Tubo Noel Diaz Lucas hid behind the tall grass that grew on the side of the road. Armed with the old knife his father gave him, he waited on the signal that Jose would give once the truck carrying the sugarcane would pass by. One long whistle followed by three short stops that would give Lucas enough time to jump from the tall grass, give short chase to the truck, and cut off pieces of sugarcane he hoped would be enough of a treat not only for him and Jose but for their little sister who had just begun to teeth. He felt the need to remain as still as possible, ignoring the trails of sweat that had begun to fall on his back under the relentless sun of the plains. Not that the truck drivers cared, of course, their minds remained on making their stock of cigarettes last until the next pay and the long list of truck repairs that the company had given them the responsibility of looking after. No, Lucas wanted to remain still because that was what the heroes in those Sunday afternoon movies did in order to sneak up on their enemies. This was more than securing a sweet treat for Lucas. This was serious business. It was hero training. A cool northern breeze blew behind his back as Lucas relished in the momentary comfort it gave him before, on the very same breeze, he heard the signal from Jose that a truck had just passed and he would have a few moments before it would elude him — forcing them to wait until the next one passed by in a couple of hours. He felt the rumbling of the baked asphalt road that led from the sugarcane fields to the azucarera to be turned into sugar, rum, and various other treats. He took a deep breath and c 26