So of course Juan had stayed, even when the video on their grainy television showed weary firefighters battling what the graphic on the bottom of the screen repeatedly labeled “FIRE CRISIS.” At the beginning, all the reporters talked about was finding the ignition source for the fire that was cutting a swath through the fertile farmland, burning tens of thousands of acres. But now, all anyone focused on was how even with the military’s assistance, the fire kept raging, even springing up in areas not even close to other flames.

It was no wonder Juan dreamed of fire.

And he could feel the devil coming to watch it all burn.

Juan said a prayer to Mother Mary to keep away Diablo. The devil wouldn’t rise from hell with horns and red skin; he would look like every other entitled white man. He would have red hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. He would be handsome and tall. Juan feared he’d see him every time he closed his eyes to sleep.

Juan knew the devil was responsible for the night he didn’t remember, and for turning his dislike for Patrick into hatred.

It had been a year now since Juan had woken with Patrick kicking him. Tasting dirt in his mouth, Juan felt the kick to his hip. He had rolled over to another kick, Patrick’s fat face leaning over him, blocking out the sun. “I don’t pay you get to get drunk and disappear!”

“No comprende.…”

“Listen,” Patrick had waved his fat finger in Juan’s face, “If you ever, I mean ever, pull a bender like that again and not show up for work for an entire day, I’ll ship your ass back to Tijuana and give you to the border patrol myself. Understand that?”

Juan had scrambled to get on the truck, apologizing profusely.

The others had later explained as they’d stripped the clementines. Juan had gone out for a smoke before bed two nights ago and never returned. Patrick had rolled up this morning to find him lying outside on the ground.

“Tequila!” Mateo had joked.

Juan did like his Jose Cuervo, but only touched it on Saturday night when there was no possibility of work the next day (Patrick kept a Bible in the bed of his truck and thumped it often when talking about the merits of a hard day’s work). Juan had disappeared on a Tuesday night.

Later came the dreams of fire, and the white man watching him. Juan knew the dreams were a warning from his Heavenly Father that the devil was near, and that he needed to protect his soul and himself.