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

Suddenly Karak stopped. His body went limp. Ram’s fist slammed hard against his face. Blood covered them both, arms and legs and clothing. It coated Karak’s hair and cheeks. Ram thought it was Karak’s own, then realized there was too much—it belonged to that form that lay writhing on the ground near the shed. The tang of the blood suffocated him. Ram convulsed. The bile came up like an explosion and he vomited over the sand.

Karak was bawling, then whimpering, then bawling again, his face covered with tears and dirt and the redness. Ram sprang back in revulsion. He tasted his vomit, wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“He called me a goddamn Hindu,” Karak spat out. “Said I was worth one boxcar of lettuce. Why did you stop me? Why did you stop me?” He glared at Ram. “He told me to take my blanket and go home.”

Ram forced himself to look, to turn his head although the terror had pinned him, seized control of legs and arms and mind. The body was still, laying in blood and soil. What was he seeing? The whiteness of bone? A gash near the heart? A mangled neck? A torn shoulder? With a jolt, he recognized the face.

It was Clive.

33

SHERIFF FRANK FIELDING ARRIVED IN HIS MODEL T, A CLOUD OF SMOKE and dust coming up behind him, Deputy Elijah Hollins seated by his side. Jivan had instructed Ram and Karak to sit on crates and wait near the turnoff from the roadway.

“It’s our good luck that Fielding has come,” Karak said, with apparent satisfaction. But Ram did not feel relieved at all. Karak began to yell as the men emerged from the motorcar. “Don’t bother with me, Sheriff! Clive is out in my field. By the packing shed. Go and see him!”

The sheriff ran to the packing shed, his large form moving quickly, and then he stood for a long time, staring over the pool of blood at Clive’s body.

Deputy Hollins stayed with Karak and Ram, towering over them, standing guard. Clive had been dead for an hour. Jivan had not allowed Karak to approach the body or to wash the blood from his face. He had sent Kishen back to the house.

The sheriff’s face was pale as he approached them. He swallowed. “Get up,” he whispered. “What did you boys do here?”

Ram rose. His legs were shaking. He felt the earth shift under him. But Karak Singh stayed on the crate, hunched over, clasping his folded legs, gazing at the dirt in front of him. “He pointed a gun at me, Sheriff. He drank my liquor and ate my food and then he pointed a gun at me. I had to do it, Sheriff—”

“Shut your mouth,” Jivan said in Punjabi.

“You ask! I was mad, damn mad.”

“Saliya, shut your mouth!” Ram yelled.