“Pip! Wake up! Wake up! The truck is gone. Eduardo is gone!”

I rubbed my eyes and, without thinking, “I thought the truck didn’t work.”

I probably should not have said that.

Claudia unleashed something in Spanish as I sat up.

“¡¿Qué te pasa?! ¡Siempre con las bromas! ¡Despierta, Pip!”

She stopped herself and sighed.

For a split second I think we shared a smile but it’s too early in the morning to know for sure.

“The truck isn’t broken.” She looked out toward the fields. “It’s Eduardo who’s broken.”

“¡Ándale!, Pip. Get dressed. Luisa is making breakfast and Pancho is on his way.”

“Pancho is coming here?”

She was already gone.

“I guess I’ll just talk to myself then,” and got dressed.

“I wonder if you’re ever going to get back to Santa Cruz, Pip? What do you think?”

I shrugged and ruminated on breakfast.

“¡Vamos!”

“Buenos días, Luisa. What’s for breakfast?” I asked, sitting down at the table.

“Era el favorito de Papá. Huevos rancheros. You might need the energy today.”

What requires more exertion than a short ten-mile walk to the cafe? I wondered.

My fork snapped through the crisp tortilla.

I could see his eyes just beneath the brim of his hat and immediately realized today was not the day I would earn my sombrero.

I pulled on the gear shift and pushed it into park.

For what felt like an entire California growing season, I walked over to Pancho.

“Amigo, what took so long? I told you to come straight here. The instructions were simple. How is it possible someone could be so...”

“Go do something you can actually handle. Cómo es posible? … Andale. Inside.”

That went well.

The phone started ringing.

Claudia, not far behind, walked over to Pancho.

“Hola Pancho.”

Pancho leaned into the truck to inspect the bags.

“Bueno, Claudia. Y Luisa? Como esta?”

“Bueno, Pancho. Bueno. Luisa is coping but Eduardo is still Eduardo. I won’t let you down.” She smiled “Guadalajara is beautiful. Everything is in order.”

“I understand. Carlos should be here shortly. Wait with the truck.”

Pancho walked into the room.

“Si, Thank you Carlos. We just arrived.” I hung up the phone.

“Amigo, you did a good job. It wasn’t an easy assignment. Next time come straight back. Claudia is… how do you say…de armas tomar.” Pancho grinned. “Can you call Carlos back and tell him that we await his arrival.”

“Sí… entiendo. Gracias.”

What the hell did I just say? ¡Vamos!

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Before I got the truck in gear.

“Mira, Pip, es que Eduardo siempre es igual. Siempre. Dice que va a trabajar, que va a ahorrar dinero, que ahora sí va a hacer las cosas bien. Pero cuando Driza le ofrece trabajo, dice que no. Después desaparece tres días porque Pedro lo llamó para ayudar con unas vacas, unas cajas, unas llantas o quién sabe qué.”

Focus.

“Pedro tampoco ayuda. Pedro tiene una idea nueva cada semana. Un día quiere entrenar burros. Otro día quiere sembrar café. Después quiere comprar una camioneta vieja y arreglarla. Después quiere ir a Estados Unidos. Después quiere regresar. Después quiere abrir un negocio. Siempre hay un plan, pero nunca hay dinero.”

Focus on the road.

“Y Eduardo lo sigue porque son amigos desde niños. Si Pedro dice vamos para allá, Eduardo va. Si Pedro dice vamos para el mercado, Eduardo va. Si Pedro dice vamos a trabajar quince horas por cien pesos y una cerveza, Eduardo también va.”

Do not look at her.

“Un día van a hacerse ricos con café. Otro día con burros. Otro día con una camioneta vieja. Y al final siempre terminan aquí, tomando tequila, comiendo empanadas y haciendo planes para la próxima semana.”

Do not say anything.

“So, whats up with Eduardo and Pedro?”

Claudia turned to look at me.

I almost drove the truck into the ditch.

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I sat on the tailgate waiting for Claudia and noticed an officious sign hanging from a fence post adjacent to the field: “Driza, S.A. de C.V. – No Trespassing.”

A pair of boots kicking up dust coming down the driveway caught my attention.

“Hahaha, amigo, buenos días.“

Pedro leaned into the truck. “A friend of yours, Eduardo?”

It wasn’t even noon, but apparently the party had already begun.

“I’m Pip.”

“Sí, what are you doing out here all alone?”

Noticing the bags, he poked one with his hand.

“What do we have here, Pip?”

I stood up and moved between him and the bags.

“Bags.”

“Bags of what, amigo? Eduardo, can you believe this? We have a pair of bags.”

Eduardo stood silently.

“Just bags. You know, the kind of bags that carry stuff. Beautiful day, huh? I am just waiting on Claudia, admiring the fields. What do you grow out here? If this was Santa Cruz, rows of strawberries.”

The screen door squeaked open.

Eduardo came alive just as Claudia walked onto the porch.

“They just planted maize.”

Claudia gave a stern look to Pedro for a brief moment and then turned her attention to Eduardo.

“Where have you been? ¿Trabajo?”

“¿Trabajo? Sí. I was making arrangements.”

“¿Arreglos para conseguir trabajo?”

“Pip, it’s time to go. Pancho is waiting.”

Luisa came out onto the porch and yelled something in Spanish that I understood to mean get the hell out of here. Pedro and Eduardo immediately started kicking up more dust as they walked down the driveway.

I looked at the truck, closed the tailgate and climbed in as Claudia got in on the other side.

The truck shook as we both sat down.

Here we go again.

Maybe I should have fixed the shocks while I was waiting.

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I didn’t notice it so much on the way to the mercado, but the truck is a bumpy ride.

“Take a right.”

“No, the café is this way.”

“Go right at the next intersection.”

“But that won’t take us to the coffee shop. Pancho is expecting us. He told me to bring you directly to the café.”

The look.

Sometimes words aren’t necessary.

I took a right.

The truck kicked up so much dust at that intersection that the cloud was visible from Santa Cruz.

“Luisa will be happy to see you.”

“Sí.”

We rode in silence for the rest of the ride as the truck trailed a plume of dust.

Before I got a chance to put the truck into park, Claudia was halfway to the door. She stopped and turned around.

“You’re welcome to join us, Pip.”

“And the bags? Pancho?”

Luisa opened the screen door and walked out to greet Claudia.

“Mama!”

They embraced as Luisa looked past me, to the fields, smiling.

Inside, at the kitchen table, worn through generations, Luisa had prepared plates of empanadas and elote.

“Mama makes the best empanadas. ¿Y Eduardo?”

“Si no está en la hamaca, anda por ahí con Pedro y esos muchachos.”

“Pip, go keep an eye on the truck.”

My self-imposed obligation to periodically contribute awkwardly to the conversation had been suspended. Squished? Who uses that word?

The truck, a sanctuary. Temporarily.

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“Eduardo, wake up. I am taking the truck. Pancho asked me to pick up Claudia. He told me to park next to the small church near the mercado”

“Bueno, mamá estará contenta.”

The hammock barely moved.

The truck started up without a problem. Follow the dirt road towards the cafe. Left at the intersection to the church. No problemo!

There.

Maybe that’s her.

“Are you Claudia? Pancho sent me.”

She looked me over.

“What do they call you?”

“They call me Pip.”

“What kind of name is Pip?”

“It’s what, uhm…are you sure you’re Eduardo’s sister?”

She was taller than expected.

“Are you sure you’re Pip?”

“I, I, I…yeah. I think so.”

This isn’t going well.

“Your bags are small for straw hats. And heavy.”

Yep, making it worse.

“Don’t touch that one.” She pointed. “You can take the other two and put them in the back of the truck.”

“They are straw hats. You know, the kind fishermen wear. Farm workers. These will eventually find their way to San Diego.”

Searching for something to say. Anything.

“Uhm, they must be squished to fit in these small bags.”

No. Not that.

Claudia smiled.

“It’s the raw materials.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

“That makes complete sense.”

“Definitely.”

“The truck is this way.”

Claudia looked at me. “You mean this truck right here that we are standing next to?”

I looked at the truck I was leaning against and loaded the bags.

“Yes.”

“Let’s get out of here. Pancho is waiting.”

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Santa Cruz is feeling farther away, and it’s clear, Eduardo is not the solution. Pancho is the way home.

“Luisa, have you seen Eduardo?”

“Cómo que no está en la hamaca?”

“Pancho asked me to pick up Claudia in the truck.”

“Ah, Claudia! Qué bueno. Qué bueno.”

Luisa walked over, pulled out the chair and hugged me before I could sit down.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Preparé una sopa especial. Menudo.”

“I thought Menudo was an ‘80s band.”

The screen door squeaked open. Eduardo stepped through and sat down.

“Luisa, this soup is delicious.”

Eduardo sat quietly. We didn’t speak. He just finished his soup and left.

“Thank you very much,” I said, gathering the dishes. “Here, let me help.”

I looked out the window towards the fields.

“You know, we have fields, the ocean, coffee shops, horses, warm days, and cool nights in Santa Cruz too. We grow strawberries, artichokes, Brussels sprouts, blackberries, and raspberries. All kinds of produce.”

“Sí?”

“Sí.”

“I need to get home. I have a date.”

“Con una chica?”

“No. With bureaucracy.”

Luisa laughed.

The heat of the day gave way.

It’s time to rest.

Claudia arrives tomorrow.

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I overheard Pancho on the phone talking to Claudia. I think she might be Eduardo’s sister who makes straw hats.

My ball cap provides adequate protection from the sun, but I now understand the appeal of a large-brim.

“Amigo, Claudia is bringing a shipment of straw hats from Guadalajara, and I need you to make sure she gets here okay. Those hats are extremely important for our business.”

“What do you need me to do, Pancho?”

“You can take the truck. Claudia isn’t fond of horses, and you’ll need it to bring me the hats.”

“But Eduardo said the truck was non-operational.”

Pancho grinned.

“The truck is fine, amigo.”

“If you can do this for me, the horse is yours.”

“But Eduardo…”

“Don’t worry about what Eduardo says. You listen to me now.”

“I could really use one of those hats. The sun is daunting.”

Pancho smiled.

“Hats aren’t given, amigo. They are earned. Get back to work.”

Phone rings.

“Bueno! Café La Paz. How may I help you?”

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Transport back to Santa Cruz is proving difficult, but the ten-mile trek to the coffee shop is paying off. Pancho and I are becoming good friends.

Luisa’s cooking has created a serious logistical problem, Eduardo.

He is dividing his time equally between Luisa’s empanadas and hammock siestas, but claims the truck is non-operational. I suspect the truck is fine. It’s Eduardo who isn’t functioning.

Fortunately, the empanadas provide the necessary calories for the daily commute.

The ten miles are quotidian now. I don’t need the donkeys. Pancho, the purveyor of the coffee shop, has promised me a horse.

He is a real character. Straight out of the movies. Cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and a pistola holstered to his hip.

We get along great. In fact, he offered me a job answering the phone and taught me rudimentary coffee shop Spanish.

“Seis mil dólares por kilo, FOB La Paz.”

“Doce mil dólares por kilo, CIF San Diego.”

My coffee shop Spanish is bueno!

The phone rings constantly.

I have yet to meet any of the customers. Only Carlos. He comes by once a week to pick up bricks of coffee.

That’s about it.

If I can somehow get a ride to San Diego, I’m basically home.

Eduardo’s sister arrives from Guadalajara next week. Perhaps her presence will disrupt his hammock-ridden state.

I have to go.

The phone is ringing.

Eduardo’s mother is a very good cook.

Too good, in fact.

I have just awakened from a deep empanada-induced food coma with an epiphany.

Fleeing Santa Cruz for Mexico was not rational.

I think I conflated feelings with facts and reacted emotionally.

The guys at the lumber yard made it sound like fun: riding in the back of a pickup truck using garbage bags full of leaves as both cushions and covers, crossing the border at Tijuana or Tecate, maybe spending the night in Ensenada, going fishing.

Who could say no to that?

I have now realized I wasn’t fleeing because I had to. I was fleeing from the anxiety of the uncertainty.

An adventure sounded a lot better than sticking around.

I must return to Santa Cruz.

Eduardo’s mom is yelling something in Spanish. Pretty sure it is directed at Eduardo.

“Ahorita! Ahorita!” she keeps repeating.

I must go now.

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June 17, 2026

The Court denied my Petition for Writ of Halibut.

As a consequence, I remain without halibut.

This development has created significant practical difficulties. Fish remains expensive and my financial condition continues to deteriorate. The Court offered no alternative source of protein and declined to address the broader implications of its ruling.

Seeking guidance, I consulted Archimedes.

After reviewing the matter, Archimedes concluded that my difficulties stemmed not from the denial of the petition itself, but from a lack of gainful employment.

His recommendation was direct.

“Go stand outside the lumber yard.”

Accordingly, I took his advice and am currently standing outside of a lumber yard in Capitola. Jose, Juan and Hector have advised me of the presence of Immigration and Customs Enforcement and that Canadian nationals are of particular interest to the authorities. They muttered something in Spanish but I understood the word “Trudeau” and have been advised to flee immediately.

Eduardo arrived in a truck with three nearly flat tires and is taking all of us to Mexico for safe harbor. He informed me that his mother’s home in La Paz is a short 10-mile walk to the nearest coffee shop that will have internet. I can file documents from there.

On Wednesdays and Sundays, the donkeys are available for transport. They should mitigate the wear and tear on our joints from excessive walking.

I am concerned about sun exposure, but Juan insists I need not worry because his sister makes straw hats.

I am learning that lying flat on the bed of the truck accomplishes two things at the same time. We remain out of the wind and out of sight.

I have to go now. I will update.

Respectfully,

General Pip G.

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