Читать книгу Standpipe - David Hardin - Страница 20

TWELVE

A man loiters in front of his building a good distance from the street. I’ve called ahead to avoid having to drive around searching for the address in this sprawling warren of identical townhouses. Townhouse complex runs are the most difficult assignments, as we must navigate nondescript mazes designed to confound the casual driver and discourage those who don’t belong. Residents approach idling ERVs expecting emergency relief, only to be told we are dispensing, well … emergency relief—with qualifications. Ostensibly, only those unable to independently access a water distribution site are eligible for water delivery. Who can blame them for asking? Emergency relief seems, after all, to be the mission as advertised. Such a system works far better in neighborhoods of single-family homes, where the whole transaction can take as little as five minutes. Scratch a DRV circling a townhouse complex of multi-family residences, and reveal dun-colored, low-level dread.

He needs ten cases. Apologizes profusely—his place is on the third floor. I stack six cases on the hand truck, my partner and the man carry two apiece, and off we go, parading across a parched expanse of weedy lot. We unload on the stoop, one case to prop open the door. My partner stays with the ERV while the man and I lug water up six flights. It’s sweltering in the airless stairwell. The man pauses on the second-floor landing, coming back down. His breathing is shallow, color bad. I ask if he’s okay. He nods, hands on knees, gasping for breath. I suggest he wait by his door while I bring up the remaining water. Task completed, the man thanks me, extends a hand. Both of us are winded and find it hard to talk. Does he share my sense of having experienced a rare moment of human connection stripped of artifice, momentarily free of the burden of presumption and mistrust acquired over a lifetime? Perhaps we’re just dehydrated, a sip of water all we need to bring us around.

I take care to remove my damp, filthy work glove. Later, driving out of the complex, I spot him walking toward the rental office. I wave, but he seems not to notice, relaxed and at ease among a group of men, laughing among themselves at some private joke.