They just keep coming

The vines continue. They go on and on. The wind blows, the sun shines, the rain falls. We continue. We are always almost half way done. It’s as if in a dream where you run at full speed but get nowhere. The souche are like the federal soldiers charging the wall at Fredricksburg, or for that matter a Chinese soldier in Korea - they just keep coming. No matter how many are slain there are more behind them. The electrocoup 2000 like the confederate rifles, keeps firing all day until the barrel is too hot to touch. They arrive, they are cut down, and another presents itself. It goes on from sun rise, to sun set. It is psychologically brutal, even on a beautiful day.

But I won’t complain, if I started I would have to continue. Tell of my body that is racked with fatigue from the inside out. Speak of the groups of muscles that are stretched with the same motion so many times that they become sore when moved in any motion that varies from the ordained movement of the taille. I would end up telling of my hand that wakes up literally frozen in place, as if clenched around the handle of my tool, or the barrel of a gun. Talk about my legs that constantly feel, and sometimes move, as if they are made of stone. But as I said, I won’t complain.

After all we’re in a crisis, and so there are always worse scenarios. Like the vignerons. He started working this job when he was ten. He was fifteen when his father died and he became the head. He’s multiplied his holdings just to the point where all he can do now is work, and try to stay ahead of the bankers. They are all skittish nowadays and they are passing it on down the line. My vigneron is feeling it, and by consequence me too.

The reason I can’t really complain about my work, is that I am not really working. Work, or more specifically a job, implies completing a task and being remunerated for it. That’s not really my case. As I’ve said before, it’s more like the commercial lien between a hooker and her pimp. She does the work and he gives her what he thinks she needs, when he’s got it. My vigneron loves me, he would give me some money if he had it, he’s just a little short right now. It’s hard times right now with him having to pay for the new car he just got, and the new house he’s building for himself. He did promise me he’s going to get me a new pruning tool for next year. Also I don’t want to keep bothering him for some money or he may just let me go.

It was cold today, the winds were 50mph with gusts up to 80. The sun never really came out. We spent quite a bit of time in the truck with the heat on, drinking hot tea. For a farmer the truck is his office, and when we were warming up, my farmer was carrying out a little business on the phone. He was talking with the bank trying to get an advance on some money he’s got coming in. They weren’t too receptive, the crisis and all that. It also seems he is a bit over-extended already. Normally that might make me nervous, but I know better than to doubt him. When I told him I couldn't come to work tomorrow because I had no gas in my car, he pulled out a wad of cash and peeled a fifty off for me. I know my vigneron, he loves me. He’ll take care of me, just like a good pimp does.