The hidden years,129 Bill's wife

Door San-Daniel gepubliceerd op Tuesday 18 August 13:19


Bill’s wife

It was seven o'clock sharp and I saw in the distance the great Arctic arriving. Gingerly, the monster crawled into the parking lot and then parked in the middle. I walked over and grabbed the handle firmly  with one hand  and pulled the door open with the other. Sufficient heat flowed out of the cab. Bill sat behind the wheel and motioned me, ‘hop inside boy before the cold autumn wind does.’ ‘Good morning, boss, I'm ready,’ I laughed. ‘My name is Bill and my friends call me 'arctic Bill,’ on behalf of my trips and my truck' .. 'Okay Bill, ‘I said, to Fort McMurray.’ I had one last look at the blue Pontiac parked safely close to the building and closed the door behind me. I chuckled to myself, the cook would be busy without his busboy. I saw him cursing washing piles of dishes, before my mental eye. He would not be home early today. We drove in silence out of town and Bill began to talk.'I go up North because my life is not fun anymore, he started. ‘ I listened politely. ‘I've always worked hard and built up a good business. I married a woman who liked to help me, who stayed home and became my phone centre. You know how that works? ‘ ‘No,’ I said, 'She  manned the phone for orders, and if I had landed somewhere, then I called her and then I heard if I could come back or had to go through to another place. ‘

‘That went well for many years, very well indeed and I leased another  truck and my co-driver ran it.’ Recently I bought in the same way a third truck and I myself would take the longest journeys for my account. ‘ Meanwhile, I saw him work through the gears while his eyes did not leave the road. ‘One day I came home early to surprise her,’ Bill spoke now with a distant voice and I did not see her beside the phone. Do you know where she was, boy? ‘ ‘No,’ I said, and I thought how was  I supposed to know where she was. ‘In bed, young man, what do you say it to that, right? ' I said nothing, okay then she might have been ill, or she had overslept. ‘But not alone,’ continued Bill, ‘but with one of my buddies.

I understood it completely. ‘Right,’ I said, 'pff, that is worthless. ‘ ‘More than worthless, boy, watch out, it is the fate of many of us, we truckers are far from home and it offers folk an opportunity, you know what I mean?’. ‘Yes,’ I said, because I have a picture with that. ‘So that was completely wrong,’ Bill continued, ‘it was already half a year in progress.’ ‘I wanted a divorce, stupid, really stupid of me. She had always worked and  I had to pay her now deferred wages, apart from that I had to pay alimony. ‘ That seemed reasonable unjust to me, gosh, I thought how strange can relationships be. ‘I lost everything and then I made a deal with her, I gave her the home, if I could keep my only remaining truck’ He pulled the cord of the air horn and said, 'this is my house now, ‘Eeh eeh bleated the air horn in the silence of the deserted main road. So what I had to say to that? I sat next to a man whose error had been that he had worked hard to build a business. ‘You have a nice house,’ I said, I feel sorry for you that his has happened. ‘ ‘Life,’ said Bill, ‘is a battle and just as you get a bit of fun,  you will be beaten down. Trust no one, boy! ‘


‘We’ll stop for a coffee’ Bill said, pointing in the distance and then you take the wheel. We had already driven half an hour on snow-covered roads. Bill brought the truck through various gears to a near crawl gear and gingerly we drove into the parking space. I saw the cafeteria, with the sign with the Indian text above it, ‘ᐑᑕᐢᑮᐏᐣ ᐃᐢᐸᑎᓇᐤ ᐑᑕᐢᑮᐏᐣ ᐃᐢ.’ ‘I know this stop, I said, this is Cree country,’ I have been here months ago with my co-driver, they really hate Blackfoot Indians. ‘ He confused the two tribes and we were just lucky to leave unscathed. He thought the sign was in Blackfoot but it was written in Cree. ‘What does it say,’ said Bill? Wetaskiwin, of course, ‘I said as though I was surprised that he could not read this’ The peace hills. ‘ ‘Bloody hell,’ said Bill, ‘you can read that crap?’ It was explained to me by a Cree girl who works here. ‘Well,’ thought Bill, ‘Cree's had better get to school and learn to write properly.’ We stepped into the bar and it was quite busy despite the early hour. ‘Good morning, Cree's,’ bellowed Bill, ‘we do not like the Blackfoot. ‘Is the coffee ready?’ I understood that my new boss indeed had a strange sense of humor.

San Daniel 2015

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