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Show THE ZEPHYR/FEBRUARY-MARCH Enos looked up, stared at Lester for a second or two, his blue eyes steady. He’d had enough of the “old man” stuff, that was plain enough. He put he turnip away and stepped into the cab. Lester yelled, “Hey, I asked you the time.” He cursed and threw out more insults J can’t remember and then he jumped up on the flatbed and banged on the cab roof. Enos got out of the cab, but not to pay Lester any mind. He hooked a bale that was almost hidden 2008 “Yeah, whelps. That’s exactly what he said. You know, teenage pups.” I pulled up to the bales Enos had collected. Lester was being thoughtful, looking through the windshield where the sun glared, showing up every nick in the glass. He smoothed out his bandana, . taking his time, put it on, not saying anything. I got out and went for a bale. Enos stayed quiet, Lester too. I drove the truck. Wasn’t long before we had another load. I grabbed a water bag and handed it to Lester, but hung onto it for a couple beats so he could see dana sweat band and a hay hook in each hand, damned if Lester didn?t look like a mean me staring hard at him, trying my best to send him a message. Then I let go and Lester unscrewed the top and started to tip the bag up to take a drink, but then he lowered it and handed it to Enos. Enos gave that some thought, then grabbed the bag, shook it, made it gurgle, took a long drink, handed it back to Lester and wiped his mouth and adjusted his hat. Lester wiped his mouth with a sleeve and drank. I took my turn. From all around the only sounds were the damned raspy music of the grasshoppers. I noticed the sun was low. We'd broken the back of the day. Enos took out the turnip. Lester didn’t ask, neither did I. Enos took a quick look at the old pirate. Well, Enos had hooks in his hands too, his face shadowed by his Stetson, but I time, snapped the lid shut, said, “Ten to four.” in the un-mowed swamp edge. Lester, quick as a cat, slid to the ground and reached in under the steering wheel and opened the hand throttle. He stepped back, barely in time. The truck gave a jump. It was like itd waked up, decided it didn?t want anything more to do with us. Enos stood up from his bale, saw what was going on, made as if to chase the truck, then changed his mind. He tipped his head sidewise at Lester, meaning, “It’s all yours.” Lester shook his head. He was wearing a white dress shirt hand-me-down, all streaked and smeared with dust and sweat, but it still passed for white and what with his red ban- could see the red-veined tightness over the bridge of his nose, and his eyes squinted, his mouth thin and dry. I was thinking it was strange, how I’d been working with him day after day and hadn’t taken a real steady look at him. And a thought struck me, Lester and me would be old, if we lived long enough. That time might come. Not a new idea, but just then it had me paying sharp attention to Enos. To Lester too, to just about everything, the heat and the mountains lost in haze and the singing of the damned grasshoppers. It woke me up. I saw I'd better do something. And a thought struck me, This piece is taken from Martin's new novella, “Lester and Me,” Packrat Books, 2007. gue Tex's RIVERWAYS | Wey3-D oon RIVER VISIONS, Lester and me would be old, if we lived long enough. That time might come Shuttle Service Jetboat Tours Tex's Riverways is in a state of suspended animation while we recover from last year's season. But by March, we'll be up and running again. The truck saved me the trouble. It let out a squeal, its left rear wheel was digging away at the bottom of a dip in the ground. The wheel found new traction and gave the truck a big lurch and climbed out onto the level and met a bale and straddled it and shuddered and Lester said, “Look at that, humpin’ that bale.” The truck broke the bale and went on, veering left, headed on a bee-line for the hands on his belt, said, “Lester, my boy, Lester didn’t like “my boy,” that was handy. Besides, that truck was headed ©2722 Cutfittr Canoe Outtitting swamp. Enos laid his hooks on a bale, hung both it’s all yours.” clear enough, but he didn’t have any come-back for disaster. Lester took off, running. I followed him, caught up and got ahead of him and threw my hooks in the cab, jumped in, hit the brake. The motor bucked and choked itself off, its nose up against a solid strip of sedges and beyond that, cattails and black water. I backed the truck out. Lester got into the cab. I said, “You?re crazy.” He took off his headband and mopped his face. He asked me how far I thought the truck might have sunk. “Take a tractor or a team to pull it out,” I said, “but it wouldn’t matter. First thing Harker’d do is lay us off.” why? “Not you, Sandy. Just me. My fault.” “You damn dummy,” I said. “Harker’s been keepin’ an eye on us.” I started the truck, headed back to where Enos was bringing in bales, piling them in one heap. Lester said, “What the hell you talkin’ about?” “Ym talkin’ about what I heard Harker tell one of the balers, saying he’d gotten stuck with a couple of whelps.” “Whelps?” eg See. (CQ) 435.260.8011 CH) 435.259.2359 kelly@moabproperties.com Is that ol’ Willie the Shake peaking into our ad?? PO Box 67 691 North 500 West Moab, UT 84532 435.259.5101 info@texsriverways.com www.texsriverways.com Peo eS Cea doesn;’t seem like a condo 150 EAST CENTER ST. MOAB, UT 84532 435.299.5693 FAX: 259.5930 www.moabproperties.com Sea To be... or not to be... S ANTHON MASO ” (CQ) 439.260.2374 anthony@moabproperties.com } |