about a half kilometer away. Giron had said that these were foremen homes. They were roomy and neat. New cars or trucks were usually parked around them.
At one house Jose had spotted a red-haired boy who looked about thirteen. There was also a pale, blond girl who might be eleven or twelve at the same house. Although they probably did not speak Spanish, he thought he might talk to them the way he'd talked to some of the
turistas
at Colnett. Pointing, saying a word or two in English.
He discussed it with Giron. The teacher said, "Why not? You should make friends here. But I wouldn't tell them about crawling under that fence."
Jose laughed. "I wouldn't know how to tell them in English."
The next night, Friday, he decided how he'd do it. He couldn't just walk up and say, "We
amigo,
eh?" It was better to do something like his father and Enrique did at Colnett.
On Saturday morning he began collecting horseflies, selecting the big ones that zoomed around the fields, drawn by the fertilized earth. He placed them in a plastic vial he'd found the previous year on the beach below Melings. Tiny air holes were punched into the top.
Giron came by just as he grabbed one. "What in the world are you doing?"
"Catching flies, of course." Jose laughed, shoving a fly into the vial.
"Oh? Well, that's a hobby I've never heard of." Shaking his head, Giron rested his full lug of Bright-Packs. "What do you do with them?"
"I'll show you some time," Jose replied, pleased with himself.
They knocked off at noon, as scheduled, and went back to Haines Main for lunch. After eating, Giron said he wanted to go into town. He needed the lice spray and a new toothbrush, and joked about getting some perfume for Sanchez. Jose asked if he could go along, and took a dollar of the Colnett money from the hiding place under his mattress. He did not think his father would mind, now that he was earning a wage.
In San Ramon, Giron made his purchases, and Jose bought a tube of quick-drying glue. When they returned to the labor camp, it was practically deserted. Some of the men were sleeping. Others were playing horseshoes or checkers beneath the pepper trees. Still others had gone into town to drink beer or wine in the Spanish cafe. It was a warm, lazy afternoon.
Giron began playing checkers with the man next door. From beneath the bunk Jose took a small balsa glider that he'd bought in Ensenada. He stuck the glue into his pocket, checked the flies to see if they were still strong, and headed for the foremen houses. Sanchez followed.
He spotted the boy out in the side yard, working on his bike. It was saddle-down, and the chain was off the sprocket. Jose hesitated a moment, then went into the open field beside the house. Stealing a glance, he saw that the boy was staring at him.
He inserted the wing into the glider, then the rudder and tail fins. He tested it with a shallow arc, and it glided smoothly back to the ground. Then he took the glue out and uncapped it, feeling the boy's eyes still on him.
He opened the vial, extracted a horsefly bigger than a bumblebee but not as fat, and put a spot of the fast-setting glue on its belly, pushing it down midway on the glider's wing. He blew on it.
By this time, he was almost certain the boy was walking toward him. He waited a moment, then released the glider. It rose in the air on angry wings.
Jose heard a voice speaking in English just behind him. "Hey, where'd you learn to do that?" He did not understand the words but knew that they formed a question.
Grinning, he turned. "Hi,
amigo.
"
The glider zoomed crazily through the air, and the red-haired boy laughed. "Wow," he yelled. He had freckles and a wide mouth. There were wire braces on his teeth.
As usual, the fly eventually loosened itself and took off like a frightened midget quail. The glider came slowly back to earth, landing perfectly on its spar.
Jose shook the vial and held it up, nodding toward the glider. The boy grinned and ran for it. When he came
At one house Jose had spotted a red-haired boy who looked about thirteen. There was also a pale, blond girl who might be eleven or twelve at the same house. Although they probably did not speak Spanish, he thought he might talk to them the way he'd talked to some of the
turistas
at Colnett. Pointing, saying a word or two in English.
He discussed it with Giron. The teacher said, "Why not? You should make friends here. But I wouldn't tell them about crawling under that fence."
Jose laughed. "I wouldn't know how to tell them in English."
The next night, Friday, he decided how he'd do it. He couldn't just walk up and say, "We
amigo,
eh?" It was better to do something like his father and Enrique did at Colnett.
On Saturday morning he began collecting horseflies, selecting the big ones that zoomed around the fields, drawn by the fertilized earth. He placed them in a plastic vial he'd found the previous year on the beach below Melings. Tiny air holes were punched into the top.
Giron came by just as he grabbed one. "What in the world are you doing?"
"Catching flies, of course." Jose laughed, shoving a fly into the vial.
"Oh? Well, that's a hobby I've never heard of." Shaking his head, Giron rested his full lug of Bright-Packs. "What do you do with them?"
"I'll show you some time," Jose replied, pleased with himself.
They knocked off at noon, as scheduled, and went back to Haines Main for lunch. After eating, Giron said he wanted to go into town. He needed the lice spray and a new toothbrush, and joked about getting some perfume for Sanchez. Jose asked if he could go along, and took a dollar of the Colnett money from the hiding place under his mattress. He did not think his father would mind, now that he was earning a wage.
In San Ramon, Giron made his purchases, and Jose bought a tube of quick-drying glue. When they returned to the labor camp, it was practically deserted. Some of the men were sleeping. Others were playing horseshoes or checkers beneath the pepper trees. Still others had gone into town to drink beer or wine in the Spanish cafe. It was a warm, lazy afternoon.
Giron began playing checkers with the man next door. From beneath the bunk Jose took a small balsa glider that he'd bought in Ensenada. He stuck the glue into his pocket, checked the flies to see if they were still strong, and headed for the foremen houses. Sanchez followed.
He spotted the boy out in the side yard, working on his bike. It was saddle-down, and the chain was off the sprocket. Jose hesitated a moment, then went into the open field beside the house. Stealing a glance, he saw that the boy was staring at him.
He inserted the wing into the glider, then the rudder and tail fins. He tested it with a shallow arc, and it glided smoothly back to the ground. Then he took the glue out and uncapped it, feeling the boy's eyes still on him.
He opened the vial, extracted a horsefly bigger than a bumblebee but not as fat, and put a spot of the fast-setting glue on its belly, pushing it down midway on the glider's wing. He blew on it.
By this time, he was almost certain the boy was walking toward him. He waited a moment, then released the glider. It rose in the air on angry wings.
Jose heard a voice speaking in English just behind him. "Hey, where'd you learn to do that?" He did not understand the words but knew that they formed a question.
Grinning, he turned. "Hi,
amigo.
"
The glider zoomed crazily through the air, and the red-haired boy laughed. "Wow," he yelled. He had freckles and a wide mouth. There were wire braces on his teeth.
As usual, the fly eventually loosened itself and took off like a frightened midget quail. The glider came slowly back to earth, landing perfectly on its spar.
Jose shook the vial and held it up, nodding toward the glider. The boy grinned and ran for it. When he came
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