Free And Yesterday Is Gone by Dolores Durando Page B

the different languages, laughing at our mistakes. I taught Steve to roll a joint and what a cigarette that was—but he was so proud of it.
    Juan smiled as he remembered how Steve had pulled the bent nails from the old ram’s pen—the ram that Steve said was Ollie’s father.
    We laughed so hard. Steve was my only happiness. I am so grateful I could help him escape. I would have been glad to have given him my life. I’ll love him forever.
    Faraway sounds of the tumultuous city seemed to fade as the sun hid behind tall buildings. The same vagabond wind that sifted so carelessly through Carlos’ ashes urged a heavy, damp fog ashore that covered the big town, then crept over the park, holding his son in a clammy embrace.
    Juan found a more sheltered spot in the rhododendrons and lay down, emotionally and physically exhausted. He tried to get comfortable, but a cold chill seemed to seep into his very bones. He lay awake, his thoughts tormenting him, his body shaking. He slept intermittently to wake at every night sound, then fade back to a sleep that gave him neither rest nor comfort.
    The sun awoke him and he lay there unmoving as the same fears that magnified in the night struggled for an answer in the bright rays of the sun.
    He forced himself to stand on legs that threatened to betray him, turned his head to see two men approaching slowly, one holding a big dog by the collar.
    Instinctively, Juan wanted to run—but where?
    The man spoke, “Who do you s’pose that is? He’s sure staggerin’ around.”
    â€œMust be some flower child that got lost—probably stoned. I could use some of that. Might have a couple bucks on him, too,” answered the other.
    â€œHell, don’t bother with him. He don’t look like he’s got a nickel.”
    â€œWell, sometimes they hide it in their shoe. Let the dog loose,” then added, “Damned if it ain’t a spic. Sic the dog on him and I’ll bet he’d run all the way to Mexico.”
    â€œMaybe he ain’t alone…”
    â€œCan’t you count? That cheap wine makin’ you see double again?”
    â€œC’mon, let’s see what he’s got. There’s one of him, two of us, and I got the brass knuckles.”
    Juan watched them with a feeling of anxiety as they moved closer.
    â€œHey, you. What are you doin’ down there? Let’s see what you got in yer pockets.”
    Juan didn’t comprehend the words or the sudden blow that knocked him almost senseless to the ground, causing an instant flow of blood that spurted from the deep gash that opened from forehead to cheekbone.

CHAPTER 9
    Y es, I want to go home—it seems like I’ve been gone forever. The thought nagged me. I need to see Ma and find out what Sis is up to. All these people, all this noise—I’d rather hear the sheep. I’ve tried to call home, but the phone is always busy—Sis, no doubt.
    I wonder what Juan is doing. How is he ever going to get away? Where would he go? I miss him; he was like a brother. If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead.
    That damn Ollie. Why doesn’t he leave me alone? All I did was help bury him. Okay, I dug his damn postholes—and tended those sheep. Why me?
    â€œHey, kid. How many postholes today?” And the blood—won’t he ever stop bleeding? Will he ever stay dead?
    I’ve gotta get home.
    I’ve scared everybody so badly with my nightmares that they’ve moved my mattress and blanket to the servants’ quarters on the third floor. Now I’ve got my own private room that has a door with a transom at the top. It’s supposed to be a linen closet, but it’s bigger than my room at home.
    I lay there in the dark, afraid to go to sleep as usual. Even with the dubious aid of downers, I can sense his presence. The moment my eyes are closed, Ollie is there. I hear the words, “Hey, Kid…” bubble out of his