after midday. In Monclova there had been mention of these duties, and the exciting news began to sparkle the moment Demetrio heard he would have use of a pickup sui generis, brown, quite used, that was waiting for him at La Mena Ranch, though here’s the obviously surly part: the roads in that region were not uniform: they tilted, they narrowed, sometimes they seemed to vanish only to pick up again who knows where. All this seen on the way, for Don Delfín was taking the new employee north, where: first La Mena, and then whatever comes next … Rough riding, in the meantime, in a pickup, jet black, latest model … In 1946, on the stretch between Monclova and Sabinas, there were only twenty miles of pavement on what would later be called the Carretera Central. The rest, sixty miles perhaps, was gravel, a wide grade but uneven and, therefore, dangerous. Especially dangerous was a detour right next to a gigantic huisache tree, like an expressive and watchful ornament, from which hung abandoned blackbird nests. An unmistakable point of reference, as was the fifteen-foot drop the boss-driver accomplished with true dexterity, which led onto a dirt road straight to La Mena; still to go was a long stretch, many curves, and much fatigue.
The field for driving practice, a perfectly unproblematic plain to swerve about on: first, second, third, reverse, almost never fourth: the roads didn’t allow for such speeds. Don Delfín told Demetrio that there were three barrels of gasoline at the first ranch; one more at El Origen and another, if needed, at La Igualdad. And here, all aquiver, is another bit of information: at every ranch Demetrio would find peons dexterous in the automotive arts. Practical wise men, with basic knowledge of whatever they needed to know. Because breakdowns … no precautions taken ever end up being a good bet. One lovely obstacle after another, spread about this territory beyond the reach of Mexico’s industrialization. Abiding life, almost like in the Stone Age: a matter of adjusting to the purely primitive with the single solid idea of somehow enjoying it, well, now to return … Among the many responsibilities assigned to the agronomist—once and for all let’s set some clear boundaries: we call him “agronomist” to stress that these were livestock ranches and that they wouldn’t plant a fig, not a seed or a tree to save their lives; hence all Demetrio’s agronomic baggage was utterly useless—and now, yes, to return to the evolving story, we wish to point out that his primary responsibility was to transport supplies, the most urgent ones, as requested by the peons on both ranches: El Origen was to the northeast of La Mena, whereas La Igualdad was to the southeast: at a slightly veiled diagonal. And the daily dust storms kicked up by the pickup: a romantic image for those (very few) who took the trouble to watch the arrivals and departures. By the same token we must say that Don Delfín had a hard time holding on to driver-managers, but we’ll get to the deeper reason for that later. In the meantime, one of the many chores involved the transport of goats and lambs, and once in a while a cow or a bull; breeding animals who were treated like kings, or slabs of meat to be sold in Sabinas and Nueva Rosita; there were other job-related oddities there’s no point in enumerating. We simply want to mention that the peons managed the full range of information. Though really: imagine once and for all the endless hustle and bustle, and—on the other hand, what an avalanche of difficulties awaited Demetrio! The fact is, the more his boss talked during the trip, the more paralyzed he became. So many particulars, so many unknowns, yes, of course! because of x or z.
When the boss and the new manager arrived at the aforementioned ranch—let’s call it the “head” ranch—the former let flow an endless stream of declarations; the points he made were incisive and parsimonious, and unfailingly incriminating; herewith the most resounding: You should bring a woman to live with you here. And then: A place like this can be lonely and tough. And then: I want you to enjoy yourself, in spite of the hard work, though without a woman, who knows what you’ll have to come up with: that last touch, on the heels of other similar ones, must have really struck the new employee. A collection of bitter juices churned