The chickens were in their brush pen happily scratching away when Morales came looking for Gertrude. “Come here, Gertrude,” he said, snapping his ...ingers. “Shit, how do you call a chicken?” he mumbled. “I never have to call them in the cave. They know when it’s feeding time and bug me until I feed them.”Gertrude paused to look at him, then ran over to see what he wanted, or maybe it was to see what food he had for her. For whatever reason, she and all the others came running.Morales picked her. ‘I like the sound of that,’ I whispered. Looking straight ahead she put my hand under the sweater in her lap, on her blue jeans. The heat rising from her crotch seemed to scald my hand. My glasses fogged. To hell with Meryl Streep and Africa, I thought, and whispered, ‘I like the feel of that.’ ‘Just you wait.’ Cocooned by the layers of clothing, we had total privacy. Even if we made a little noise, so what? My fingers drummed lightly on her jeans and I heard her shallow breathing, little gulps. More

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