Cynthia Kadohata - The Thing About Luck

Obaachan returned from the store in an hour and a half and went straight to our room. I knew she wanted to be with Jaz because he was sick. I chopped the onions and measured out all the ingredients. The onions made me cry like crazy. Supposedly, Monsanto, a huge agricultural biotechnology company, was developing an onion that wouldn’t make you cry when you chopped it. Jiichan had read this in the newspaper and was so upset that Monsanto would change onions into something that weren’t exactly onions anymore that he wrote about twenty different letters to various people and organizations, protesting Monsanto. He got back twenty polite letters that didn’t really commit to one thing or another, then thanked him for his interest.

I cooked and crumbled the ground beef and threw all the ingredients into a giant pot, where it had to simmer for an hour and a half more with occasional stirring. Making chili was a major time commitment.

Because Robbie had kissed me last night, I wanted to get dressed up for dinner, so I changed into the only skirt I’d brought, which was a couple of inches above my knees and the color of the sky. Just before eight p.m., we drove into the field and set up dinner. Rory plunked onto a canvas chair and leaned his head back. “I don’t know why, but I’m just banjaxed today.”

“Ah, quit acting the maggot,” Mick shot back.

“I’m serious. I hope that little fella didn’t give me his germs.”

Jaz was lying in the pickup—he’d wanted to get out of the camper for a while.

“Trying to get yerself a holiday?” Mick asked.

Robbie walked over to the chili pot and filled his bowl. He was totally ignoring me. After the rest of the crew got their food, it was silent for a few minutes as everyone ate. Then Mick muttered, “A bit salty, isn’t it?” That made me feel exhausted, like no matter what I did, it wouldn’t be good enough.

Mrs. Parker said, “Yes, a bit.”

I wished someone would say it was delicious. It was kind of disheartening to spend all afternoon making chili and then see everyone scarf it up in eight minutes and call it too salty.

Anyway. Maybe everyone was eating quickly because this was the last chance to work with the whole crew before some of us headed to Oklahoma. Jiichan started flossing his teeth.

Mrs. Parker looked aghast. “I don’t think that’s really hygienic, Toshiro.”

He looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Jiichan, she wants you to stop flossing in front of everyone,” I explained.

“Oh, oh, my dentist tell me to floss as much as I can. But I stop now.” He seemed genuinely surprised. He looked down at his chili, as if he didn’t know how it had gotten in front of him. Then he stood up and wavered a moment, the chili spilling to the ground. Mr. Parker and I jumped up to steady him. He closed his eyes and leaned against me.

Mr. Parker pushed me away and sat Jiichan in his chair. “What is it?” he asked.

“I feel sick for a minute, but I okay now.” His face did have a pasty cast to it.

Obaachan got up and put her palm on his forehead. “Maybe he sick from Jaz,” she said. “His forehead very hot.” As if on cue, Jaz came out of the pickup just then and joined us in the dining area.

“I don’t want you working any more tonight,” Mrs. Parker decided.

“We need him working. We need to get as much work as possible done tonight,” Mr. Parker retorted.

“I hard worker,” Jiichan piped up. “I can work.”

“I know you’re a hard worker,” Mr. Parker said. “That’s why I want you out there.”

Mrs. Parker looked doubtfully at Jiichan, then said more decisively, “It’s out of the question. Look at the man. His skin is practically gray.”

Jaz blurted out, “Summer can drive a combine. My dad taught her. Even I can drive a tractor, except I’m sick now.” He collapsed into Mick’s lap, smiling strangely. My heart fluttered with fear. It was true I had driven under field conditions twice at the Hillbinkses’ farm near our house. And their combine—though a different model than the Parkers had rented—was also a John Deere. But I hadn’t gone past one mile an hour and my dad had been there the whole time. I doubted I was good enough to go out on my own. I gave Jaz the stink-eye. He jolted out of Mick’s lap and staggered back to the pickup.

“I can’t do it!” I said. “What if I mess up?”

“She no can do,” Obaachan said. “I forbid. She make mistake. She maybe break combine. Maybe hit another combine and break two at same time. Then her mother and father be in debt for rest of life.”

“How much experience do you have?” Mrs. Parker asked, looking at me with interest.

“Five hours,” I answered.

“Has everyone lost their minds? We can’t have a twelve-year-old girl driving a combine!” Mr. Parker said. He turned to Jiichan. “You’re sure you can’t work?”

“Absolutely not!” Mrs. Parker exclaimed.

“Honey, let me talk to the man.”

“I can work,” Jiichan said. “I hard worker.”

“Absolutely not!” Mrs. Parker exclaimed again. She turned to Mr. Parker. They stared at each other for three full seconds.

Suddenly, Mr. Parker’s shoulders drooped and he gave up, mumbling, “Happy wife, happy life.”

The others scattered after our quick meal, heading back to work and casting worried glances at my grandfather as they left.

“You go lie down,” Obaachan told him. Then, even though Jiichan hadn’t uttered a word, she said, “Why you want to argue with me?”

“I don’t feel like lie down.”

“I know you since you seventeen year old. I knew you going to argue with me,” Obaachan said.

“I knew you going to say that,” Jiichan retorted. “You want to argue about everything. You argue more than me.”

“That not true. You argue the most.”

Then they spent the next couple of minutes arguing about arguing. In the end, Jiichan relented and got into the passenger seat.

“I need to work,” he said petulantly. But he closed his eyes and said, “Ahhh,” as if it felt really good to slump down.

After Obaachan and I got Jaz and Jiichan into bed, Obaachan began washing dishes. I dried. “By the way, I decide. Pressure most powerful force on Earth.”

I didn’t answer. When the kitchen was clean, I went outside with a flashlight to walk Thunder before confining him for the night. The field looked barren, like a bomb had been dropped. It was the opposite of the flowing field the workers were cutting. I thought about our skimpy savings and wondered if they would deduct some of Jiichan’s salary because he couldn’t work tonight. And worse yet, what if we got fired?

Thunder galloped through the cut field. He flushed out a rabbit and took off in pursuit. They were both so fast. I stood still to admire Thunder’s muscular black body bounding in the moonlight. He caught the rabbit in his mouth and shook it dead. Back home when he did that, we ate the rabbit meat. Dogs killed rabbits, mosquitoes killed people, and people killed just about anything. But I really thought we all had good souls. That was so deep, I made a mental note of it.

“Thunder!” I called out. He tore back across the field and barreled into me with his dead, bloody rabbit. I took the rabbit inside, where Obaachan was reading a Japanese magazine. “Look what Thunder caught.”

“Rabbit not in Mrs. Parker’s recipes. Get that out of here.”

“Can I cook it for Thunder?”

Obaachan seemed to consider that. “If you clean up after.”

I took out a big knife. “Is there a hammer someplace?” I asked Obaachan.

“Use that,” she said, gesturing to one of the recipe books. “I do it.”

So I rested the knife blade on the rabbit’s ankles, and Obaachan pounded down on the blade, snapping the back feet off. We did that with the front feet and the tail as well. Finally, we did the head. Starting at the ankle, I yanked the rabbit’s skin off. Thunder was whining impatiently next to me. I gutted and rinsed the rabbit, saving the liver. Then I started boiling the meat with carrots and celery.