By 7:30 a.m. on Tuesday, Jules stepped out of his cab, fully caffeinated and ready to take on the day. It felt like he could lasso the sun and ride it into the heavens, if need be, so much was going so well for Jules these days. His work as a foreman meant more money. And he had the oddest premonition good things were about to happen on the girlfriend front. He''d had several dance partners at the festival, though he hadn''t felt "bitten" by any of them. Bitten was his mom''s term for when he would meet someone who would strike him like a hammer blow in the heart, filling his veins with love.
He missed his mom, who often said crazy stuff to which he only half listened. He had not seen her for three years, and it was hard. Super hard for Jules, who loved his mama. If he was worth anything, it was because of her. And his father. But his father had passed when he was a boy. And his mama had never remarried. Thankfully, there was plenty of family around Llanos, a dirt-poor community less than 2 hours southwest of Ciudad Juarez.
The area was destitute, with little work and no future. So, Jules came north. He sent his mother money and Facetimed her the Sundays she could borrow a phone. But it was a poor substitute for being at her table and enjoying hot tortillas off the stove with huevos from her free-range chickens, and queso, frijoles, and pimientos out of her garden. It was hard not giving his mama a hug or being hugged by her. But it was one of the sacrifices you made when you crossed the border in search of better fortunes. Jules walked down through the bumpy pasture, thinking about how his raise would give him enough money to send his mom a bus ticket here so they could spend some time together. Before offloading the Bobcat, he scanned the tree line ahead of him.
If he was going to finish before noon, he needed to hustle. The trailer''s ramp was already down. When he circled in back to step onto it, he noticed a boot print in the gravel dust. The print looked fresh, though the weather had been sunny and calm the last few days, so it could have been made anytime. He glanced over his equipment, but everything appeared fine. And there was only the one print. Jules thought no more about it. He stepped up onto the bed and unlocked the chains, pulling them from the Bobcat''s four wheels.
The day was beginning to warm. The Cat had been sitting all night, so its front handle was cool. Jules turned the door''s handle and swung it open. Before twisting and hoisting himself onto the cab''s seat, he glanced down and noticed something different, something unexpected. It looked like a thick, colorfully patterned coil of rope. Then it rattled. It was a sound he hadn''t heard since the day he''d left home. A rattlesnake.
Dangerous. The sound and its appearance made him scream and spring back, cat-like, onto the trailer bed. Once he was certain he was at a safe distance, he breathed. The unexpected shock of seeing a rattlesnake rocketed his pulse. *** In northern Mexico and Texas, rattlesnakes were commonplace. There were several kinds, all of them easily recognized. When he was young, he and a friend had killed a 4-foot timber rattler, skinned it, and roasted some of its meat over a fire. It smelled good over the flames.
They''d taken a few bites, the flavor a cross between frog legs and turtle. A little gamey, but tasty. And filling for a couple of kids who seldom had enough to eat. Then they tossed the entire carcass--less its head, where the venom was stored--to the hogs. When Jules''s mother found out, her eyes turned fearful, then angry. Esmerelda''s Mayan heritage always made her think a little differently. Especially about things in nature. Whenever she encountered snakes--any snakes, but especially rattlesnakes--it was an omen.
"No good comes from killing Kukulkan," Esmerelda said. "Killing any snake." Kukulkan was the Mayan serpent-god, bringer of rain and sun, the intermediary between the living and the dead. Esmerelda instructed them about giving the rattler a wide berth or using a long stick to shoo it out of their path. They should never kill it. But this snake was on the front seat of his Cat. And Jules needed to get on with his Tuesday morning. He needed to get that tree line cleared by 11:00, so Leslie could show her client the view.
The rattlesnake wasn''t moving. The inside of the Cat was cool, so even though the snake had rattled, it wasn''t ready to slither away anytime soon. Jules couldn''t imagine how it had gotten into the Cat. Or why, for that matter. Probably following a rat, he guessed. Though none of that made any difference. He fetched a long-handled shovel from the cargo hold of his truck and returned to the flatbed. When the snake saw the shovel blade, it made a quick rattle.
Jules said a prayer, for his mother. Then he brought the metal down flat and hard, whacking the reptile. It writhed and rattled, and he struck it again, twice. Then it stopped. Jules had encountered lots of rattlesnakes. But he had never seen a rattler like this one. It was covered with beautiful dark-brown splotches. There was a pattern to the splotches, along the top of the back and around the sides.
The top splotches were the largest, separated by tan skin. Its head was in the shape of an arrow point. He watched it for a full minute, making sure it was dead. He regretted killing such a beautiful creature. He recalled the scolding he''d gotten from his mom. She was always using herbs, not only to spice their food but also for native rituals she remembered from childhood. After the boys had killed the rattlesnake, eaten part of it, and thrown the rest to the hogs, she''d pulled down a bundle of dried sage. Then she made the boys go out to the livestock tank and wash their hands and faces.
When they were finished, she lit the dried sage and waved the smoke around their heads, hands, and upper bodies, saying some kind of incantation Jules had never heard before. To cleanse them. Jules wished his mother were here to help him. But this morning, Jules didn''t have time for a ritual. Jules was a foreman, and he needed to get into his Bobcat and use its front loader to plow up the bush edge, then cut the last part by hand. The boss needed her view. Once he was certain the snake was dead, he used the shovel blade to scoop it up. He dropped the snake on the road''s shoulder, well away from his truck and trailer.
Then he returned to the Cat and checked it for more snakes. Not finding any, within five minutes he''d backed it off the trailer and was motoring to the bluff edge. He knew he''d clear a view for his boss well before noon. It was his job. But it was hard not to recall his mother''s voice. "Snakes are omens. No good comes from killing a snake.".