He noticed a thin crack in the ground. He placed the point of his shovel on top of it,
then jumped on the back of the blade with both feet. The shovel sank a few inches into the packed earth. He smiled.
For once in his life it paid to be overweight. He leaned on the shaft and pried up his first shovelful of dirt, then dumped it off to the side.
Only ten million more to go, he thought, then placed the shovel back in the crack and jumped on it again.
He unearthed several shovelfuls of dirt in this manner, before it occurred to him that he was dumping his dirt within the perimeter of his hole.
He laid his shovel flat on the ground and marked where the edges of his hole would be. Five feet was awfully wide.
He moved the dirt he'd already dug up out past his mark. He took a drink from his canteen.
Five feet would be awfully deep, too. The digging got easier after a while.
The ground was hardest at the surface, where the sun had baked a crust about eight inches deep.
Beneath that, the earth was looser. But by the time Stanley broke past the crust,
a blister had formed in the middle of his right thumb, and it hurt to hold the shovel.
Stanley's great-great-grandfather was named Elya Yelnats. He was born in Latvia.
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