Zeitoun Read Online Free PDF Page A

watching,” Kathy said.
    In the parking lot, Zeitoun looked to the sky for signs of the coming weather. He saw nothing unusual. As he pushed his cart to his van, ayoung man, pushing his own cart full of supplies, approached Zeitoun.
    “How’s business?” the man asked.
    Probably an electrician, Zeitoun figured.
    “Not bad,” Zeitoun said. “You?”
    “Could be better,” he said, and introduced himself and his trade: he was indeed an electrician. He was parked next to Zeitoun, and began helping Zeitoun unload his cart. “You ever need one,” he said, “I show up when I say I’ll show up, and I finish what I start.” He handed Zeitoun his card. They shook hands, and the electrician got into his own van, which Zeitoun noticed was in better shape than his own.
    “Why do you need me?” Zeitoun asked. “Your van’s newer than mine.”
    They both laughed, and Zeitoun put the card on his dashboard and pulled out. He would call the young man, he figured, sooner or later. He always needed electricians, and he liked the man’s hustle.
    When he began working in New Orleans, eleven years earlier, Zeitoun labored for just about every contractor in the city, painting, hanging Sheetrock, tiling—anything they needed—until he was hired by a man named Charlie Saucier. Charlie owned his own company, had built it from scratch. He’d become wealthy, and was hoping to retire before his knees gave out on him.
    Charlie had a son in his late teens, and he wanted nothing more than to leave the company to this son. He loved his son, but his son was not a worker; he was shifty and ungrateful. He failed to show up for work, and when he did, he worked listlessly, and condescended to his father’s employees.
    At the time, Zeitoun didn’t have a car, so he rode to Charlie’s work sites on a bike—a ten-speed he bought for forty dollars. One day, whenZeitoun was already in danger of being late, the bike blew a tire. After riding on the rim for half a mile, he gave up. He needed to get four miles across the city in twenty minutes, and it was looking like he would be late for work for the first time in his life. He couldn’t leave the bike and run—he needed that bike—and he couldn’t ride on the flat tire, so he threw the bike over his shoulders and started jogging. He was panicking. If he was late for this job, what would happen to his reputation? Charlie would be disappointed, and he might not hire him again. And what if Charlie talked to other contractors, and found he couldn’t recommend Zeitoun? The consequences could be far-reaching. Work was a pyramid, he knew, built on day after solid day.
    He ran faster. He would be tardy, but if he sprinted, he had a shot at being no more than fifteen minutes late. It was August and the humidity was profound. A mile or so into his run, already soaked in sweat, a truck pulled up next to him.
    “What are you doing?” a voice asked. Without breaking stride, Zeitoun turned to see who it was. He figured it was some smart aleck poking fun at the man running along the road with a bike over his shoulders. But instead it was his boss, Charlie Saucier.
    “I’m going to the job,” Zeitoun said. He was still running; in hindsight he should have stopped at this point, but he was in a rhythm and he continued, with the truck puttering beside him.
    Charlie laughed. “Throw your bike in the back.”
    As they drove, Charlie looked over to Zeitoun. “You know, I’ve been at this for thirty years, and I think you’re the best worker I’ve ever had.”
    They were driving to the job site and Zeitoun had finally managed to relax, knowing he wouldn’t be fired that day.
    “I have one guy,” Charlie continued, “he says he can’t come to workbecause his car won’t start. I have another guy, he doesn’t come because he slept late. He slept late! Another guy, his wife kicked him out of the house or something. So he doesn’t show. I have twenty or thirty employees, and ten of them show up to