He left the lettuce uncovered in the wagon bed. The crop did not matter now.

Walking back to Jivan’s home, he noticed movement in one of the tents. A shadow cast against the canvas. The flap of the tent opened and shut with the breeze. Perhaps one of Alejandro’s workers was still here after all.

Ram bent down to peer inside. It was the prayer tent; the Virgin stood dignified in her blue robe, her hands in prayer, her face solemn. A man knelt before her, but he was not praying. He was tying a bundle together, frantic. Ram held back the tent’s entrance flap and the man spun around, the dirt crunching under his heel.

“¡Señor!”

Ram could see the fear in his face, in his eyes. He was just a lad. “Where has everyone gone?” Ram asked in Spanish. The boy flinched when he heard Ram’s voice. He was related to one of the older pickers—a nephew or a godson. Ram had talked to him and Alejandro the previous day about wages.

“Se han ido, señor.” He did not meet Ram’s eye. Ram felt a surge of pity. The boy had not asked for this.

“Let me give you something for your labor. I will give the rest to Alejandro to pay the—”

“I do not want it. None of us workers will take your payment, señor. This place has an evil spirit. Something bad has happened here. Very bad.” The boy glanced at the statue of the Virgin. He made the sign of the cross.

“Did you see?” Ram asked. “Did you talk with the police?”

“I didn’t see anything,” the boy said, in a way that made Ram believe the opposite.

“Did anyone else?” Ram wondered if it was better or worse for Karak if someone admitted they had.

“Nobody saw anything,” the boy insisted, struggling with his bundle. He glared at Ram, challenging him to disagree. He would push Ram out of the way if he had to.

Ram released the canvas flap and left him inside. He counted out two one-dollar bills for the day’s wages. He left them secured under a hand spade, where the boy could see.

IN THE HOUSE, Jivan, Kishen, and Leela were at the table. A plate of food sat before Leela, untouched. The girl had been at school all day, but her mother had spoken with her, and now she was staring at Ram with liquid eyes, her lips quivering.

“What will happen to Karak Chacha?” she asked. Beside her, Kishen’s face looked drawn, gray.

“He will be all right,” Ram said. “He’s in the jailhouse now, Leela.” He stopped before he said too much. A fear was gnawing at him, something he did not want to name.

Jivan was staring into the distance, as if in a trance. Ram suddenly missed Amarjeet. His decisiveness. His ability to think quickly.