After Bonaparte Lake they walked to Wenatchee
and from there to Winesap, not far from the Grand Coulee Dam.
A farmer asked them to pick his peaches on a vast spread
along the Columbia, now under water due to the Chief Joseph Dam
though 40 minutes on dirt road by car upriver from it. Things have
changed. Back then, it was empty of people and full of geese. Now
most of the geese are gone, replaced by houses and streets.
Both of them enjoyed picking peaches. It was a selection
process that paid hourly, not a frontal assault of piecework
on the trees as it was with the apples and pears.
They ate peaches with oatmeal for breakfast, peaches in milk
with bread for lunch, and stewed peaches, bread, and ripe cheese
for supper. They ate peaches all day, but they never tired of peaches.
When the peaches were done, they had cash, decided
to hitchhike to Vancouver. Great luck! Long haired, bearded
Jeff Miller picked them up. He was a chemist. He’d landed a job
in Vancouver, starting in a few days. At the the border
he told the Canadian Border Services agent, “I don’t know
these two, I just picked them up hitchhiking.” Matt was a
master of the ironic look. He looked ironically at Rhosonny.
They were told to take their packs and stand near the car.
“Do you smoke marijuana?,” they asked him.
“Certainly not” he replied.
Matt looks ironic.
A search of the car ensued.
An agent says,
“I found some marijuana seeds. Are you sure
you don’t smoke marijuana?” to which
our driver, indignant, “My brother must
have dropped them. I’ll kill him.”
Matt looks ironic.
They find more, then more.
He admits that maybe he tried it once
a very long time ago, at a party.
Matt looks ironic.
“We find it hard to believe
that you don’t smoke marijuana.”
“Yes. It’s true. I smoke it sometimes.
But not often. At parties.”
Matt looks ironic.
“Open the trunk.”
The trunk is brimming with clothes.
“Hold on,” he says, “I’ll show you.”
He opens a large suitcase. The suitcase
is full of marijuana bricks. They take him away.
Matt looks ironic.
An agent says to Rhosonny, “Have you ever
smoked marijuana?” “Yes.” When?
Rhosonny looks at Matt, “when was that?
About a month ago? Matt nods agreement.
“How about you?” to Matt. “With him last time.”
Matt looks ironic.
They’re escorted into an office
where a portly uniformed man
sits behind a typewriter. “You’re being
deported for moral turpitude” he says.
“If you attempt again to enter Canada,
you will be arrested. Do you understand?”
“No” said Rhosonny. The agent tells it again
in a slightly different way. “Do you understand
now?” “No” said Rhosonny. Matt chuckled.
“What don’t you understand?” “How you can
find us guilty of moral turpitude.” “Possession
of marijuana is illegal in the States, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Rhosonny, but you didn’t ask if we’d
possessed it, only if we’d smoked it.” “Did you possess it?”
“Yes.” “There.” “There?” “Moral turpitude.”
“Committing a victimless crime in another country
is immoral?” Matt was laughing .
“It’s immoral to break laws.”
“Hadn’t heard of that religion before. Is it
moral to tell the truth and immoral to lie?”
“Yes.” “We’ve committed no crime. We’ve only told
you the truth.” “That doesn’t make any sense”
said the agent. “It certainly doesn’t” said Rhosonny.
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