The Orchid Eater by Marc Laidlaw Read Free Book Online Page B

“I don’t have to.”
    “Really? How
come?”
    Lupe plucked
the last two walnuts from the fruit bowl and cupped them in his palm.
    “’Cause
these here, see, are like the only nuts I got.”
     

5
     
    A green bomb
dropped through leafy shade, barely missing Mike’s head. He stooped to pick it
up and toss it in his bag. In the branches above, Edgar clambered about like a
monkey, reaching for another ripe avocado.
    Mike and
Scott had two bags full of fruit, some of it warm from the highest branches,
some of it cool as the shade. They had crawled through a hole under a barbed
wire fence near the roadside, then crept downhill under a continuous canopy of
avocado trees. Mike had never seen so many in one place. Edgar scurried up one
tree after another, plucking the rough-skinned bulbs and tossing them down.
    Mike kept
glancing down the hill, but the trees were so thick he couldn’t see much more
than a white flicker of the farmhouse.
    “Keep your
voices down,” Edgar whispered from above.
    “Why?” Scott
said loudly.
    At that
instant, just down the hill, dogs began to howl.
    “Oh, Jesus,”
Mike said, snatching up his bag, stuffing a spare avocado in the pocket of his
coat.
    Edgar leaped
from the tree, landing with an “Oof!” directly in front of Mike. He got up limping. Scott was already
halfway up the hill to the fence with one full bag under his arm. Behind them,
fallen leaves crackled and branches snapped, but the dogs were silent, devoting
their energies to the chase.
    Seconds
later, Mike shoved his bag under the fence and crawled after it. Scott was
waiting. They grabbed Edgar’s hands and yanked him to freedom on the bare
hillside, above the trees. They ran up Shoreview Road, gasping for breath. The
dogs were barking again, but getting no closer.
    Mike and
Scott glared at Edgar.
    “I swear to
God, there weren’t any dogs last time,” Edgar said. “Anyway, we got enough to
last us. Two full bags? That’s plenty.”
    “I don’t
even like avocados,” Mike reminded them.
    They started
up the road, slowly catching their breath. It was a steep climb. Mike slung his
jacket over his shoulder though Scott, perversely, kept his on.
    “The avocado
was the original fruit of knowledge,” Scott said eventually.
    “Oh yeah?”
said Edgar. “Says who?”
    “You think
they had apple trees in the Middle East?”
    “You mean
Eve gave Adam an avocado?” said Edgar with a sour expression, still limping.
    Scott nodded
with a look of unimpeachable authority. “She would have, if Adam or Eve had
ever existed, which they didn’t.”
    “Don’t ever
tell that to Hawk.”
    “You can’t
argue with Scott,” Mike said. “He knows everything.”
    “You can’t
argue with Hawk either. He’ll just blow your head off.”
    “The Bible’s
nothing but symbols and metaphors, with a lot of old history mixed in,” Scott
said. “I’m sure Hawk knows that. Look at his Fightin’ Jesus stories.”
    “Still . . .
you can never tell with Hawk. I wouldn’t tempt him.”
    “Not even
with an avocado?” Scott said.
    The road
wound up and up. When it leveled off, Mike was grateful, thinking they had
reached the peak. Then Edgar led them up another three steep blocks. The last
time he’d come up here, by car, he’d been reading in the backseat and hadn’t
paid attention to the road. By the time they surmounted the next rise, the sun
was sinking behind them. He looked back at the ocean, far below. Ahead, the
road went on for another quarter mile, rising more gradually. There were fewer
houses to be seen, and only sparse chaparral vegetation. He saw a broad gorge
with a row of houses lined up along the far end.
    “One of
those is our new place.”
    “Which one?”
    “I’m not
sure. It’s kind of hard to tell them apart.”
    They did
look alike, stacked tall and thin on the canyon’s steep wall. Their
westward-facing sliding glass doors glared bright orange with the setting sun.
Below them, the canyon was a darkening