How do we get it? Did you bring the shovel? No. Then we’ll have to use our hands, won’t we? He gets on his knees and begins clawing at the sand. The boy watches him for a moment, then bends down to help. He digs like his dog at home does, with both hands, throwing sand behind him in a high arc. The man smiles and says, Bueno, bueno. We’ll split it all eighty-twenty. I never would have found it without you. What’s down there? Gold, silver, jewels. Boxes of it. You can take a pretty necklace for your girlfriend. The boy shakes his head. I don’t have a girlfriend. For your mother then. The man winks. The hole is getting deep. The man puts his feet in and uses his pail to dig faster. Soon he’s chestdeep. Get in, he says. I need all the help I can get now. The sand is thicker this far down. He digs with his hands, and the man lifts the loose sand out with his pail. Soon he can’t even reach the top of the hole. He keeps digging. The man takes a break, leans against the wall of the hole, takes a sip from the bottle. He offers some to the boy. Agua? he says. The boy is thirsty. He pours some into his mouth. But it is not water. It burns his mouth, his throat, his stomach. He coughs, reeling backwards, and throws up, twice. The man laughs. He pats the boy on the back. Congratulations, he says. You’re a man now. He digs the vomit out with his pail. The boy wipes his eyes, spits. He is telling himself not to cry. Breathe, says the man. Breathe, hombre.
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