The Last Shepherd

21. HOGEITA BAT

| 121 »« Aitatxi told me that he built the ranch house in 1932. “Sure, no,” he said. “I build up with own hand.” We were in the barn making the frame for a go-kart like the one Rich Clausen had. Rich got his go-kart from K-mart, already assembled. And his go-kart was made of steel, not wood, and had an engine that went over twenty miles an hour. To get my go-kart going, I’d have to push it up the hill behind the barn and let gravity supply the momentum for the bumpy ride down. And although my go-kart was not nearly as cool as Rich’s, I wanted it, and so was willing to listen to whatever Aitatxi went on about. Aitatxi and Amatxi arrived in America in 1931, two years after the stock market crash. I don’t know why my grandparents left France to come to a country in the middle of the Great Depression. Or what the two-week ship voyage over was like: What did they eat? Where did they sleep? I could have asked Aitatxi how he felt when he first spotted the Statue of Liberty. Or what he saw on the train ride from New York to Arizona. But I didn’t think to. And even if I had, I wouldn’t have wanted to ask. I was eleven. And the only thing I wanted was for Aitatxi to finish my go-kart so I could be racing down the slope, wind in my face, barely in control. I didn’t know that there would be other things I’d want later. My eleven-year-old world was made of right now. “Later” was a term that adults used to keep me from getting what I wanted in the present. And so I was unaware that something that happened before I existed could last longer than the go-kart I would later crash into the base of the pasture’s oak tree. Aitatxi removed the rubber tires from an old lawnmower and put them on the frame as he was going on about a cousin who’d run sheep down in 21 h o g e i ta b at | 122« » Tucson. This cousin let Aitatxi borrow some sheep to get his own flock started. “I get land, no one they want,” Aitatxi said. “Sure, no, peoples, they think land, it no good because it no flat and look like it no have water. Think I stupid man with my sheeps.” “I want it to go fast,” I said as Aitatxi searched through a pile of tractor parts for something he could use for a steering wheel. “Baina I dig well,” Aitatxi said. “Find urepel—warm water just like home. And sheeps, they no care land no flat. They like climb. Make wool for shirt and pant—peoples they no like being naked all time.” Then Aitatxi talked about how he had to build an extra room on the house when Dad was born. “Sure, no, he a bit of surprise.” “How come it’s taking you so long?” I asked. “I build right, for you,” Aitatxi said. “Does it have to take forever?” “When I build house,” Aitatxi said. “It take me ten month.” “You should have just bought a house that was already built.” “If I do that, it no be my home.” Aitatxi pointed to the go-kart. I climbed inside. “How it is?” “I can’t straighten my legs,” I said. “And the seat’s all hard.” I got out, and Aitatxi used a pair of pliers to loosen a bolt and remove the seat. Then he wrapped it in a towel and used duct tape to cover the seat before repositioning it for more legroom. I climbed back inside. “Steering wheel’s too low.” Aitatxi adjusted the height. I stretched out my legs, gripped the steering wheel, and bounced on the seat. “Cool,” I said. “Sure, no,” Aitatxi said as he oiled the go-kart’s axle. “That because I make for you. You no can buy house is like that.” But I was no longer listening—already pushing the go-kart out of the barn, having gotten what I wanted. As I walked up the slope toward Gorrienea, blood dripping from my elbow, I wondered if I would get what I wanted again. And if I did, would | 123...