The
first year, after the rip-offs were through with me and
after the bad start I'd had, I gave up expecting to get rich. I
couldn't
complain. It's a toss up, whether I would have done better sticking
with
Pacific Stereo. And I did at least have those buds I was able to
recover from
the rip-offs.
That
awful morning, they cut the best of my crop. Then, though I was
never able
to prove anything, the plastic bags of loot that the Fibbles returned
to me,
supposedly reclaimed intact from the thieves, seemed a touch on
the light
side. Who knows? Maybe they felt it was their right to collect something
in the
way of a "pursuit fee" from me.
The
deer, porcupines, and grasshoppers had, of course, taken their toll
too. Even after I harvested, I had to beg drying space from Brenda
and Eagle. (I
sure wasn't going to pay the Fibbles rent.) They ended up letting
me use a shed
that had held sheep at one point in the history of their ranch.
But I was so
worried that somebody might peer through the old shelter's gaps
that I sealed
it all up with black plastic, and before I knew it, I'd lost more
weight to
mold. Once I took care of that problem, it was clear sailing. Almost.
Brenda
had extracted an agreement from me that in exchange for drying space
and
help with the cleaning, I would help them clean, pound for pound.
That first
harvest, I came out with a little over six pounds, for which Marvene
paid me
$11,000. So in actual cash, I fell way short of what I would have
made at
Pacific Stereo. But I had my land, being paid for by my inheritance,
and my 4
by 4; and my tent, and a Caribbean vacation. So with the $11,000
cleared on my
dope crop, I made my land payments, took Kiki on a second vacation,
and put
enough aside to buy plants and fertilizer the following spring.
For day-to-day
living, I'd have to depend on the income from those municipal bonds.
By
the second harvest, after the loss to the sheriff's bust, plus the
usual
natural attrition to deer, etc., I came out with a little over fourteen
pounds. Now I was cooking! For that, I collected about $27,000.
The outlay was
pretty much the same: land payments, a few homestead improvements,
a trip with
Kiki. (By now we were an old item, and Rain was in his first year
at Light Up
the Sky school. Wow!)
So
it's plain why I am enthusiastic about the prospects for this year's
harvest...barring rip-offs, busts, a deluge of deer, drought, hail,
mold, a
plague of grasshoppers, or whatever else Fate has up its sleeve.
For all the
sweat and labor, I might come in with $50,000, and finally start
thinking about
a house.
But
I've got to watch this tendency to go overboard and get all excited
before
the cash is actually in hand. Brenda warns me about this constantly,
almost
always when I hint that she probably has quite a stash of money
by now.
The
way I figure it, she must be well on the road to riches. After all,
she
inherited the same amount I did. She paid off her land, and she
and Eagle have
a pretty nice house to which they've added very little since my
arrival. And
since she grows her own stash of her favorite recreational drug,
her expenses
are not outrageous. So where does her money go? To a home for motherless
dykes?
I
came right out and asked her a while back. I was doing some budgeting
of my
quarterly check from the bonds...the like of which I knew she'd
be receiving
too...and I was having trouble figuring how to make mine stretch
over propane,
gas, car insurance, food for me and Spiro, movies for me and Kiki,
and so on
and on. "Brenda," I asked, "What the fuck do you
do with all your money? You
must be stinking rich by now." I can be subtle when I have
to.
She
smiled a cat smile, the kind that leaves the eyes cold. "It's
none of your
fucking business."
"Hey,
why not? don't you trust me, for chrissake? How could it hurt you
to tell
me how much you've got stashed away?"
She
shook her head. "Great," she said. "Typically, you
answer one question with
three more. The answer is, mainly, that it's none of your business,
period, and
that besides, you'll only put it in that dumb book you're writing
about all of
us, like you were some Phillip Roth clone..."
"Funny
you should say that. Kiki compared me to Phillip Roth too!"
"As
in Portnoys Complaint or Goodbye Columbus?"
"Well,
actually she was worried that I might be too introspective along
the
lines of Portnoy."
Brenda
sneered. "Bullshit. She's just worried that you won't be enough
of a
success to make her the perfect Jewish princess."
Below
the belt. She's good at it. "No," I said suavely (I thought).
"I'm saving
that role for you. And since you refuse to tell me anything about
your P and L
sheet, I'll just write that you made a fortune in the pot fields
of Northern
California, and used all your ill gotten gains to smuggle guns to
the
Sandinistas and the P.L.O."
She
remained unmoved. "I guess that's the price I must pay for
having a genius
brother. It's a relief to realize you're literate, actually. I'd
been beginning
to wonder if David and Dad were right about you all along."
"This
smart talk is going nowhere," I muttered grabbing a pillow
to hug for
comfort. "All I'm trying to do is jot down events I'm involved
in, along with
some other people around me...which includes you...and not stray
too far from
the truth, while protecting the innocent with phoney names."
Brenda
sighed. "Enough with explaining. I just hope to God that book
is more
interesting than your conversations. You still want to find out
how rich I am,
and I'm still not going to tell you. If you want me to loan you
some cash to
get you through the next quarter, then say so. But don't try to
weasel my net
worth out of me in the process. Now, if you want a few hundred..."
"Geez,
you make it sound like I'm taking money from you to keep quiet about
your money..."
Brenda
grabbed my pillow and threw it at me. I ducked just in time, so
she
launched herself in my direction and landed a pretty good kick on
my shin. It
was my turn to yell. We tussled for a few minutes, until I realized
that
growing dope had made a very sturdy lady out of my baby sister.
I didn't have
to hold back any more to let her hold her own. Eagle appeared at
the kitchen
door and stared.
"You
two look incestful," she sniffed.
Brenda
peered out from under my arm. "Incestful. Does that mean full
of
incest?"
Eagle
settled down on the other end of the couch, her eye glued on us.
She
cradled a bowl of popcorn laced with parmesan cheese and oregano,
one of her
specialties. The smell was too much. I climbed over Brenda and sidled
toward
it.
So
much for your basic detective work. I still don't know how rich
Brenda is,
but I did take her up on the loan. Just this once. Next year will
be another
matter. She might have reason to envy me.
