Ghost Stories

A Cold Night

It is a cold night. Well, cold nights in Calgary are nothing to write home about, most of them are cold. Not only cold, absolutely freezing. I don’t know how locals live through them year after year. Being an immigrant from the tropics, I have barely survived two years of them. I ask myself every morning when I get up, “what am I doing here?”Making a living that is what.” answers my wife from under two thick blankets. Yes, she is right. Living I make is not as good as most people here but it is much better than I could do at home as an engineer.

This night is colder than any other night and nothing can stop me shivering. “To hell with the gas prices, I will work an extra shift if I have to,” saying this to no one in particular I get out from under the not so cosy blankets to raise the thermostat. When I open the bedroom door to go into the hall a cold blast from the supposedly hot air vent freezes me on the spot. It takes a while to defrost myself and get to the thermostat. “What is going on here,” I say, again to no one in particular. The thermostat shows the temperature of below zero. “The furnace is kaput” I think. “Should have known from the cold blast.”

Back to the bedroom. I put on several layers of sweaters and the heaviest coat. Then trudge down to the basement to check the furnace. It is pumping air but there is no flame. A light goes on in my head. “If the problem were pilot being off, the fan would be off too.” Then the nasty conclusion, “Way beyond my expertise, must call a plumber.”

Out come yellow pages. My shivering finger lands on Happy Plumbing, 24 hour service. I dial their number. Some one picks it up and I hear a pleasant voice, “Happy Plumbing, how can I help you?”

Relief. No, not from cold. Not yet anyway. From the fear that no one will answer the call. “My furnace is blowing cold air and not lighting up,” I mumble into the phone. “Karl will be there in twenty eight minutes. Make the cheque out to him” I thank my lucky stars and hug the phone. The owner of the voice is not within reach.

In less than half an hour I open the door to the plumber and thirty below weather. He introduces himself, as if it is necessary “Karl, from Happy Plumbing.” Then asks gruffly without ceremony, “Where is the furnace?” He is a big man, over two meters tall and more than 150 kg of muscle; his two eyes the size and colour of large California plums. He carries a big bag of tools and, for some unknown reason, a large hammer with a long handle. His face, build and thick East European accent remind me of the bouncer in a strip joint who had made the news recently for brutally beating a disorderly patron and then tossing out his mangled body on the road where it was crushed by a passing truck What with his voice, manner and appearance, I am scared stiff; I have this normal urge to live a long, though a useless, life. My options are: put up with the fear for a while or close the door on him and freeze for the rest of the night. Cold wins the day, sorry the night. I lead him to the furnace. He follows me closely within the reach of his hammer. I leave him in the basement to do his thing and hurry back upstairs.

He works for an hour. All sorts of metallic noises and some loud grunts keep me from dozing off. Then the silence returns he comes up after finishing his job. I know he is done because the room is losing some of the chill. Not a man to waste his energy on words, he silently hands me his invoice. I expect a large bill. Yet the amount gives me another reason to shiver. I raise my head before opening my big mouth. I look at his bloodshot eyes, at the number in the bottom right hand corner of the sheet of paper trembling in my hand, at the hammer and the closed front door. I realise that bargaining is futile and get the cheque book and a pen from the desk. I take the cap off the pen and fill his name. Now he opens his mouth for the first time since coming up from the basement, “Leave the amount blank,” he growls.

“Yes sir” I reply in a trembling voice and hand him the blank cheque. He says without looking at it “Sign it”. “Sorry” I respond and sign the cheque. He shoves it in the inside pocket of his oily jacket, lifts the huge hammer with ease and puts it on his shoulder, picks up the tool bag and says as he walks out of the door, “Don’t cause me any trouble and I will be reasonable.”

I pick up the phone but my fingers are trembling too much to dial. Good sense prevails and I put the phone down. I go up to the bedroom. “Thanks dear” says my wife under the impression that it was I who had fixed the furnace. Well, in a way I had, with some professional help. I pull the blanket up to my ears, “you are welcome sweetie.”

I see that plumber quite often. Thankfully only when, for all outward appearances, I am peacefully asleep.