And Yesterday Is Gone Read online

  Another dreary month passed; Friday night drew around. Ollie seemed in a good mood as he sat down at the table. He punched me playfully in the arm, hard enough to break it, and said with a grin, “Still love them sheep, kid?” I didn’t answer.

  He picked up his fork and shoveled the food in his mouth. When his plate was clean, he called Lupe for a refill. As she set his plate back down, he leaned his head on her breast and said, “Oh, what a pillow—I’ll sleep good tonight.” Then, looking directly at Carlos, his tone changed. “Tomorrow night, nobody sleeps. Got a real special order—biggest one I’ve ever had.” For the first time, Carlos looked up, his black eyes unreadable.

  “And some Mexican big shot,” Ollie continued, “wants to talk. Maybe he thinks I’m crowdin’ him—I’ll take along a little protection.” Then, with an excited laugh, he said, “Those flower children in the Haight- Ashbury are going to make me a millionaire.

  “I’ll pull out early Sunday morning, and we’ll do the deal at the Yellow Submarine in Concord—ain’t that a helluva name for a truck stop. That way I won’t have to go into Frisco and I’ll be home early. Kid, you better be damn quick about gettin’ them sheep in—that’s your department. Use lots of hay.”

  As he left the table, he nudged against Carlos, who coiled like a rattlesnake.

  In my heart I carried the sure knowledge that he never intended for me to get out of here alive or he wouldn’t have been so free with information.

  The next morning the men left earlier than usual. I went up to the cabin and as Lupe poured the coffee, her hands shook. She looked like she hadn’t slept or combed her hair. She flipped a couple of eggs and tossed a piece of toast on top and dropped it in front of me—not a word had been spoken. I choked down the runny eggs and cold toast as she sat down beside me with a cup of coffee.

  After a while, she said, “There’s gonna be trouble up there today. Ollie’s got the big head—he figures he knows it all and doesn’t need Carlos anymore. Carlos is no fool—he had that figured out before I did. So Carlos has got to go—it’s just a matter of time. If they hadn’t needed each other, one of them would have been dead by now. Everything depends on how this deal at the Submarine works out…,” her voice trailed off. “What will happen to you? Guess you’ll be here the rest of your life,” she added.

  But we both knew I shouldn’t get excited about my next birthday.

  “Juan?” I asked. She shrugged her shoulders.

  I went back to the sheep shed and did the chores. I smoked a couple of joints, but my heart beat like a trip-hammer as I tried desperately to think of a way out. Fear took up permanent residence and crowded out any logic I might have had.

  Late that afternoon, I was bringing in the sheep and I saw Lupe walking up the trail with a big basket. They got served supper up there, but for sure, I wasn’t getting any—she didn’t come back.

  I went to bed and pulled those thin, pitiful blankets over me. They were damp and smelled bad, but hell, so did I. It seemed that I lay awake for hours and couldn’t sleep—just lay there, trying to keep warm, waiting, but waiting for what?

  The door opened and suddenly she was shaking the bed hard enough to loosen the hardware. I climbed down and she grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me.

  “Now you listen—listen good. I can say this only once. Ollie is dead. When that truck comes down in the morning, you let Carlos see you loading those sheep. Juan will help you. When Carlos gets ready to leave, I’ll call him in the cabin and you get in that truck, lie down up against the cab and get yourself covered with hay. Juan will help cover you real good. Carlos will kill you if he sees you there. When he gets to Concord, he’ll stop at the Submarine to phone. That’s when you gotta get out of there, some way. It’s your only chance or you’re dead.”

  She hugged me and rushed out into the night.

  I was hanging on to the bunk, in my shorts and undershirt, shaking with cold and fear when Juan burst in, carrying a lantern. Even in the dim light I could see he was scared to death. He handed me my pants and shirt and pushed my jacket at me, uttering something in Spanish. I caught the name “Ollie” a couple of times and heard the frantic urgency in his voice.

  I followed him, shaking with fear, up the forbidden trail. It was so dark, just the ghostly sliver of a moon.

  The big trees crowded over the trail—it seemed like a tunnel with no end. I tried to talk to Juan, but he shook his head and walked faster.

  The trees thinned, and then a clearing. The only thing I could see, barely outlined by the feeble light of the lantern, was the big tent and Carlos leaning against it, smoking a cigarette.

  The night seemed to close around the four of us. Carlos, Juan, Ollie and myself.

  Ollie lay on his back, his eyes open in an obscene stare. His mouth stuffed with a bloody piece of flesh that hung from the corner of his lip, his arms outflung, his head tilted to reveal the slash that had nearly severed it from his body. He seemed to be floating in blood.

  The light of the lantern wavered over the legs, once white as the underbelly of a fish, now blood-splotched and splayed wide, his pants tangled around one twisted ankle.

  Looking down in horror, my stomach revolted and I fell to my knees, puking until it seemed I’d turned inside out. I felt someone nudge me with a foot, then heard Juan’s Spanish words, his voice low and urgent.

  He helped me to my feet and handed me two shovels. Carrying the lantern as he held my arm, we walked back into those dark trees.

  Not daring to look back, I could hear the sound of Ollie’s heavy body being dragged. My knees buckled every few steps, but when I faltered, Juan jerked me along.

  The image of Ollie’s mutilated body was frozen in my mind and over it, all the sure knowledge that Carlos planned to leave me there, too. I prayed as I never prayed before—or after. As I stumbled along, Juan kept me upright.

  The trees were silhouetted against the faint light of the flickering lantern. Only the rustle of our footsteps, the sound of Ollie’s body as it bumped over the brush and fallen branches, and Carlos’ muttered curses could be heard. I felt as though we were in a black, endless maze with no way out.

  Carlos called to Juan and we stopped. He took the lantern from his son and walked ahead. We stood in total darkness. Sensing Ollie on the ground behind us, I prayed his dead eyes could not see in the dark.

  Carlos returned with the lantern and pointed ahead as he led us to a cleared space. He drew a small track with the toe of his boot—about three by seven feet, then took a shovel from me, handed it to Juan and said, “Dig.”

  The leaves and rains of the past years had left the soil soft, so our shovels sank deep. As I plunged the sharp tool into the ground, cold sweat soaked my entire body.

  The muted thud of the dirt as it was thrown on an ever-growing pile was the only sound I heard other than the soft, satisfied grunt as Carlos dragged Ollie close to his final resting place.

  The hole was about three feet deep when he rolled the body in with a quick and powerful thrust of his boot.

  Leaning weakly on the shovel, I watched Carlos as he opened his pants and pissed on the length of the dead man. I looked into the unholy glitter of those fathomless black eyes as he held mine captive. The echo of his diabolical laughter will never leave my memory.

  Standing paralyzed as he walked around the hole, Carlos took the shovel from my nerveless hands. Then I knew he planned for Juan to cover me, too.

  Like a shadow, Juan seemed to materialize out of the dark to stand in front of me. I felt him tremble against my body. His father cursed and I felt his hand as he grasped Juan’s shoulder. Juan, legs apart, braced himself and stood firm. Then Carlos laughed and stepped back, talking to himself in Spanish. I caught the word “cojones” a couple of times and knew he wasn’t referring to mine.

  Carlos handed the shovel back to me. “Another time, señor.”

  The first shovelful of dirt spattered across Ollie’s face, causing the head to move. Those eyes, it seemed, we
re fixed directly on me. I screamed, but no sound came out of my open mouth. Closing my eyes as I threw in more dirt, his head was covered when I dared to look again.

  It didn’t take long to fill that hole. Once, Ollie was a big man.

  We shoveled until it was a heaping mound, then Carlos took the shovel and scattered the extra dirt away. He kicked some leaves and tossed some branches over the fresh dirt, and it was as if Ollie had never been.

  I had no idea what time it was, but the moon was gone, so I thought it must soon be daylight.

  Juan and I passed the truck on the way down; Carlos followed, carrying something. I heard the tailgate go down—apparently he was still loading.

  We walked wordlessly, the lantern swinging between us. Juan kicked the bunkhouse door open and we both collapsed on the nearest bunk. I put my fist in my mouth to stifle the sobs that seemed to have gained access to my body through the soles of my feet. Juan put his arm around my shoulder and talked softly to me in Spanish. I had no idea what he was saying, but the gesture said it all.

  Awhile later I took the lantern, snuck past the barn and kicked around in one corner of the manure pile until my boot connected with the Folgers Coffee can. I pried the lid off and stuffed the five plastic Baggies in the lining of my jacket, then tossed the can. Streaks of pink were starting to show in the east, so I blew the light out and ran back to the bunkhouse.

  Juan hadn’t moved; he was asleep, leaning against the headboard. I heard the sound of the truck pull up to the loading chute and the impatient sound of the horn woke Juan. He jumped to his feet and, as we faced each other, he put his hand out as he had the first day I was there. Pushing it away, I wrapped my arms tightly around his skinny waist and hugged him so hard he grunted. And so we stood, for one long moment.

  We went out to load the sheep and both our cheeks were wet.

  Carlos was checking under the hood and never looked our way until we had loaded the last of the hay. Then he came back to inspect. He frowned, so we threw in two more big bales and scattered them really deep behind the cab. Those ewes were going first-class; I was going baggage, but I didn’t care how I traveled, just so I did.

  I saw lights at the cabin and I prayed Lupe was making coffee.

  Carlos was still tinkering under the hood as Juan and I crowded twelve reluctant ewes into the deep hay, closed the tailgate and secured the sheep door for Carlos’ last inspection.

  Above the noisy, milling sheep, I heard Lupe’s call. Carlos waved good-bye to her, then got in the truck and started the motor. I knew it was too late. Too late—there was no way.

  My knees buckled. Closing my eyes as everything got dark, I slumped against the chute.

  From somewhere I could hear my mother’s voice, “Oh, Stevie. Stevie, try.” I opened my eyes to see Lupe standing on the path waving the coffeepot. Carlos left the motor running as he walked with long strides up to the cabin.

  Juan had the tailgate open in an instant and I wriggled like a snake under the hay until I reached the back of the cab. Juan dumped another load of hay over me. How wonderful it felt to be buried deep beneath all that hay with those sheep milling around on top of me.

  I burrowed right to the floorboards. I couldn’t have dug any deeper or faster if I had been digging at heaven’s gate.

  I heard Carlos check the back of the truck, then slam the cab door. I felt the truck go into gear.

  Juan and Lupe both called good-bye and I knew they called to me.

  I didn’t know or care where I was going to end up, but I knew hell couldn’t be any worse than here.

  As the truck jolted up and down over the potholes, I started to breathe again. I lay there shaking, every muscle drawn tight with the terrible fear that had blocked my senses when I thought I wasn’t going to make it—my entire being pushed to the limit. I hadn’t slept since Friday night. I tried to block out the events of that hellish night, but every time I closed my eyes, Ollie’s face appeared and the sound of the dirt as it was thrown on his body echoed in my ears.

  Thinking about my mother, it sounded as though she was standing beside me teasing, “You know, the cord has never been cut…it would stretch around the world.” And now I realized she hadn’t been teasing; she spoke the truth.

  I would have given anything to be back in her warm kitchen sitting with Sis at that old chrome table. I could hear her saying, “Stevie, eat. Those leftovers won’t kill you—eat.” Then, plain as day, Sis would tattle, “Ma, Ma, look. Stevie’s feeding his broccoli to the dog.”

  The sheep had tired of standing. I could feel them getting comfortable in the deep hay. One old ewe settled herself directly on top of me as I fought for another air passage. I couldn’t complain; for the first time in months, I was warm—cramped, unable to move, but alive and warm. I thought of Ollie’s words to me: “You love them sheep, kid?” Now I could answer with unhesitating honesty: “Oh yes, yes. I love them sheep.” But Ollie didn’t care anymore.

  Gradually my heart slowed, but then my mind leaped ahead. What was going to happen when Carlos stopped to phone?

  He slowed the truck. I could hear the sound of other cars so I knew we were passing through Angels Camp. Lupe had said it was about two hours to the truck stop in Concord from Angels Camp.

  That meant that in a very short time, my future—or non-future—would be decided. I started to sweat. My mind started to rationalize… a truck stop early in the morning, probably lots of truckers having an early breakfast…should be some place to hide if I could escape this pickup unseen. Please God, let there be some place to hide.

  • • •

  The traffic noise increased and we were stopping at signals. We were getting close; my chance was coming up fast.

  The truck slowed and turned sharply. Above the sound of traffic, I could hear the hum of voices, then the sudden quiet of the truck.

  The old ewe scrambled to her feet. Her parting gift was a deluge of warm piss that trickled through the hay and soaked me to the skin. A random, fleeting thought: Yes, I still love you.

  I waited for Carlos to get out. When I heard the door close, I started to dig out frantically. As my head cleared the hay, I looked out a crack in the side and saw he’d parked next to a big semi, the motor still running. Watching him walk toward the phone booth, my view was suddenly blocked by a car that parked on the opposite side.

  Hurriedly, I plowed through the confused sheep. I heard the door to the phone booth close and I vaulted over the side and fell to my knees. I had been so cramped for at least four-and-a-half hours that I couldn’t feel my feet. I crawled on my hands and knees to the big semi and hid behind one of the huge wheels. I barely noticed the odor of the exhaust; it was no competition for the stench of me. Wet, filthy, hay all over me—how in hell was I going to catch a ride out of this place? I knew Carlos’ conversation would be quick. My mind was racing—where to turn? Then I heard the door of the car opening and a woman’s peevish voice, “Hurry up. I’m going to piss myself. I’ve waited for the last hundred miles.”

  “Well, slide over…,” a man answered. “There it is—go for it. Don’t be so damned bitchy. I’m gonna get a cup of coffee. I’ll pick one up for you, too, if you’re dry.” He laughed. The door slammed as they walked away.

  Creeping around the pickup, I opened their back door only to find the back filled to the ceiling with everything imaginable—suitcases, a violin case shoved between two huge plastic bags bulging with laundry, folding chairs, a crumpled camp cot stuffed tightly against a half-folded tent and, riding high above it all, a Coleman stove.

  I struggled to the floor and pulled down everything I could reach to cover me. I thought, I’ve survived beneath twelve sheep and half a ton of hay—this should be easy.

  When the couple returned, all that was evident was a little hay that had managed to detach from my wet clothing and fallen to the asphalt. I involuntarily held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut—if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me.

  “Great grief—
something stinks to high heaven,” he exclaimed as he opened the car door.

  “It’s those animals in that awful old truck,” she answered. “Let’s go—where’s my coffee?”

  “Here—don’t spill it all over,” he answered and closed the door.

  Hearing the pickup start and the final “baa” of that old ewe fade into the distance, I knew I was safe. Tears rolled uncontrollably down my grimy cheeks.

  I lay there limp as a rag doll holding my breath, willing it not to explode. My long legs were pulled up; one arm seemed permanently locked in place to protect my face; my other arm was numb.

  Every time the driver put on the brakes or hit a bump, the debris above settled a little lower. Unbearably cramped, I prayed they would soon reach their destination—I didn’t care where it was.

  The couple bickered constantly.

  She whined, “I am so tired of them antiwar Vietnam protesters—them damn freedom marchers. Why don’t they stay home?”

  “You sure as hell ain’t very patriotic. Almost half a million American men in that godforsaken jungle and rice paddies, over a hundred thousand killed or wounded—doesn’t any of that mean anything to you?”

  “That’s on the other side of the world. You four-effers ought to be glad instead of wavin’ the flag. I’m livin’ today—right now. I love that ‘turn on, tune in, drop out’ sayin’. Hell, I been trippin’ out and tunin’ in for years. I was a hippie before there were hippies. How can anybody not love Janis Joplin or the Grateful Dead?”

  He laughed. “Personally, I like Spade Cooley or Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys.” Then added, “Uh-oh, we’re awful low on gas.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him, but my heart sure missed a beat. “Please, God, please,” I groaned.

  “My sis says livin’ in a commune in a big mansion in the Haight- Ashbury is the only way to go. Free concerts, free dope, free love—all right there in Golden Gate Park. That’s for me. A big love-in next week, at least thirty thousand people expected. I can’t wait.