Author: Manuel
Condor flight school . . .
Butte . . .
” On the way, I detoured to a place I had wanted to see from up close for a long time. Picture a rock butte standing straight up a thousand feet above everything around it, with vertical walls of crumbling granite and an acre of ground on top. No way to go up, unless you […]
What names . . .
“Another revelation was the ease with which don Antonio moved around and did things. This was evident to all of us who went to help with the sheep. He opened a small gate by flicking the neat homemade wooden hasp with a flip of his wrist. The last guy through could not close it. He […]
A product of his time and place . . .
I knew that inner strength comes from devotion to an ideal, only I had none. Or maybe I did, but I never thought about it. Antonio on the other hand was devoted to an ideal, I was sure of that—his type always are. I wasn’t sure what it was, and perhaps there was more than […]
Modern man’s best weapon . . .
“. . . modern man didn’t drag women to a cave or trade goats for her anymore, which, all things considered, was probably for the better, but that’s not to say we didn’t have any tools or weapons at our disposal to convince a bride or persuade a future mother in-law. What we have today […]
The one-eyed needle . . .
Abruptly, he changed the subject. “Remember me telling you about agriculture, and what a bad idea it was?” I nodded, wandering what came next. “Well, a good idea that gets no praise at all is the one-eyed needle.” His eyes were twinkling again. “To me, it changed the course of human history every bit as […]
Night run . . .
For Dale, this was an adventure, and every single time he went out with Joaquín on one of his “night runs,” it was a revelation to him. Joaquín had a lot of irons in the fire and never the same irons. It did not pass unnoticed that when Joaquín was out working, there was no […]
Poaching abalones . . .
“A month ago, anybody who knew Joaquín for any time at all would have guessed that tonight he was going out on an abalone run. Abalones were out of season, at least officially, but what was that to Joaquín? He never paid much attention to seasons, or quotas, or anything else, and had been the […]
Missing him . . .
Looking north on the river, there was a solitary rowboat, way out in the distance and a long way from anywhere. It could have been Arturo, but she knew it wasn’t. All by itself, it made the river appear a lonely place, and she felt a certain melancholy that she was at a loss to […]