Just out tryna catch a buck just like us.” The man winked at Jose and Jose laughed, pointing behind his back.
“Mexico. I come.”
“Oh, I’d just love to go there someday. Think we can go there someday, baby?”
“Sure, sure. We’ll get there. Don’t you worry none.”
“I ain’t worryin’. You know me. I ain’t a worrier.”
Jose watched the two of them talk while he finished the beer and set it down beside him on the porch.
“Baby, I’m jonesin’.”
“Go ahead then, you’re the one that has it.”
“Oh. I forgot.” She reached into the pocket on the chest of her overalls and pulled out the little glass tube. Jose saw it in the moonlight and saw that it was black and reflected the tiny moon within it. The man handed the lighter to the woman and she lit it and held it up to the ball at the end of pipe. The orange flames licked about the glass and spilled over the sides. She held it there for some time before thin smoke poured out of the end and she inhaled from it and then breathed out. She coughed and handed the pipe to the man. He did the same and the two sat there for a minute before doing it again. Then they offered it to Jose. He could smell the burning chemicals and turned his nose away while nodding.
“No, gracias.”
“More for us, compadre.”
The two sat and laughed, burying their heads into each other’s torsos, hiding their faces and kissing. Jose looked away at the moon and peeled the beer label with his thumbs. He looked out over the field and at the haunted specters there and he looked back over to the tree line and imagined all the berries among the fronds.
“We takin’ the train back up after this, darlin’?”
“Sure are. Just gotta find the right one to hop up on.”
“You always know the right one.”
“Never been caught yet have we?”
“Nope.”
“You think your folks’d take us in for the winter?”
“Aw baby, hell nah.”
“Fuckin’ hell.”
“You know they don’t like me no more. Daddy said he see you he’ll put a bullet ‘tween your eyes.”
“I know it. Figured I’d ask. You know we got that connect up there and we’re gettin’ close to bein’ out.”
“You don’t know no one down here?”
“I just come down here for them berries, you know I never made no friends.”
She sighed. “We’ll hitch up there soon suppose but we’ll just steer clear of my folks.”
“Alright hon.”
“I just need you.”
“Same, baby, same.”
They sat and scratched themselves and fidgeted about the porch floor, rubbing their hands on their thighs, silence melting into the night.
“You alright, muchacho?” The man turned his gaze back over to Jose.
“Qué?”
“All bueno?”
“Sí, sí.”
“Darlin,” the woman said to the man, “you’re bleedin’.”
“Aw fuck, not again.” She took a dirty rag out of her pants pocket and wiped the blood off of the man’s face and then wet it with her mouth and did it again. She wiped the rag on her overalls and then held it up against the man’s face.
“Now quit pickin’.”
“Speak for yourself, hon.”
She smiled at him and continued to hold it there.
“You got any surprises for me this time?” ahe asked him.
The man turned to Jose and said, “This is the first time I bring her out here. Always done this alone before this time.”
“It’s fun,” she said, the moonlight shimmering in her wide dilated eyes.
“Them folks always keep their shit unlocked, like I was tellin’ you before,” he said to Jose. “How abouts we go check out what’s in that fucker’s big ass truck? He always keeps some fun toys in there. Little cash, maybe something else. Like to bring my girl back something, souvenir from my time down here.”
“Fun,” she said. Jose just smiled at them both.
The woman brought out the pipe again from her breast pocket and the two smoked some more. They laughed and coughed and laughed again.
“I just want to howl at the goddamn moon,” the man said. The woman snarled into his neck.
“Do it, baby, do it. Howl. I wanna hear you howl.”
“Nah, nah, nah, honey. We can’t wake ‘em up none.”
“Oh, right, right. Later. We’ll howl later.”
“That’s right. You ready to go check out this truck?”
“Sure, baby, sure.”
“What about you, hermano?”
“Qué?”
“El carro.”
“Okey.”
The two of them got up and went into the cabin. Jose stood up and looked about the porch and through the dark window. He brushed the wrinkles out of his pants and waited. He heard their murmurs and moans and they came out a few minutes later with the woman wiping her face.
“Sorry, buddy. You know how it goes.”
Jose nodded at him and shrugged and then looked back up at the glowing moon.
“Come, vamanos.”
The man led the woman by her hand off the porch and along the dirt road. Jose picked up his sack and followed behind them and they crawled in the darkness closer to the big house. The night sky was losing its ink and far to the east the stars were beginning to fade. Jose could see the bulge of the man’s gun behind his sweat stained shirt, wedged there in his pants.
She clung to his arm now and as they walked closer to the house the floodlights showered the grounds with white light. They moved to the other side of the road and hugged the safety of shadow before crouching down on the dirt and surveying the small estate. It was a ranch house. The roof was angled low and the brick spread out wide on either side. The big pickup truck was parked in front of it in the dirt driveway. Little light posts in the grass framed the stone walkway and Jose followed it up with his eyes to the front door. There were rocking chairs on the porch and plants hanging from the ceiling. They scanned the house and the lights were dead in the early morning darkness. All was still. The man began to talk to them in a low, hoarse voice.
“Ok, let’s go ahead and creep up to the truck. Be real quiet. Don’t know if they up or not. Don’t close the car doors. Don’t want them hearin’ nothing slammin’. Okay?”
“Okay, baby.” They kissed.
“Muchacho?”
“Qué?”
“Driver seat. Can you sit in the driver seat while me and my girl look around in the car?” Jose stared at him. The man mimicked turning a steering wheel with his right hand, squatted down lower in his seat, and gave Jose a thumbs up. “Bueno?”
“Bueno,” Jose said, nodding at him.
The three of them crept to the car. Jose opened up the driver door and crawled inside. The man opened the back door for the woman before going to the passenger door to let himself in. Jose closed his door and the other two looked at him under the glare of the truck’s interior light. All was quiet.
“Jesus, man. What I say about closing the doors? Fuck.”
They waited. Nothing. After a few minutes the man exhaled and reached his arm around and squeezed the woman’s thigh. “Goddamn, I think we’re good.”
The couple began to root around the inside of the car, opening compartments and glove box and checking down in cup holders. They murmured to themselves and exalted in the small prizes they had found. Jose sat in the driver’s seat and watched the dark house loom over them. The car keys lay on the dash and he picked them up and looked at them. They had the car key and a brass key and various smaller ones. They shimmered in the cab’s little light. There also was a small metal disc coupled on the chain that had a rifle embossed on it. Jose stared at it and traced its contours with his fingers.
A light turned on in the house.
The window next to the front door became yellow.
“Hermano,” Jose said, slapping the man’s thigh.
“Oh fuck.”
A large man opened the front door and stepped into the frame.
“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice bellowed across the yard. A mastiff barreled out from behind him, jumping down the steps into the walkway.
The man pulled the pistol from behind his back, stuck his hand out of the door, and fired.
“Drive, motherfucker, drive!”
Jose shoved the keys into the ignition and the truck roared to life. His companions slammed their doors and he reversed down the driveway, the thud of the mastiff lifting the rear of the truck up. They heard the yelp as the truck careened into the road. The large man was crouched on the ground, grasping his thigh. He then pulled out a handgun.
“Go, go, go!”
The woman wailed in the back seat. Jose switched the transmission to drive and the tires spun on the dirt before gaining traction and bolting down the road. Only the sound of bullets exploding on the frame broke the growl of the engine. The sound of a woman’s scream echoed across the land as they thundered past the tree line and on to the road out of the orchard.
Jose took them down the county road and to the state highway. The man and woman consoled each other across the center console.
“You ain’t hurt, are you baby?” the woman said.
“Nah, nah, nah. I got that bastard though. Look at my hand.” He held up his hand to her and they watched it shake. “God fuckin’ dammit. You better drive, boy, them cops will be comin’ soon. Drive!”
Jose nodded and a tear rolled down his face as he pressed into the gas pedal.
Sunrise had come. Long streaks of yellow and blue spread across the sky as he drove the truck east. They passed sugar fields and orchards, row after row, canal after canal. The man stared outside of his window and the woman sobbed in the back. Jose watched the big rigs pass by in the early morning light, zooming past his face. Up ahead he saw the white van and slammed on the brakes, beginning to roll his window down.
“What the fuck you doing, beaner? Keep fuckin’ goin, why the fuck you slowin’ down? Huh? Go!” The man pointed down the road with his left hand and Jose glanced down to the man’s lap. He held the pistol there, resting on top of his legs, his hand still around the trigger. Jose pulled back out of the shoulder, rolled his window up, and watched the white van drive past them. The trees and fields grew sparse and they entered a town.
“Slow down, muchacho, slow down.” He lowered his hand down a few times, looking at Jose. Jose slowed the car as they passed a school and some restaurants. “Don’t want to draw no attention to us.” The man reached his hand behind the seat.
“You okay, baby?”
“Mhm.” She pulled an overall strap up to her face and wiped some tears away. The man handed her a dirty rag from his pocket. “Here.” She took it and blew her nose into it, coughed, and wiped away the rest of her tears.
“Thanks, baby.” She mustered a smile at him. Jose kept his eyes glued on the road, and as they passed through the vestiges of the town, he pressed on the pedal deeper again. They roared down the highway.
“Here, turn here,” the man in the passenger seat said to Jose. He pointed with his thumb to the right side of the truck as they came to an intersection. Jose slammed on the brakes and curved them around over the yellow lines, straightening out as the car regained its speed. The road followed a green dike, a thin lane of water between them and the hill. Houses on stilts were beside them, their colorful sidings reflecting the sunrise. Their lots were large and big palm trees framed their land. Boats sat moored on trailers in driveways and men and women enjoying coffee on their porches stared as the truck sped down the road. Jose watched them stare back after him in the rear and side view mirrors and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.
They left the houses and returned to farmland, the canal along the dike having disappeared. He could feel the immense presence held behind it. An unearthly power restrained only by soil and grass.
“Pull off here,” the man said to Jose, pointing to a small parking lot up ahead to the right. Jose followed his fingers and pulled the truck into a spot. The engine lingered.
Jose looked down into the man’s lap and the man followed his eyes and looked back up at him.
“Get out of the car.”
Jose stared back at him, the sweat running down his face, his shirt soaked through.
“Get out,” the man said again, nodding with his head to Jose’s side of the truck. Jose put the truck in park, grabbed his sack from between his legs, and got out of the car. The man got out of the passenger side and walked around the front with the gun pointed at Jose. “Get to the back of the truck.” The man walked forward with the gun still out straight and Jose backed up until he reached the rear of the truck.
“Take the license plate off.”
“Qué?”
The man pointed to the license plate, the two Florida oranges sneering up at Jose, and gestured to him to rip it off the car. Jose set his sack on the ground and pulled up at the bottom of the plate, the top screws holding it in place. The plate bent but would not come off.
“Honey,” the man said. The woman crawled out of the car and walked to the man. “Get the toolbox you found in the cab and get our friend a pair of pliers.”
She went into the car and came back a minute later with pliers. Jose took them and worked on the plate until it had been mangled and cut off the back of the truck.
“Good. Gracias, hermano.” The man smiled big at Jose, his yellow and black teeth shining down upon him. “Get up.” He gestured with the gun toward the dike.
Jose grabbed his sack from the ground and walked down the path and up to the dike, the metal plate in his other hand. The man and woman followed behind him, the gun pointed at his back. They walked up the hill and reached the top and the great expanse greeted them. The lake went on into the horizon. Wind flapped at their clothes.
“Keep walkin’,” the man said to him.
“Yeah, keep walkin’!” the woman said, sneering at him. They continued down the dirt path on top of the dike as the gray waves lapped below them upon the rocks.
“Stop,” the man said. Jose stopped. “Turn around.”
“Get him, baby.” She giggled.
Jose stood in place until the man clapped his hands twice. He turned around and faced them, the sack in his hands and swinging in the wind. His eyes were wet and red.
“Throw the plate in the water.” The man showed him what to do with his body. Jose took the license plate and flicked it out into the abyss, the metal cutting through the wind before diving down into the water.
“Now gimme them berries. Las boyas.” The man gestured with his hand. Jose walked up and handed him the sack.
“Real sorry to do this to you, hermano. You seem nice.” The man held up the sack, opened it, and looked inside.
“We left ours back out there at that cabin. I can’t come all the ways down here in the summer for nothin.”
Jose watched him and the woman clung to the man’s arm.
“We can’t stay with her folks none this winter, and, well, my gal here wants to go to México. Just really hate to do this to you.”
The man sighed and shook his head.
“So long, hermano.” The two walked backward along the dike path, gun pointed at Jose. Jose stood in place, the wind flapping at his work pants.
Jose watched them reach the truck, reverse, and barrel out of the parking lot and onto the road. He looked out at the lake. A black cormorant dove down into the depths. He wiped his tears on his wrist and began to walk down the dike.
