8

“Can you get in?”

He only scowled and I stepped aside. His face

morphed into a grimace as the van dipped to the

right but at last, he slumped down on the blanket

and the weight distribution was even once more.

Certain I had schooled my features into submission

and wouldn’t add facially to his discomfiture, I

turned to face him again.

“All set?” He only scowled again in response and

I slid the door shut.

A moment later we were rolling and the added

weight already discernible as I worked on the pedals. Now that the wind, which had been blowing

away from the man, had been replaced by an enclosed space, my nostrils cringed under the onslaught of the signature smell of an unwashed per- son. Oh Lord! what kind of man had I scraped off

the road? One that was best dealt with while

breathing through my mouth only, that's for sure.

Only a minute could have passed but already the silence was bearing down on me – quite ironic since

silence was the default sound of my world. The

flesh on the man’s broad back quivered not only

from the cold but with every pothole, too.

“C- could you c- crank up the heat?”

“Changed your mind about death then?”

I just couldn’t stop myself. I needed to prick and

poke him to keep him alert and focused on living.

If anyone knew, it was me. I cranked up the heat to

the max and the silence wore on. All the way up the

small incline that led to the deserted road with the

patchy pavement, I willed my vehicle to convey us

back to my house, even with the considerable extra

cargo. At last, I turned into the narrow gravel

turnoff shrouded by trees. Only the package-deposit box hinted at a human presence but with my

having painted them in a dark green, only the mail

carriers were aware of their existence.

My house was a one-storey building with a shallow roof and it never had a basement, only 750

square feet, sitting next to a garage of almost twothirds its size. Usually I would unload the trailer,

detach it and tuck it safely into the garage along

with the car but for now, that could wait. Nothing

would perish in this cold anyway. After I had

opened the door, I hurried through the arctic rain

to unlock the front door. By the time I squelched

my way back to the car, the man was just transfer- ring his weight to his feet, all the while holding on

to the car. The pallor of his face was alarming.

“Do you think you can make it to the door?”

“Wh- what’s the- alternative?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but started lumbering forward. After closing and locking the car, I easily caught up with him. “The bathroom is at rightend of the two doors straight ahead. I’m going to

get you some towels,” I threw my shoulder over as

I hurried inside, watching him lift his legs up the

two concrete steps. In my bedroom where I kept

the big towels I hardly used, I stacked three of the

largest on one arm, already preoccupied in what he

would dress himself during the one and a half hour;

the washing machine and the dryer would require to

provide him with dry, clean clothing again.

A trail of muddy, wet prints was glaring at me

more than a trunkful of giant fluorescent arrows

would, and only by remembering the current state

of their author did I stifle the urge to communicate

my barbarity vociferously to him. Well, should he

commit another hygienic offence when he was

warmed up, I wouldn’t spare him, I promised myself when I joined him in the bathroom. I had always thought it was spacious enough but that his

presence made look positively cramped. If at all

possible, he was shaking more than before, sending

his massive flesh wobbling around. He was eyeing

my capacious walk-in shower with a blend of gratefulness and disbelief, and at that moment, I felt

grateful myself that his size coincided with my preference for showers over baths. When you’re a tall person, one part of you inevitably sticks out of the

tub and turns cold.

“You can wash your clothes while you shower,” I

told him while I filled in detergent and chose the

right program. “Just push this button and if your

clothes are dryer-safe, put them in here and turn

this knob.” He nodded. “You can take as long as

you want. This house is connected to the normal

water and sewer system, so there is no need to ration. In the meantime, I’m going to look for something you can wear.”

“Y- yeah, g- good luck with that,” he stuttered

behind me. I heard that over my shoulder before I

practically bolted and pushed the door shut behind

me, drawing what felt like my first deep breath in

the past ten minutes.

Although the saying goes that ‘Karma is a bitch,’

I had learned the hard way that she only is if you

are, and she certainly thought the opportunity had

come for more payback: out of all people she had

to throw a morbidly obese man my way. I had certainly ridiculed enough of them to deserve an

atonement for my sins this way, but did it have to

be one in such a precarious frame of mind? He

wanted to take his own life and I was responsible

for him now – me of all people who shouldn’t be

given responsibility for a tortoise. What would

make this man want to commit suicide? His weight

possibly but not definitely factored in. Why had he

come out here of all places? Was anyone looking

for him? An intensifying heat alerted me to the fact that

I was still wearing my coat, hat and gloves. Quickly,

I dropped everything with the gloves in their places.

I cranked up the heat and began to make tea.

I needed to keep the man warm even after his

shower, and I could stand a mug as well. Then

I tackled the impossible task of procuring clothes in

his size. The best substitute for a sweater turned

out to be a black fringed poncho interwoven with

fine golden threads – not exactly manly but he

would have to suck it up. My size-twelve woollen

socks should fit him but what would I do for pants?

Well, he would have no other chance but to safetypin two woollen blankets together and wrap them

around himself. Just as I emerged from my bedroom with the makeshift clothes, I heard the

shower stop, a circumstance on which my lowered

anatomy chose to comment instantly. Clenching my

thighs together and squeezing my eyes shut as if

that could ward off the inexplicable sensation, I

knocked on the door.

“Uh-huh,” it suddenly hit me that I didn’t even

know his name, “I have a poncho that should fit

you but I didn’t have anything for pants beside

pinned-together blankets. I’m setting everything

outside the bathroom door.”

No answer. I fled back into the open kitchen/

dining/living area to take out the tea bags before I

turned towards my small, rectangular wooden table

and was presented with another obstacle: there was

no way my standard-size chairs could accommodate

his heft. The couch would but one of my self-en- forced rules of living alone was never to mix locations and functions. A couch was for lounging and

a table was for food and drink. Eating meals on the

couch in front of the TV is often the first step of

letting yourself go as a single, which eventually

leads to a greasy-haired, stained-bathrobe-clad existence in front of the TV. Well, for now, there was

no other option, I sighed inwardly and carried the

tray to the couch table at the other end of the rectangular room, after which I placed a big pot with

water for a broth on the stove. Suddenly, I heard

the bathroom lock click and the sound shuffled.

There was no more putting off the confrontation. I

quickly slipped my gloves back on that I had

stuffed into the back pocket of my jeans and turned

to face my guest.