As Buddy and Grace are squaring off in the living room, Vet, wearing his gun, is at work. He scans the horizon with his binoculars. He’s still figuring out his speech.
Grace
The Book of Grace, Chapter 50: Marginalia: Sometimes I Don’t See Anything.
Vet
“Sometimes I don’t see anything. Sometimes I can stand here for hours and look and look and—what am I looking at? The Fence. And nothing. The dirt. The rocks. The sand. The gophers. The lizards. The jackalopes. Just kidding. No such thing as a jackalope. No such thing as an honest Illegal. Honest Illegal is a whatchacallit. An oxymoron. Oxymoron. Funny word. If I didn’t speak English I’d think that meant—‘clean idiot.’ Most of them don’t speak English.”
(Rest)
You’re rambling. Your speech isn’t a speech yet, it’s a ramble. A babble. A wander. Give them something more substantial, Vet. Put the job in a nutshell.
(Rest)
¡SAL DEL COCHE! ¡SAL DEL COCHE! ¡VENGA! ¡VENGA! ¡YO SOY EL UNITED STATES BORDER PATROL! ¡SAL DEL COCHE! ¡SAL DEL COCHE CON LAS MANOS ENCIMA DE LA CABEZA! ¡AL SUELO! ¡AL SUELO! ¡VENGA! ¡CÁLLATE! Yeah. That’s how we do it.
(Rest)
Nothing.
(Rest)
“Sometimes I turn a blind eye.” No don’t say that. But it’s true. A misstep. An indiscretion. Ramirez taking an hour and 5 minutes for lunch. Flowers not filling out the paperwork like he should. Carter getting a little too friendly with some Tonk girl, and I know he’s going to get intimate with her when he’s pulling the night shift solo. “Hide it under the rug. Let the sleeping dog lie. Letting things slide sometimes is necessary for the greater good. Of course, strictly speaking, letting things slide is just the beginning of the slippery slope. But what can you do. We’re like a family, us Patrol guys, out here.” Yeah, say that. “Us against them. Gotta do what I can to maintain that. I set the example. I bend and flex up to a point. I make accommodations. I don’t overdo it, but I do what I can. Because, hey, we are family, after all.”
He continues scanning the horizon.