The Feet of God

105 - AN OMEN

I considered how lucky I was not to be choking to death on my own swelling throat, and I was sorta pleased I also managed to wash my clothes and take a bath at the same time.  Plus, the unexpected dip in the waterway had a nice, cooling effect overall.

Presently I noticed a dark green tractor with a small trailer hitched in the back come lumbering down the dirt road in my direction.  I instinctively stuck out a thumb.  The tractor slowed down as it got closer.  I put on my best smile.  The driver looked me over.

“Señor?”

“Si,” I answered.  (I was now getting more comfortable with their native dialect.)

“Master Hector and Master Esteban sent me to find you.”

“That was mighty thoughtful.”  (Now what?)

“They had to meet El Patrón.  So they asked me to escort you off the land.”  He gestured with his chin that I should hop in the little flat-bed attached in the rear.  It gave me pause ‘cause there was a crate sitting there that made a loud buzzing sound.

“Bees?” I asked.

“Si.”

This looked to be my only option.  So I hopped onto the bed next to a crate full of bees, and the tractor started to move us slowly down the narrow dirt lane.

I engaged the man in conversation.

“You from Kooba, too?”

He shook his head.  “Mexico.”

“Ah, Mexico.  I’d sure like to go back there sometime.”

“Si.”

The dude took both hands off the steering wheel and spread his arms wide.  “We are all Mexicanos here.”

“I see.”

“Si.”

“I thought Hector and Esteban left me back there to die.  I’m sure glad you came along just in time.”

“Si.”

“Them boys is quite the caution,” I offered by way of casual conversation.

The mustachioed man expelled a wad of chewing tobacco.  “They are holy terrors spoiled rotten to the core by a rich and powerful family that has been a crime wave through history.”  He spewed another wad of chaw.  “They act like drunken college students on Spring Break.  Always making fun of other people.”

I figured this guy must be a disgruntled employee.  Anyhow, his dislike for the grandsons was probably based on fact.  Some of which I gathered firsthand myself.  But it was none of my business to pry into family affairs.

“Say, your English is pretty good,” I complimented the man.  But he didn’t respond.  We just continued to roll along in silence, except for the noise of the tractor.  The stings was beginning to hurt a lot less, even if the swelling hadn’t much abated.  I prayed them bees remained secure in the crate, while I contented myself with just lay’n there, which comes pretty easy to me.

I must’a dozed off.  Next thing I know I felt a foot in my lower back pushing me off the side of the flat-bed.  I landed on some grass near a paved road, and I was officially off the Cruz plantation.

The man jumped back in the driver’s seat and drove off.  “Vaya con Dios.”

“Mele Kalikimaka,” I gave a thumbs-up.

The grass was actually sorta comforting on my exposed skin.  I thought if I wasn’t trespassing no more I may as well just lay there and meditate on my travels so far.  Taking stock, things wasn’t exactly great at the moment, but then I didn’t expect no damn sparkle pony at the end of the rainbow.  Nope.  But, realistically, I knew in my bones I was hot on the trail of my baby sister.  I was now somewhere in deepest Florida.  I had some money someplace, in a pocket or sock, but someplace.  Couldn’t move so good right now to confirm this, but yeah, I had some dough on me.  And Baby Harmonica’s soggy picture, too.  Things was moving in the right direction, generally speaking, not countin’ the hornet disaster or how damnably hot it was.

I don’t know how long I laid there, or where “there” was.  I could feel the wind of cars and trucks passing by, but people didn’t seem to see me.  Nobody stopped to lend a traveler a helpful hand.

As I laid there splayed on the ground, I figured my head was pointed due south.  I was flat on my belly and the cars on my left headed south too, so maybe that was why they didn’t see me, or maybe they thought I was just a another crime victim who’d been dumped by the road.  Now, if I rolled onto my back and waved that would change their perspective, and they could see I needed help.

With all the effort I could muster I rolled over on my back and lifted my less swollen arm and begun to wave so anyone passing could see me.  It worked.  They did take notice.  Most people honked.  A couple’a truckers let their air-horns blast.  Different people yelled, “Bum.”   Or, “Go home.”   Or, “Get a job.”   Or the ever-popular, “Fuck you, asshole.”

I tried not to get too discouraged, but I was worried.  Besides all them stings and the swelling, I was getting lightheaded.  As I laid there under the midday sun, I started to be concerned about possible sunstroke or dementia.  Almost confirming my precarious mental state, I swear I saw Little Billy flash his naked little butt before disappearing behind some moving bushes.

I prayed this was a good omen.

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