that long. In the short time I’d been back, I felt like I recognized every face on the street. Like I never left. But I did leave. I knew the faces and the names, but I didn’t know the people anymore.
Buck Buck and Snout Buckley. Buck Buck was a year ahead of me, Snout a year behind. They came from a good farming family and appeared to have accepted their fate with ease. They looked like I remembered them only more so, thirty pounds apiece mostly around the midsection.
It was obvious that they spent their lives outdoors, their skin tan to leather. Buck Buck had always been the leader of the two. He smiled more than he should, often to the point of pissing people off. And Snout—well, he didn’t get the name because he had big ears. Although he also had big ears. But his nose was glorious, starting at the middle of his forehead and making its way to his upper lip. His face was aging into his nose well, giving him a stately appearance. He could be on a nickel.
“Hey, Jimmy,” they said in unison. They turned back to the gopher.
“You’re going to burn it, dumbshit,” Snout yelled at Buck Buck, reaching for the spit. “Let me do it.”
Buck Buck slapped the back of his hand like an Italian mother.
Bobby squinted at the field. “Anything I should know about?”
“You got a low spot on that southeast corner. It’s either going to flood or not get water,” Buck Buck answered, concentrating on the slow-turning rodent.
“Yeah. Scrap land. Thirty-five good acres and five crap. Got to eventually get it retiled, leveled. Thanks for doing this. I owe you.”
“No, you don’t.” Buck Buck smiled. “I’m baling hay in a couple of nights, and it just so happens I need a couple of strong, young men like yourselves.”
Bobby looked the question at me. I nodded. I’ve always liked hard work.
“Just give me a holler and we’ll be there,” Bobby answered.
Snout leaned into the fire, trying to smell the singed gopher. He looked up. “You want some? I think it’s done.”
I answered, walking back to the Ranchero. “That’s okay. I had gopher for lunch.”
“You go down to Mexicali much?” I asked as we neared Calexico. The millions of stars in the sky dissolved in the artificial glow of Mexicali.
“After the divorce, I was down here all the time. Too much, probably. Bad as I was at being a husband and father, I missed it when they were gone. I’m not so good at change. Guy like me, take away the wife and kids, and I’m trouble on a stick.”
“And lately?”
“Maybe once a month. When I’m in the mood for Chinese or I need to get something reupholstered, you know. Not so much for the drinking and ladies.” Bobby smiled as if that wasn’t the whole truth.
But it was no joke that Mexicali had some of the best Chinese restaurants. La Chinesca, Mexicali’s Chinatown, was one of the largest in Latin America, and the fusion complemented the cuisine. Shark fin tacos and chorizo chow mein.
“Mexicali the same as I remember?”
“I don’t know how you remember it, but the answer is no. Don’t you read the papers? Mexico is all fucked up. Got to flip to the back pages. That’s where they put news about Mexico. It’s way worse. It’s always been a shithole, right? But in a totally different way. Maybe we didn’t notice it, but with drugs and illegals and the maquiladoras —them’s the factories along the border.”
“Yeah, I know. They were here when I left,” I said.
Bobby continued. “They had that ‘Operation Gatekeeper’ up in SD. Alls it did was move the shit east. Move it into the desert. Made it more dangerouser for the illegals. But shit, San Diego got the votes, right? They’re happy ’cause the wetbacks ain’t a problem no more. Same time, we’re scraping bodies off the hardpack. People can be fucking dicks. Their idea of taking out the garbage is probably dumping their trash on their neighbor’s lawn and congratulating themselves for a job well done.
“It’s
Buck Buck and Snout Buckley. Buck Buck was a year ahead of me, Snout a year behind. They came from a good farming family and appeared to have accepted their fate with ease. They looked like I remembered them only more so, thirty pounds apiece mostly around the midsection.
It was obvious that they spent their lives outdoors, their skin tan to leather. Buck Buck had always been the leader of the two. He smiled more than he should, often to the point of pissing people off. And Snout—well, he didn’t get the name because he had big ears. Although he also had big ears. But his nose was glorious, starting at the middle of his forehead and making its way to his upper lip. His face was aging into his nose well, giving him a stately appearance. He could be on a nickel.
“Hey, Jimmy,” they said in unison. They turned back to the gopher.
“You’re going to burn it, dumbshit,” Snout yelled at Buck Buck, reaching for the spit. “Let me do it.”
Buck Buck slapped the back of his hand like an Italian mother.
Bobby squinted at the field. “Anything I should know about?”
“You got a low spot on that southeast corner. It’s either going to flood or not get water,” Buck Buck answered, concentrating on the slow-turning rodent.
“Yeah. Scrap land. Thirty-five good acres and five crap. Got to eventually get it retiled, leveled. Thanks for doing this. I owe you.”
“No, you don’t.” Buck Buck smiled. “I’m baling hay in a couple of nights, and it just so happens I need a couple of strong, young men like yourselves.”
Bobby looked the question at me. I nodded. I’ve always liked hard work.
“Just give me a holler and we’ll be there,” Bobby answered.
Snout leaned into the fire, trying to smell the singed gopher. He looked up. “You want some? I think it’s done.”
I answered, walking back to the Ranchero. “That’s okay. I had gopher for lunch.”
“You go down to Mexicali much?” I asked as we neared Calexico. The millions of stars in the sky dissolved in the artificial glow of Mexicali.
“After the divorce, I was down here all the time. Too much, probably. Bad as I was at being a husband and father, I missed it when they were gone. I’m not so good at change. Guy like me, take away the wife and kids, and I’m trouble on a stick.”
“And lately?”
“Maybe once a month. When I’m in the mood for Chinese or I need to get something reupholstered, you know. Not so much for the drinking and ladies.” Bobby smiled as if that wasn’t the whole truth.
But it was no joke that Mexicali had some of the best Chinese restaurants. La Chinesca, Mexicali’s Chinatown, was one of the largest in Latin America, and the fusion complemented the cuisine. Shark fin tacos and chorizo chow mein.
“Mexicali the same as I remember?”
“I don’t know how you remember it, but the answer is no. Don’t you read the papers? Mexico is all fucked up. Got to flip to the back pages. That’s where they put news about Mexico. It’s way worse. It’s always been a shithole, right? But in a totally different way. Maybe we didn’t notice it, but with drugs and illegals and the maquiladoras —them’s the factories along the border.”
“Yeah, I know. They were here when I left,” I said.
Bobby continued. “They had that ‘Operation Gatekeeper’ up in SD. Alls it did was move the shit east. Move it into the desert. Made it more dangerouser for the illegals. But shit, San Diego got the votes, right? They’re happy ’cause the wetbacks ain’t a problem no more. Same time, we’re scraping bodies off the hardpack. People can be fucking dicks. Their idea of taking out the garbage is probably dumping their trash on their neighbor’s lawn and congratulating themselves for a job well done.
“It’s
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