Yunior Read online

  “You look ready to get to work,” Mr. Yield said.

  “Work it is, my friend,” Yuñior replied. “I must ride the fields, check on production, and so much more before dinner.”

  “It seems odd, you having to work like a normal job,” Mr. Yield said as the pilot announced their arrival.

  “Sí. Sí, we all have responsibilities,” Yuñior replied. “I must see to the coffee and the main production facility of the coca plant. The standards are higher for the leaves that are shipped to the pharmaceutical companies.”

  “Versus the plants you process for...distribution?”

  “Bueno,” Yuñior said, taking a seat and strapping in as the wheels touched down. “I’m really thinking, Brody the Johnson, of having this plane remodeled to include a bed. It can only fly siete hours before needing to refuel.”

  “Or you can trade it in for a bigger plane,” Mr. Yield suggested.

  “Bigger plane, bigger expenses. I only have my salary plus the emerald mine. I don’t know how long it will be before the veins dry up,” Yuñior said. “I would have to find a legitimate means to generate more income to cover fuel, the cost of the pilot, and the attendant. In time. In time.”

  The plane came to a smooth stop. Hans’ deep voice came over the airwaves, announcing the arrival at Las Tierras. Yuñior was excited as he looked out the window and saw a man on a wagon pulled by a donkey with a black stallion tied to the rear. A black four-door SUV also waited on the tarmac.

  “Welcome to my home,” Yuñior announced with pride. “Come. Come. There is much to be seen Brody and Millicent the Johnsons. Chad, you’re with me.”

  The boy, also awake after his nap, jumped from the seat, leaving the globe in the chair. His small Black Panther suitcase was being loaded into the rear of the black vehicle that was driven by what looked like a mustached Samoan on steroids. A young woman with jet black hair wearing a tailored ivory suit waited by the vehicle as well.

  “Millicent the Johnson, you shall ride in the vehicle with Marianna,” Yuñior said, bounding down the stairs. He shook the hand of the man on the cart who also wore all black, including a black Bolero hat, with a cheroot dangling from the side of his mouth. Yuńior’s attention went back to the kid. “Chad, do you like horses?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one in real life,” Chad said, coming off the plane. He, too, shook the man’s hand on the cart before following Yuñior to the stallion. Yuñior mounted the horse and with one hand, reached down, lifting Chad into the saddle in front of him.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Millicent called.

  “He shall be safe with me, Señora! We shall see you at the hacienda,” Yuñior called out, gently kicking the sides of his favorite horse and galloping away into the lush green fields. The clothing he wore and the black horse blended into the scenery, and Mr. Yield’s eyes had trouble distinguishing where the horse ended, and the man sitting astride it began. The joy in Chad’s voice could be heard over the sound of the hooves as he laughed, holding onto the front of the lightweight saddle.

  “Señora, you’re with me,” Marianna said, opening the back door of the SUV. Millicent looked to her husband, who nodded while providing a weak smile. This left him with the man on the wagon.

  “Buenos Tardes,” Mr. Yield said, as he climbed onto the buckboard seat, giving a greeting to the driver. Although they hadn’t been formally introduced, he knew who the man was. A click of the driver’s tongue, a flick of his wrist, and the reins landed on the rump of the donkey who started to pull the wagon toward a white house that sat in the background. Mr. Yield was ready, or at least he believed himself to be, as he sat on the cart, riding through the green fields of the ancestors of the one and only, Eduardo Delgado.

  Chapter Two – Not a Bad Aim

  MR. YIELD SWALLOWED every single word that came into his mouth while riding on the cart beside one of the toughest men on two continents. He was taller and much thicker than he appeared in photos. The eyes, focused on the dirt path and guiding the old donkey along the route they obviously rode frequently, didn’t glance his way. Since the driver offered no conversation, Mr. Yield waited for the moment to reveal itself when Eduardo Delgado planned to test his character.

  Men like him always needed to know how a person would react in adverse situations. After all, his son had chosen Yield as a friend. Eduardo wanted to understand what Yuñior saw in the man with the scarred face. He only knew of one way to test his calm.

  “Surprised it’s so hot here for this time of the year,” Mr. Yield said.

  “We are three hundred miles from the equator,” Eduardo replied, guiding the donkey off the path that led to the main house “... about the same driving distance as your house to New York City.”

  Eduardo glanced over at Mr. Yield, expecting a reaction from the man facing the reality of a dude driving a cart led by a donkey knowing where he lived. Brody didn’t flinch at the acknowledgment. He was, however, concerned with the detour from the main path.

  The wooden wheels of the old wagon creaked and whispered a groan while the donkey labored, pulling them along through dense foliage. Eduardo advised him to pull the hood up on his jacket, covering his neck and hair. Mr. Yield heeded the advice.

  “Creatures fall out of the trees,” Eduardo said, pointing at the low-hanging branches.

  “Yeah, I would lose a lot of cool points stripping down to my drawers in the middle of the lush green fields of your ancestors,” Mr. Yield responded, pulling the hood up on the lightweight jacket, thinking of ways to open the conversation. “Years ago, when I was still with the university, we were excavating a site close to Montezuma’s Well in Camp Verde, Arizona. It was hotter than mid-July in Phoenix, so there was this pond. I stripped down and jumped in, trying to lower my body temp and rinse off the dust. I came out covered in leeches. Even had one attached to my lip, and that took all night to remove the little bastards.”

  Eduardo didn’t make any comment as the wagon exited the thick vegetation and came to a clearing where a lone greenhouse type of structure sat. On both sides of the windowless building were vents and a portable cooling unit. Even from the outside, Mr. Yield could smell the snakes. A funky musk odor mixed with urine and snake feces the animals used to mark territory seeped out of the building from the open vents.

  Mr. Yield thought of several places he preferred to be versus where he currently stood. At this point, twenty minutes in the lady aisle in Wal-Mart with Millicent trying to decide which package of butt pads she preferred was better than entering a building filled with vicious, venomous vipers. This was his test, an exam he prayed he wouldn’t fail and come out of the building screaming like a little girl getting mud on her knickers.

  “Vayamos,” the hatted man said, climbing down from the wagon. Mr. Yield did the same, watching the feet of the father, walking where he walked and stepping where he stepped. The door opened, and the scent curdled the half-digested waffle in Brody’s belly.

  “Damn, that is funky,” Mr. Yield replied, stepping through the door Eduardo opened.

  The lighting in the room was dim. Glass cages on two shelves lined the walls as the sound of scales, all moving at the same time, scraped over rocky habitats re-created to simulate their home environment. The sound made Yield’s skin crawl. He swallowed hard and began to walk the dirt floor, peering in the glass cages and making a mental note of what he was seeing. He recalled Yuñior boasting that the farm produced and housed as much antivenom as the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. Mr. Yield prayed that Eduardo didn’t want him to milk any of the family pets.

  “These are all vipers indigenous to Colombia,” Mr. Yield spoke aloud. His attention was drawn to a bright yellow viper that he nearly missed inside the glass casing. The snake wrapped itself around a limb, almost blending in with the yellow flowers. “The bocaracá. It’s much smaller than I’d imagined, yet beautifully deadly.”

  As he said the words, a sound drew his attention, an angry little snake striking the glass
in front of Eduardo.

  “He thinks it’s feeding time,” Eduardo said.

  “Is it?”

  “In an hour, but each time I come in, Fernando thinks he’s supposed to get out and play,” Eduardo replied, reaching for the top of the vivarium to open the hinged lid. It was all the space Fernando needed as he struck out at Eduardo, making him jump back to avoid the bite. In a blink of an eye, the viper shot out of the cage, onto the sandy dirt floor and slithered toward the open door.

  Mr. Yield moved quickly, grabbing a set of tongs hanging from the wall. Closing the metal just at the base of the viper’s head, he lifted the slithering sly snake towards the glass home, easing it back into the case and closing the hinged opening.

  “Whew, that was close,” Mr. Yield said, hanging the tongs back on the wall. Eduardo only nodded, pointing his finger at Fernando, who responded by striking the glass again.

  “Si, but I would have caught him and put him back,” Eduardo said, shifting the hat on his head. “Vayamos.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Mr. Yield said, following behind the man but stopping at a vivarium inhabited by four colorful frogs. “Wow, dart frogs. I’ve heard of these but have never seen one in person. It’s said that one touch to the skin holds enough poison to kill twenty people. I thought these were only found in Choco.”

  “This is only one of the many venom houses we have on Las Tierras,” Eduardo replied. “We have at least four of every poisonous species on this continent and the other six around the world. Come, I need to get you to your family.”

  “Okay,” Mr. Yield replied, looking at the Fer-de-Lance one last time. “That was a close call. I would hate to have to tell Ed I reacted too slowly and allowed the Fer-de-Lance to strike the Fer-de-Lance.”

  Eduardo closed the door to the venom house, observing the man his son called Brody the Johnson. He had reacted quickly without panic. This Brody acted to protect him even when he didn’t require his assistance and spoke of his background without sounding boastful. Yuñior had selected well, making Eduardo pause again.

  “So, you know who I am?”

  “Of course, Señor,” Mr. Yield said. “However, I was half expecting you to try and make me milk one of them as a test of my character.”

  “Would you have milked one had I insisted?”

  “Hell no!” Mr. Yield said, “I’m many things, but a fool ain’t one of them.”

  Eduardo found himself smiling. He liked Brody the Johnson and could appreciate what his son saw in the man. The expressions on his face were hard to read. However, he spoke his mind with an honesty that refreshed his soul that was weary of dealing with men who said one thing and did another.

  “Señor Delgado,” Mr. Yield said, climbing back into the wagon. “You do know that I hate snakes, right?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t care for them much myself,” Eduardo confessed, climbing aboard the wagon, tugging gently on the reins, and heading toward the main house.

  YUÑIOR ARRIVED AT THE main house, taking Chad from the horse and holding his hand as he led him through the back door. Eager faces awaited him in the warmth of the kitchen. He addressed his stepmother first.

  “Buenas, Señora,” he said, offering a soft kiss to her jaw and taking Isabela from her arms. He smothered his sister’s cherubic cheeks in kisses, as she giggled from the touch of his facial hairs against the gentle skin of her face. “Chad, this is my family.”

  Chad didn’t miss a beat. His eyes on the ebony-skinned Ryanne, he said, “She’s your Mama?”

  Yuñior smiled at the young man, then looked at Ryanne. “Yes, she is,” he replied, pointing next to his brothers. “This is Micah and Angel. The one with the big head is Andres.”

  “Picking up wayward children now, Yuñior?” asked Andres, the brother two years younger than Yuñior, followed by Micah, who had Asperger’s, and Angel, the youngest of the brothers, who had Down’s Syndrome.

  “Chad is the son of my friend, Brody the Johnson,” Yuñior said. “His wife should be arriving shortly with Marianna. Her name is Millicent.”

  Ryanne took Isabella from Yuñior’s arms, curious about Chad’s father. “Where is your father, Chad?”

  “He’s riding in the wagon with the man wearing the black hat,” Chad said, looking around the house.

  Chad was small for his size, but he appeared to be about eight years old, the same age as Angel. Micah observed the boy closely, looking him over and sizing him up. The past year, Chad had toughened up a great deal. No longer did he allow the bigger kids to bully him at his new school, and steady meals of beans, meat, and leafy green veggies had given the kid a heft in muscle tone. The former meals of Waffle House leftovers, sweet cereal, and pizza had slowed his growth. He’d packed on a good ten pounds since his mother married Mr. Yield. He had also packed on more spunk.

  “So what do you guys do around here for fun?” Chad asked.

  “We work in the fields,” Micah said.

  “That doesn’t sound like fun to me,” Chad replied. “You got any video games? Cool movies or stuff like that?”

  “No, I play drums, and we have a pool. Plus, I have a horse I like to ride,” Micah replied.

  “I have a pony, too,” Angel said.

  “Cool,” Chad replied, “I rode with Ed on his horse. Maybe you can show me how to ride one by myself.”

  “Only if your Mama says it’s okay,” Angel spoke up, squinting his eyes. “Who is this, Ed?”

  Chad pointed at Yuñior. His family all turned to look at him with suspicion, and Yuñior shrugged as the black SUV pulled up to the house. He moved quickly to greet Millicent at the front door.

  “What? Eddie was already taken,” Yuñior said, walking to the front of the home, ready to greet the wife of Mr. Yield.

  Millicent stepped from the car as Yuñior walked down the front stairs and offered Millicent his arm. He patted her hand as he guided her up the front stairs to the white adobe home, which over the years, received two additional wings added to the hacienda with bedrooms that had been opened for his houseguests.

  “Millicent the Johnson, welcome to our home,” he said, turning her around to face the green fields where generations of Delgados had tended the land. The pride on his face radiated down his arm, warming Millicent at the core.

  “Your lands are truly magnificent,” she replied, “but I must ask, where is my husband?”

  Yuñior pointed to the West toward a small outbuilding. “You can see the cart from here...ah see, they have just left the Venom House, heading this way,” he said with a smile as he led her into the main home.

  “Venom House?” she asked, thinking maybe she’d misheard him.

  “Si, that one holds all of the species of vipers and poisonous creatures found in Colombia. We make antivenom to be able to treat those who live on Las Tierras,” he told her.

  “You have to milk the snakes, right?”

  “Si. Si, but we are trying new techniques to create a more potent synthetic antivenom. Typically, the treatments are made by first ‘milking’ the venom from a snake before injecting it in low doses into a horse or sheep. The animal doesn’t become ill, but the toxin induces an immune response that produces antibodies. These antibodies are then extracted from the animal’s blood to create antivenom,” Yuñior told her. “I have been studying a new technique called antivenomics, which targets unique proteins in a particular snake species’ venom. We can treat more people with effective doses, thereby increasing the chance of the victim’s survival. It does have side effects, though.”

  “Like what, if I may ask?”

  “It gives the victim a horrible case of diarrhea,” he said with a chuckle, thinking of Tito Montoya. “We are close to stabilizing the formula without the side effects, of this I am confident.”

  “I assume there are a lot of snake bites here on the land?” Millicent asked, walking into the living room of the home and spotting the statuesque black woman as well as a replica of the woman
in the car.

  “Millicent the Johnson, I would like to present you to the Lady of the Lands, Señora Ryanne Delgado,” Yuñior said with reverence.

  Based on the inflection in his voice, his mother must have been someone of importance. Millicent wasn’t sure what to do. She grabbed the edges of her skirt and performed a perfect curtsy.

  “Girl, we don’t do that here,” Ryanne told her, stepping forward to shake her hand. Thinking better of it, she embraced Millicent in a hug. “Welcome to our home. These are our children: Andres, Micah, Angel, and Isabella.”

  A cry could be heard in the distance of Catarina calling for her mother.

  “And that would be Catarina waking up for her noon feeding. Mara, if you would be so kind,” Ryanne said. “Mara is my assistant. To your left is Julianna, my husband’s right hand, and behind you, that is Tonda.”

  “Whew!” Millicent said as she turned around and came face to face with a chest attached to a huge man with a ponytail, a tough guy mustache, and loads of muscles. “Is there a head attached to all that man?”

  Her hand touched his chest, eliciting a growl from Tonda.

  “Please don’t touch. Tonda hasn’t been fed yet,” Ryanne cautioned. “Speaking of feeding, it’s time for lunch. I hope you have an appetite. Cook has outdone herself.”

  “You’re American,” Millicent said.

  “Texas-born and raised,” Ryanne replied. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea, cold or hot?”

  “Water would be good,” Millicent said, looking around for Chad, who had disappeared with the children once the introductions were made. “Six children must keep you busy.”

  “I think I spend more time feeding and wiping noses than anything else,” she told her.