He understood the language, but he could not speak it, though he often pretended. Most times he just stood there with his hands in pockets, staring at the ground, half listening, half daydreaming. Today was hardly different.
"Now, I seen a eighteen hunderd for one twinny in the trader this mornin."
"Sheee-it . . . the hell you say."
“I ain’t lyin.”
“And you ain’t been known to . . .”
The gangly one turned to him, "Hey city, you even know what he's talkin bout?
He rolled his eyes as he left a daydream to retrieve the information. "I would assume it's some sort of farm equipment . . . my guess would be a tractor."
"Well, look at city . . . you thank you one smart mutherfucker, don't you?
"Not really."
The fat one spat tobacco-blacked mucus on the ground. "More like a fuckin smart ass." He snorted, almost gagging, and hawked another wad in the dirt.
Pallid clouds of dust followed a truck up the drive as it slowed to the conveyor at the edge of the shed. Pale particles settled and grayed the tops of packed melons. The gaunt one shook his head and crushed an empty Marlboro box before he threw it at the truck. "I told that dumb fuckin meskin to slow down when he got to the tree line."
He tried to shake off his disgust. "You know, Lupe is actually Guatemalan . . . and he's pretty damn smart too, knows three languages."
The piggish one grinned, proud of his retort. "Then how come I caint understand him, not one fuckin bit?"
"Well that's simple." He looked to the grey ground and grinned. "Because you don't really speak English."
The pig spat again. "Fuck you, city. If yer daddy wernt the money man, I'd a good mind to stomp a mud hole in yer ass."
The gaunt one found a retort, "Gotdamn right, I dont speak no fuckin anglish . . . I speak Murkin."
He grinned. "Well professor, that may be your problem. Technically, there is no American language, in fact just as many Americans speak Spanish."
"Bullshit, aint that many of em livin here yet."
"I'm not talking about them . . . I'm talking about all of the Americas, you know, Mexico, Central and South . . . "
The fat one snorted and spat. "Aint none of them motherfuckers Murkin."
He surrendered with a sigh and headed to the line. "Alright, let's get the crew started."
Standing near the truck he watched them unload the fruit, each by each. The boy by the belt dropped a stout melon on the conveyor with a thump. He smiled at the boy and made a slowing gesture with his hand. "Despasio, amigo, swave, por favor."
The boy grinned and beads of sweat scattered as he shook his head blushing. "Lo siento, jefe."
He leaned over and patted the boy's shoulder. "No problemo." Then he furled his eyebrows and grinned, pulling his fist into a flex. "Mucho trabajo para tu . . . mucho trabajo, gracias." The boy smiled and nodded as he gentled a melon onto the belt like a mother cradling her newborn.
Pleased with his work, he continued down the line, leaning over to examine the pack of each bin, how the fruit lay side-by-side, belly down. He reached the box on the end and eyed the oversized melon in the corner. The man's eyes met his. They smiled. The man grabbed the melon, and leaning over the table on tip-toe, eased it onto a scale and studied the needle. He took the melon from the man and walked down the line to a box marked L, then he bent over the side and nestled the melon where it belonged.
She looked when he raised his head, their eyes met. He offered a courteous smile which she returned blushing and blinking, when a hand fell heavy on his shoulder. "I could get her to suck your dick, jefe. Prolly do it for free."
When he turned, Jesse was smiling so he tried to laugh. "Get out of here with that, wouldn't be appropriate. Not to mention, she's entirely too young."
Jesse grinned as he shrugged it off. "Nah homes, she's perfect, fifteen . . . quince, jefe, quince. That's the propriate age for a dick in her mouth, vato, trust me."
"That's the appropriate age to get thrown in jail."
Jesse laughed and slapped his back. "Fresh off the boat, jefe . . . aint no jail for these bitches."
He shook his head with a tightlipped grin. "You're a crazy motherfucker, you know that. Loco. Now get back to work."
The last melon off the truck crept down the belt to a table at the end, a hand rolled it off and another pair caught it before the padded bumper, tossed it to the packer, who received it softly and cradled it as he placed it on the top row.
The sun fell heavy on his face when he stepped off the concrete floor. Gray sand rose in clouds around his shoes and felt like hot flour beneath his feet as he walked to his truck. He lowered the tailgate and pulled a cooler to the edge, opened it halfway and paused. Then he dropped the lid, slid the cooler forward and lifted the tailgate as gray dust fell like talcum at his feet. As he headed toward the treeline to relieve himself he heard a thud.
Rusted tin rolled away at a battered corner of the storage trailer, and the once red paint had faded to a pale pink. As he approached he heard a knock that sent a shutter down the tin wall and up his spine, for a moment he looked to the pale sky and closed his eyes. When he peered around the corner the gaunt one stood over them with a snub-nose twelve gauge aimed at her head while the pig fumbled with her underwear and his own. The gangly one turned, his goblin visage bewildered, eyes scrambling. The fat one fumbled with his pants, tugging and pulling around his flaccid belly.
"Shoot him, gotdamnit, shoot him. We'll pin it on a Meskin."
The cadaverous cretin trembled and struggled with the gun while the shrieks of the corpulent troll only hindered his progress. Amidst the commotion he was the only one who saw an axe-weilding Lupe slide up from behind the trees. The girl ran as soon as the gaunt one fell, and he could not help but watch as Lupe turned and slaughtered the pig, smacking the steel head into puddles of bone and flesh in a panic of fury. When his fire resided he stood over the remains panting and gasping for air, translucent. He watched fear return to Lupe's eyes when they met his, but he only offered a look of condolence as he said, "Vi nada, amigo, vi nada."
