The Year Money Grew on Trees - Aaron Hawkins [45]
"Wow, you got it!" I said excitedly.
"Barely," he replied in disgust. "One side came untied on the way home. The stupid thing started dragging down the road, sparks flying everywhere. I'm lucky it didn't kill someone."
I could see the deep scratches on one end of the barrel. Once untied, we rolled it over to the wagon and lifted it up. My dad used some wire to wrap around the barrel and the sides of the wagon to hold it in place.
"There you go. There's your barrel," he said, and then started walking away.
"Aren't you going to stay and see it working?" I yelled to him.
"The less I see of that, that"—I could tell he was trying not to swear—"that dadgum barrel, the better," he finally spit out.
"Thank you!" I yelled before he disappeared inside our house.
I attached the wagon to the tractor and pushed the long pipe that connected to the pump into the opening in the barrel. My dad was right—it fit almost perfectly. I grabbed the hose and filled the barrel to the top, hoping my dad didn't notice me using city water.
I wanted to surprise my sisters and cousins, so I drove
the tractor out into the orchard. "Wait till you see what this can do," I said, pointing toward the barrel and spray gun.
I grabbed the gun and flipped the lever to turn on the pump. I squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
"Impressive," said Lisa, giggling.
"Hold on!" I said, and ran back to the house for a jug of water.
"You've got to prime it!" I yelled as I poured the water into the straight pipe that led to the pump. I put the pipe back in the barrel, flipped the lever, and pulled the trigger. I had the gun pointing at the girls, and they scattered as a jet of water came shooting out.
"Cool!" shouted Sam and Michael. "Let me try!" they yelled together.
We all got a chance to hold the gun and try to spray each other. The gun's nozzle adjusted so it could shoot a stream of water over fifty feet, and there weren't many places to hide. Eventually, we were all standing around the tractor shivering. It was the kind of thing you wished you were doing in July instead of late April.
"So who wants to help me spray tomorrow?" I asked.
"I will!" said Sam and Michael.
"Is it dangerous for people?" Lisa asked.
"I don't think it can be that good for you," I admitted.
We all looked around at each other. "You better do it. Sam can drive the tractor," Amy said. "And wear those handkerchiefs you used to wear for the manure."
I felt a little nervous as I drove the tractor back toward our house to top off the barrel with water. How dangerous could it be? Brother Brown was still alive, and he must have been doing it for fifty years. For all I knew, though, he was twenty and the poison was just making him look old. Maybe it was affecting his voice too.
***
Sam and I opened the bag of Diazinon the next afternoon. We wore handkerchiefs over our noses and mouths, but the powder inside still had a sickly chemical smell. I poured a quarter of the bag into the barrel and then tried stirring it with a stick.
"This isn't working so well, but I've got an idea," I said, and jammed the spray gun into the barrel's opening. I turned on the pump, and the water in the barrel swirled into a bubbly froth. After five minutes I said, "That's gotta do it."
After following Sam and the tractor out to the orchard, I adjusted the nozzle and took aim at the first tree, directing the stream of water up and down. I had no idea how much to apply, so I just tried to cover all the leaves and branches. Spraying the first row was kind of fun, but then I began to smell the poison through my handkerchief and feel a fine mist of it settle over me. The gun quickly became so heavy that I had to prop it against my body for support.
The barrel was dry by the end of eight rows and the stream of poison stopped. My head was throbbing sharply, and I felt sick to my stomach. I threw the hose and gun into the wagon and climbed in for the ride home.
Sam looked wet from the poison mist when he climbed off the tractor.
"How