It was the hottest July anyone could remember, including Mrs. Ida Caraway, who had lived a respectable 94 years. Friday and Saturday afternoons, everyone but the most distinguished old ladies lived at the water, frolicking through the disappointingly warm waves. Sundays, the preacher could barely be heard over the droning of flies and the soft swish of paper fans.
Antonio was one of the Caraway’s farmhands. All day, he labored under the sun’s autarchic glare, pounding the ground with his sledgehammer, and removing the rocks that ran tremors up and down his arms
Even after the sun had relinquished control to his more civil second in command, the relief was negligible. The night air was thick and oppressive, and it clung to Antonio’s face like an elderly aunt’s sticky kiss. “Weather like this could drive a person crazy,” was Mr. Caraway’s constant refrain that summer, and indeed, Antonio could feel his sanity melting away and dripping out of every pore.
Midway through the afternoon meal, Mr. Caraway met Antonio’s eyes. “Son, I have an important job for you.” Antonio rolled the handle of his knife between his thumb and middle finger and waited. “There’s a horse needs to be taken care of.” Antonio ran his finger along the blade of the knife. It felt smooth and familiar to his touch. His pulse quicked.
The lame stallion’s flesh burned under Antonio’s palms and he gnashed his teeth at Antonio’s touch. When the blood hit Antonio’s skin it was as hot as hellfire.
That night, he lay in bed praying for a cool breeze to lift the blanket of dank air that surrounded him. Instead, he was blessed with a buzzing in his left ear. He waved wildly above his head for a few moments, then let his hand sink back to its former resting place.
He was just on the edge of sleep when the mosquito returned. The droning of its wings tickled his eardrum, and he sat up in a rage. He jabbed at the light switch with his thick index finger, and swiveled his head back and forth, searching for the winged pest. When he saw it from the corner of his eye, he snatched at it, but the mosquito danced gracefully away from his blow.
Sweat dripped down Antonio’s forehead, into his eyes. He darted back and forth, chasing the insect until he was out of breath. Finally, just when he’d given up, it flew right between his slab-like hands, and he brought them together with a meaty smack. Somewhere in the distance a dog began to bark. Antonio waited a few moments to pull his hands apart, savoring the conquest. When he did, the mosquito was nothing but a stain of red and a smear of black on his right hand.
The thrill of victory made his heart race. He was no longer tired, so he decided to walk to the sea where he prayed it would be somewhat cooler. It was ten minutes past midnight, and the asphalt was still so hot that it stuck like taffy to the bottom of his shoes.
He was nearing the end of 5th, and he could smell the salt and seaweed on the air. Up ahead, the dark mass of a man walked towards him. He continued to move at a steady pace, but his heart danced a tarantella against his ribs. As he neared the figure, he saw that it was not just a man; There was a woman with him. They were laughing to themselves, and hardly noticed Antonio until he was upon them.
Once he’d dealt with the man, the woman was easy. Just a quick blow to the head, and she was done. When he’d finished with the bodies, he continued on his journey, removing his clothes as he walked. He swam until he was tired, and emerged from the waves feeling quite refreshed.
