Lunchtime Stories #2: White Lines

Ilich liked a lot of things in life, but he only loved two: beisbol and chapulines*. It wasn’t unusual for a Oaxacan boy to love beisbol, all Oaxacan boys love beisbol, but it was unusual for a young boy to love chapulines.

It was for this reason that one morning his grandfather, Israel, woke Ilich up and invited him to join the adults in the chapulin harvest. “Vamos, niño,” his grandfather said as he tossed him a net. Ilich, not used to waking up so early, opened his eyes just in time to see the net before it landed on his face.

There is only one way to catch chapulines, and that is to catch them while they sleep, so Ilich and his grandfather hurried through the forest to get to their milpa before the field became a tangle of tiny flying bodies. When they arrived, they found their neighbours, and supposed co-harvesters, talking quietly and staring at the ground.

“Que pasa?” whispered Israel, not forgetting the slumbering chapulines. Before the men could answer, Israel and Ilich saw that in the middle of their milpa, between the stalks of maize, lay a very large burlap sack.

As the eldest, Israel took it upon himself to open the bag. He loosened the knot, pulled the top apart, put his right hand in, and then quickly pulled his hand out. Ilich’s grandfather’s hand, which was dark brown a moment ago, was now white. “Talco,” said Israel. He then closed the sack back up, threw it over his shoulder, and started walking home. “Vamos niño,” he said, with one foot already in the forest.

Israel ran through the forest, slapping branches and leaves with one arm and holding the sack with the other, and Ilich, fast as he was, struggled to keep up. When they had almost made it back home, Israel made an unexpected turn, but Ilich knew this route—they were going to the beisbol field.

When they arrived at the field, Israel walked to home plate, put the sack on its side, took out his knife, and cut one of the bottom corners. Then, with his back facing the outfield, Israel squatted over the sack, lifted it, walked backwards and started drawing the right foul line. After walking about 200 feet, Israel picked up the sack and walked back to home plate. “Agua,” Israel said to his grandson as he squatted on the other side of home. Ilich ran off.

When Ilich returned, his older brother Alejandro was standing at home plate, and his grandfather was finishing up the batter’s boxes. Ilich gave his grandfather his water and took off to run the bases. Israel, exhausted from his labours, passed the empty burlap sack to Alejandro, stepped over his newly finished foul line, sat on the grass, and drank.

Alejandro turned the sack around a few times and then tossed it aside. Alejandro’s hands were now white, just like his grandfather’s. He carefully brought his right hand up to his face and gave his index finger a little lick. Alejandro’s eyes grew big, he turned to his grandfather, “Cocaina?”

Israel smiled. Ilich was rounding second.

*Grasshoppers