Hard Red Spring by Kelly Kerney Read Free Book Online Page A

back.”
    â€œBut Judas isn’t Indian. He’s a Ladino, he told me. Maybe they won’t take him.”
    â€œHa!” Mother cried over her own song. “Ladino isn’t even a real word, Evie. He may spend every peso he makes trying to become white, but according to the government, he’ll always be Indian. And for Indians, the government has the last word down here.”
    ~~~~~
    Evie watched the labor drafts the next day from an overlook near the road. The sun that day had risen red and progressed to a yellow-orange brightenough for her to see the larger details below, where Xela’s central park seethed with thousands of Indians. Bold black lines of policemen then corralled the crowd into smaller groups. The mass halved, then quartered, on and on until they fit into the wagons.
    Every male Indian in the area between the ages of twelve and fifty who was not majorly indebted to any farmer was required to go. But since most Indians didn’t even know how old they were, the police ignored claims that someone was too young or too old. Indians rarely made it past fifty, anyway, so no one could argue about being too old. If they looked like they could harvest coffee, then off they went. Judas told Evie that his nephew, nine years old, had been taken away and probably wouldn’t be back for months.
    Father’s plan for his Indian workers, however, succeeded. On the faith that Mother’s letter home would work, he borrowed from the bank in Xela and registered their debts at the government office to exempt them from the draft. By the time Evie came back from the overlook, they were gathering wood for the cooking shed, repairing the brushes and nets.
    ~~~~~
    Two days after the draft, it was light enough out to venture into the woods again. Judas stood on the front porch that morning, taking instructions from Mother.
    â€œClear it all out,” she told him. “Whatever you find. On our walk to Xela, I saw those shacks right on the property line.” She had started using the Indian name for the town (pronounced
SHAY-la
) months ago. The Spanish name, Quetzaltenango, was just too much of a mouthful, too tiring—eventually even for her.
    They had not wanted this much land, but the government insisted Father take it all, for a very low price. All or nothing. Then they gave him instructions on how to keep Indians away: hanging a specific dead animal from a tree, sabotaging altars with dreadful omens, shooting trespassers, but Mother preferred fire. It was dramatic yet unconfrontational, and she could see the plumes of smoke, the proof, from the porch.
    Judas relaced and retied his shoes before setting off with a lantern in his hand and his machete strapped to his hip. Evie followed with a basket of rolls. Behind them, the piano began, per Father’s request. He’d requested a long song, the longest Mother could find, to keep him company while he worked.
    â€œJudas, are you an Indian or a Ladino?” Evie asked, tagging behind.
    â€œI am Ladino,” he announced, annoyed. “Do I look lazy and drunk? I work for my food, I buy my clothes.”
    â€œBut your parents were Indians? And you used to be Indian?”
    â€œYes, but that’s before. Now I speak Spanish, English, some German. Now I am Ladino.” He held the lantern out as if lighting their way through the forest, though the sun shone bright enough now that it wasn’t needed. In his other hand, he held one of Ixna’s rolls, which he ripped with his teeth.
    â€œBut you’re on the draft list. Have you told the
jefe
that you’re Ladino?”
    â€œI am working on that,” he assured her, chewing. For a man missing many teeth, the crust was difficult to crack, and his entire face contorted with the effort. But still, Judas ate wheat with pleasure, unlike every Indian in town.
    â€œWhat about Ixna?” Evie asked. “She works. She can speak Spanish and English. Is she