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By Root 414 0

the bale open and shoved it off the side onto the ground, and they went creeping ahead as he broke and scattered the next bale, and the hungry cattle and calves began to bunch and feed, strung out in a long line behind the lurching wagon, their heads all lowered, a fog of steam and hot breath above them. From the tractor the boy looked back to see how things were going and he saw the old man working steadily, shoving the loose hay out on the ground. Then he looked forward again and noticed a deep dip in the ground ahead of them where the sand was hollowed out. He turned sharply to miss it and the corner of the hay wagon rode up the cleats of the tractor wheel as far as the first stringer, tilting the wagon bed at a sharp dangerous angle and lifting the bed four feet off the ground. Raymond hollered at him. The boy turned to look and slammed on the brakes, then turned back again. Raymond was holding on to the upright.

The boy’s face had turned to ash. Oh shit, he said. What’d I do?

You turned too sharp. You can’t turn that sharp pulling something behind you. Turn it hard the other way now.

Did I hurt the wagon?

Not yet. But turn it hard and go slow.

Maybe you better come up and do it.

No. Go ahead. You’ll do all right. Just take it slow.

I don’t know about this.

Go on now. Try it.

The boy sat forward in the seat and cranked the steering wheel to the left and slowly let out the clutch. The tractor made a sharp turn and the corner of the wagon bumped down the tractor wheel’s big cleats, splintering the wood a little, and then the wheel was free and the hay wagon stood flat on the ground again.

Straighten it out, Raymond hollered. But real slow or you’ll have her up on the wheel again.

The boy drove forward and the wagon swung around behind the tractor, and when he looked back Raymond waved for him to go on. He drove very slowly, staring straight ahead past the exhaust stack as they crossed the cold worn ground. After a while Raymond hollered for him to stop, then stepped down from the wagon and climbed onto the back of the tractor. That’ll do for today. Take us up to the haylot.

I think you better drive.

How come? You’re doing okay. But shift up. We don’t want to stay in grandma all the way home.

What about what I did back there?

That happens. You just don’t have to do it twice. Pay attention next time and it’ll be all right. Let’s go have us some breakfast.

The boy shifted gears and they moved bumping and rocking out of the pasture. Raymond climbed off to shut the gate and the boy parked inside the fence at the haylot and turned the tractor off, and together they walked up to the house under the thin clouds.

I don’t see how you manage to do all this by yourself, the boy said.

You don’t?

No sir. It seems like too much for one person to do.

Raymond looked at him. What else you going to do?

The boy nodded and they went on.

IN THE KITCHEN THE LITTLE GIRL WAS SITTING AT THE table over a coloring book and Victoria was standing at the stove. When she saw Del Gutierrez in Harold’s canvas chore coat and old wool cap, with the earflaps dangling free beside his red cheeks, she said: Now wait. Stand right there till I get my camera.

No you don’t, Raymond said. You leave him alone. Del and me, we been outside working, feeding cattle. We don’t need no pictures.

I got to keep warm, don’t I? the boy said.

You look warm all right, Victoria said. Just look at you. Then she laughed and they stood looking at her, seeing how white and straight her teeth were, how her thick black hair fell across her shoulders, how her black eyes shone, and they both felt at once awkward and speechless in the presence of such beauty, to see her in this way, having themselves come in from the cold and the wind and the blowing dirt, to find her waiting for them, laughing and amused by something they’d done. It made Raymond think suddenly of his brother and he was afraid he might embarrass himself and begin to weep. So he said nothing. He turned away and he and the boy hung up their coats next to the door and washed at the sink.

Victoria