BooksBarbecue
Back Passage West
Chapters (59)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Cast of Characters
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. Letters
  14. Part Two
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. Letters
  26. Part Three
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. Letters
  34. Part Four
  35. 24
  36. 25
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. Letters
  41. Part Five
  42. 29
  43. 30
  44. 31
  45. 32
  46. 33
  47. 34
  48. 35
  49. 36
  50. 37
  51. 38
  52. 39
  53. 40
  54. 41
  55. Epilogue
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. About the Author
  58. Also by Rishi Reddi
  59. About the Publisher

At a random swath of land, in a break between fields of waist-high alfalfa, the wagon turned west and stopped in front of a small building—a house that faded into the darkness. A figure stood in the doorway, holding a lantern. The light shone in a circle around her, showing off her Punjabi dress, the delicate chunni lying about her neck and shoulders. Jivan put down the reins and clambered down from the wagon. “She is my wife, Kishen Kaur,” Jivan said, without looking at her. “At home, it would not be proper to introduce you. But here, it would be improper if I did not.”

The woman drew the chunni around her hair and lowered her eyes. Ram felt a surge of warmth. He had not seen a woman from his part of the earth for so long. Kishen Kaur offered him lime juice with sugar and he drank until satisfied.

“It was a long ride, Kishen-ji.” Jivan’s voice was soft. “Some food would be appreciated.”

A small girl ran from the back, tottered past the woman, and made a circle around Amarjeet. “Veer-ji! Veer-ji!” she cried. Amarjeet picked her up and swung her against the dark sky. She screamed with delight.

“Come, Leela, say hello to Ram Uncle,” Jivan said.

Ram edged into the circle of light. But the girl turned her head away and held close to Amarjeet, refusing to look again. The adults laughed. They were filled with a sense of goodwill and health. Ram had not realized what he had been traveling toward: a family that lived in the desert, a home.

4

July 1914

KARAK AND RAM AND AMARJEET SLEPT ON COTS IN THE BREEZY COMFORT of the outdoors, fifteen yards south of the wooden battenboard structure that was Jivan and Kishen’s home. Their cots sat on sandy loam that belonged to a man born in Switzerland, living now in Los Angeles. Karak thought himself a practical man, a hardworking man who wanted only to grow rich, but he cared about land.

To own land was honorable, to farm it even more so. At night before sleeping he would gaze out at the fields that stretched to the desert and the outline of the Chocolate Mountains beyond. Karak knew that before the land had belonged to the man from Switzerland, before it belonged even to the United States government or the Republic of California or the United Mexican States or the king of Spain, it had been home to the Quechan and the Kumeyaay, to the Ivilyuqaletem and the Xawi┼┼ kwñchawaay, and they knew the land the way a lover knows a beloved’s body, like one possessed, like one who owns, but even more so.