Mañana Means Heaven

Chapter 23.

147 23 By the next evening little Al’s cough had worsened, so Bea went to her parents’ house to see if she could leave him there. “It’ll only be a coupla of nights, mijo.” Little Al understood, and though he was reluctant to be left there again, he knew it was for the best. • For the first time since they’d arrived at the campo, Jack was left alone. He decided to make a fire, so he went out to gather some twigs over by the canal. He walked past the rows of tents, keeping an eye out for anything that might make good kindling. A few rows over he saw a group of men huddled around a bonfire. One of them spotted Jack and motioned to the others. They eyed the gabacho and began whispering in Spanish, loud enough for Jack to know they were talking about him. He hurried back from the canal, wood in hand, and slipped into the tent. He got on his knees, opened the stove’s mouth, crammed the twigs in, and tried lighting it up. The wood was moist and it snapped out loud. Black spurts of smoke rose up, and he inhaled the harsh scent of plum wood. He rubbed his hands together and pulled the pint from his coat pocket and drank, watching the flames slowly rise and lick through the cracks. He polished the last of the whiskey off, and then reached for his notebook and thumbed at the pages. After a minute, he glanced over at the empty bottle. Across the campo he could hear soft voices, children whispering their good-nights in Spanish, then a child’s song echoing, and a mother’s voice carrying a light melody over the snapping of the flames. Jack rested his head on the pillow. Just then a spider scurried over his wrist, and he watched it duck under the canvas before making its escape. Lying there, he thought of Bea and how she’d fare in New York. He could already see her eyes darting to and fro, like all the hungry tourists who saturated Fifth Avenue. Sooner or later, the shape of her body taking on the posture of 148 invincibility that all people get after living in the city for a year. He’d show her the real side of it all. Grab some greasy dogs down on Bleecker, then take her up the narrow stairwell to a friend’s place, show her off, watch them study her like a rare specimen. He could feel his neck loosen up, and his mood lightened at the thought of it. And then there were the kids. He tried picturing how they’d fit into it all.They’d need space for one thing. He was restless. The sound of truck tires rolled over the soft dirt road, and he tucked his notebook away and peeled back the door flap for a look. The vehicle kicked up mud and made its way a few rows over. He could hear the excitement in men’s voices as they piled in. It sounded like a small group of guys revved up for a night on the town. He thought of his friends back in New York, and how, earlier that day, he’d spoken with Carlo over the phone. It felt good to hear his voice. It had been too long, this he was sure of, and he couldn’t wait to return home now, with his new girl on his arm. Suddenly, the idea of spending another week in the fields weighed on him like it hadn’t before. Five days now seemed excessive. They needed the money now. He sat up and decided he needed to find Panzón. • When she arrived at her parents’ house, Jesus was still not home. Her mother helped her tend to little Al’s nagging cough by giving him a tea made of ground ancho, vinegar, and honey. It was an old recipe that she swore by, and so little Al was forced to drink it. Afterward, Bea sat on the living room floor and watched her mother cradle the boy against her warm body and sing to him old songs that Bea remembered from her own youth. Little Al looked content there, tucked against his grandmother. She took notice, and realized she hadn’t seen that look on her son in a long time, that peaceful gaze that sprouted from something so stable...