The Carpenter Read Online Free PDF Page A

Donna had packed. It contained a ham sandwich, an apple, a Thermos of tea, cookies wrapped in cellophane. He realized he had no idea what he would have eaten otherwise, and how he’d thought he could go the whole day on breakfast alone.
    There were three men, not counting Clifton or Lee or Bud. Two of them looked much alike, brothers perhaps, maybe father and son. One of them was the man Jeff, whom Lee had seen tying his bootlace. He and his look-alike had a battery-powered radio sitting between them, and they had it set to a country station. Both of them were nodding to the music. Across from them, the BobCat driver was a big French guy. He was eating a chicken drumstick. If any of them knew who Lee was, they gave no sign of it. There wasn’t much talk at all. Lee ate his lunch in minutes. Then he massaged his shoulder where the shingles had scraped it.
    —Okay, said the French guy. You can move the shingles pretty good. But that don’t mean you’re strong or fast.
    —What do you mean by that, said Lee.
    The French guy grinned at him and said: I mean nobody wants all the good men to be held up because of the slow guy.
    Did she mention my name
, sang the radio. Lee stood up. He closed his lunch pail.
    —I’m just here to work. I won’t hold none of you up.
    He carried off his lunch pail and found a tree at the edge of the property to urinate against. He was just bringing out hiscigarettes when he saw a truck arriving, and then Clifton getting out.
    Clifton clapped his hands and called out: Let’s go, boys. We can’t do it all in seven days, but we can try!
    By two o’clock, Lee and Bud had moved most of the shingles up to the roof. They’d spaced them across the peak to distribute the weight. Then they heard someone hail them from below. They went over to the edge of the roof. Bud stood right at the drop, scratching his ass, and Lee hung back a few feet. It was the French guy calling to them.
    They went down the ladder. The guy directed them to spread gravel into the driveway from the big mound of crush. Clifton was over measuring the foundation. He didn’t seem to take any issue with this other man giving orders. Wordlessly, Bud went to fetch a wheelbarrow and shovels.
    They spent the rest of the afternoon at the gravel. Lee wasn’t aware quitting time had come until he looked around and saw the others packing up. Bud had gone off to piss somewhere.
    Clifton waved to Lee and said: That’s a day, mister man.
    Bud and Lee stowed the shovels and the wheelbarrow against the wall of the building. The shadows had grown long and blue. Lee recovered his tool belt from under the skid and put it over his shoulder. He picked up his lunch pail and went to where the men were congregating at the trucks. Nobody had anything to say about the work that had been done that day, and to look at the building and the yard around it—other than the shingles having been moved—it was hard to see any difference since morning. Lee figured maybe with a project this big, you didn’t see changes in the short term. You worked a day and then you worked the day after that, and only slowly did it all come together.
    He cleared his throat and said: Could any of you give me a lift into town?
    —Could always hitchhike, said the French guy.
    —I suppose you don’t have a vehicle, said Clifton.
    Clifton scratched his neck. The two men who looked alike were over by their truck. The French guy was annotating his day’s hours in a pocket notebook. All at once Lee felt helpless. Clifton squinted at him and looked like he was about to say something, but then Bud appeared, zipping up his fly.
    He said: I’m goin’ to town. You want a lift?
    That evening, Lee was very sore. He’d stopped at the variety store downstairs to buy himself some provisions, and when he came upstairs, he packed himself a lunch in the lunch pail.
    He could not remember when he’d last packed a lunch. For a time he’d lived in a halfway house in the city, working in a