The North Dakota sun came up late.
They were already in the beet fields and had taken up their hoes with the handles cut off so they could not be leaned upon to rest; had already eaten cold beans and slices of week-old bread from the meal pie pans nailed to the table to be hosed off between shifts of eaters; had already filled themselves on rusty water from the two-handled milk cans on the wagon at the end of the field; had already peed and taken a dump and scratched and spat and splashed cold water in their faces to drip down their necks.
They were already in the beet fields and had taken up their hoes with the handles cut off so they could not be leaned upon to rest; had already eaten cold beans and slices of week-old bread from the meal pie pans nailed to the table to be hosed off between shifts of eaters; had already filled themselves on rusty water from the two-handled milk cans on the wagon at the end of the field; had already peed and taken a dump and scratched and spat and splashed cold water in their faces to drip down their necks.
Had done all of these after sleeping the short night on feed
sacks in sleeping sheds near the barn; after they had come into a new day, then the sun came up.
The Mexicans always outworked him. They spread out at the
south end of the sugar-beet fields and began to work, and the Mexicans always
outworked him. At first he tried to understand how that could be. It was all so
simple. They were to walk down the rows of beets and remove every other beet.
The farmers- he always thought of them as farmers- planted more seeds than they
needed, to ensure proper germination, and the seeds all came up and had to be
thinned to allow the beets to grow properly.
So they worked down the rows, cutting left and right, taking
a beet, leaving a beet, and it did not seem possible that one person could do
it that much faster than another, but always the Mexican men and women, and
even children, outworked him. Even when he worked hard, hacked back and forth
without looking, worked in a frenzy until his hands bled on the handle, he
could not keep up. Their white shirts always drifted ahead of him, farther and
farther out like white birds flying low, until they were so far ahead they were
spots and then nothing.
Rows of beets a mile long. Left and right for a mile and
then turn and start back, halfway up to meet the Mexicans coming back.
Eleven dollars an acre. Four rows to the acre, a half acre a
day, all day the hoes cutting, left and right, the rows never ending, and even
trying to catch up with the Mexicans was not enough to stop the awful boredom
of the beets.
The sun was hot when it came up late. There was no early
morning coolness, no relief. An early heat came with the first edge of the sun
and by the time the sun was full up, he was cooking and looking for some
relief.