The hidden years in Canada 69, the runs

Door San-Daniel gepubliceerd op Wednesday 24 June 08:08


The runs

The day went by driving and unloading and my arms started to hurt. There was indeed no time to eat somewhere and the only time to relax from the driving, was the unloading of the cargo. 'I would almost want to rush back to work in the high-rise, ‘Rico said, and I agreed. When we came past Brooks on the way back the light of Norma Jeanne's was out. The driving was now  different again, the empty trailer, danced behind us and the truck had regained its strength. With a bump in the road you could hear the occasional piece of steel jumping up and down in the back and we darted back across the road towards home and  the Pontiac.

The old American was still there, but very lonely and abandoned in the parking lot, barely illuminated by the single lamppost. The lorry came to a halt in front the yard, the gate was closed and I had to turn off the engine to remove the key from the ring that would open the gate. I gave it to Rico him who looked tired at me. 'Rico,' I said, 'open the gate and keep waiting next to it, I'll be back in a jiffy. ‘ The truck crept cautiously across the yard and the engine made some odd  contraction sounds when the ignition had been turned off. I jumped out of the cab and everything was pitch black. I saw the silhouette of the ‘Kiwi’ truck combination, which was already waiting for us, waiting for its ride back and forth of about 14 to 15 hours. The cargo was piled high and my heart sank into my shoes. I banished the image from my mind, we’d see it soon enough again tomorrow. I walked to the shed and punched the only two cards remaining in the rack out. Kadonk ... it sounded, the cards went back into the rack and I walked to the gate where Rico was waiting. ‘Okay, old boy, 'I said,' we're going home.’ The seat of the Pontiac felt pleasantly familiar. At the first turn of the key the engine fired, nothing of  glowing or preheating of a diesel engine. The heavy rumble of the V8 sound came growling from the exhausts.


The chromed knob was turned and Mathew and son came out of the little speaker. ‘That's what we are like,’ said Rico, ‘except that I'm not your son.’ ‘My name is not Mathew either,’ I said. ‘But I understand you.’ ‘Tomorrow we can have a go again,’ Rico said. ‘I have a suggestion but only if you  agree,’ I said. ‘I'm listening,’ Rico said. ‘Suppose we start tomorrow two hours earlier, than we’ll be back two hours earlier.’ That will be a short night for now, ‘Richard said,’ but I think that's fine. ‘ ‘Good,’ I said, 'then we will drive away at 6 o’clock and the city traffic will be quieter leaving. ‘ ‘How do we do we go about the punch clock,’ Rico asked. ‘We just punch in when we go away and if there are questions about it at the end of the week, we’ll simply explain it.’  And so the old American sought its way through the quiet streets and per minute that we drove away from the company we left the misery of the day behind us.

San Daniel 2015

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