Retrospect: December 2005
Since John the assistant would be helping us with skirting and plumbing, Willy had lent him his personal hunting/trapping trailer to live in. Willy was just that way and it was obvious that he was willing to help out a guy a little down on his luck in any way he could. Like Willy and his drilling rig, this trailer was another character study in itself; one of those tiny vintage jobbies that looks like a flat-bottomed watermelon after you flat cut its two flanks off. The duct tape over the holes in the windows had dried out and flown away on the journey in and Willy enjoyed telling us the story about how a bear had crashed its paw through that forward window. We reconnoitered a private and fairly level spot on the other side of the barn and they skirted and insulated it with whatever they had found on the road in and whatever else was lying uncommitted around the barn. If I wanted to achieve a certain desert funk, I was certainly on the fast track now.
The next day would see the beginning of our priority projects! Mark and I had stocked the 16 foot trailer with treated 4x4s, T-111 siding and Styrofoam in anticipation. Soon, the trailer would be skirted, depriving the bitter winds of their ability to chill the floor to sub-zero temperatures.
John showed up some time after 9AM and started in. Was this exciting or what?! By the end of that first 7 or 8 hour day, he had framed in one short end of the trailer and maybe a fifth up one side - not exactly the lightning pace for which we had hesitantly justified his hourly rate. I had known many speed of light carpenters over the years and the amount of quality work which they could hammer out in a day always left me breathless. I have always been slow and methodical in everything and, realizing it, never demanded so much as half the pay of the jack rabbit boys. So ... here we had John working at my pace (although without the finesse and drive for perfection) but consuming the pay of a fast and masterly tradesman. Our quiet concerns and angst would begin to mount from that first day forth.
When the second day did not see any acceleration in the reaching of his touted stride, Mark and I quietly conspired to set him to work on the plumbing of the water and gas. He was, after all, an old oil field roustabout so running pipe would be his true forte. Mark took over the skirting project and I thanked John for letting him do so, that Mark needed a productive task. Not apparent to us at the time, John took this as an infringement on his long term gravy train. I started to keep track of his actual on-the-job time but we paid according to his own records - even though it was somehow always ran about 15% higher than my 'benefit of the doubt' entries. As petty sheisters often do, he was mistaking quiet, compliant generosity for complete stupidity. We watched his further behaviors more carefully now.
When John did not show up one morning as planned, I gave it 2 hours and finally went over to the little trailer. No response from a knock on the door. I was uncomfortable about doing so but I finally peeked into an uncovered window, hoping that I wouldn't catch him in some embarrassing state of dress. What I saw was a totally inanimate body in the back bunk. I eventually tapped on the glass and waited. Tapped a little louder and waited. I finally convinced Mark to give it a try while I wondered about the protocol of dealing with a corpse in the middle of nowhere. While he didn't get a response form John, Mark did return with the observation that 'corpses don't snore'.
When John did show up towards late afternoon, he noted that he had contracted that pneumonia-threatening bug from Willy and his son. I dutifully made him a warm meal later and took it over. I stayed and listened to his 'larger than life' tales for a while. What I got in return was that miserable illness. In my case, as always, it would persist for many, many months to come, ever teetering on the verge of pneumonia in our frigid living quarters. As we both succumbed to this vile plague, our own progress ground to a standstill. When not sleeping, I spent most of that time hunched over the propane blast furnace to soothe the deep chills and trying to drive the excruciating concrete feel of my lungs out with chest contracting exercises, hoping to drive fluids out of the pleura. It must have worked - I'm still here.
To be continued
Next post: 2 or 3 days
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