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

They covered Ángel Cruz in wet bedsheets. They brought the kerosene-powered fan from Jivan’s bedroom. The doctor came quickly, but when he saw Ángel Cruz unconscious, lying under soaked sheets, he told them he could do nothing more for the man than what had already been done.

Later, the nephew arrived and entered the shed, tightly clutching his hat. Alejandro and the fair-skinned girl rose to meet him. Ram noted the lad’s ragged clothing, his desperate eyes. When he saw Ángel Cruz lying on the floor of the shed, his eyes widened in alarm. He crossed himself quickly. He spoke quietly to Jivan in Spanish, looking at his feet, at the wall, anywhere but Jivan’s face. Ram could not understand his Spanish.

“No,” Jivan said, his palm held up, shaking his head.

The boy said something in response, but Jivan walked away. To Ram, his manner seemed brusque, impatient.

Ram and Alejandro shifted Ángel Cruz onto a blanket, then lifted him onto the bed of Jivan’s wagon. The man’s breathing was light. He did not awaken. The nephew said nothing more.

Later Ram asked Amarjeet what had happened.

“The nephew wanted to pay Jivan for the doctor, but he had no money, and said that he would bring it later. But Chacha-ji refused payment at all.”

Ram’s eyes met Amarjeet’s. Jivan Singh was a good man.

His mind went back to Karak, riding off on the horse, with that pretty Mexican girl watching. How beautiful he had looked in that moment, Ram thought: the sinews in his arms as he gripped the reins, his roughness with the horse’s mouth, the scarlet of his turban. He had played the hero without shame, when he had not even wanted to go.

11

March 1915

THEY TOOK THE HARVEST INTO TOWN WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT HAD happened to Ángel Cruz. Each man drove one of the four wagons, weighed down with crates and melons. Clive met them near the railroad depot and climbed onto the driver’s seat next to Jivan. They stood in line behind a string of other wagons leading from the inspection booth. They were under contract with Consolidated Fruit Co., and the company’s refrigerated boxcars stood waiting to take the early-season cantaloupe to market in Los Angeles.

Clive would speak for him; that was what Jivan always preferred. He pulled up to a booth staffed by a tall man with a full head of gray hair.

“Howdy, Will,” Clive said.