The past three days have been merciful compared to Tuesday and Wednesday, when we felt like we were wandering amongst the tombs with the heretics in the 6th circle of Dante’s Hell. Thankfully there’s been a consistent post-noon breeze, sometimes gusty even, to at least mitigate the absolute oppression of the relentless heat, though the gusts have proven counter beneficial in one regard, and that’s when we’re maneuvering eighteen feet up on Deathtrap 3000 version 3.0 and 3500. We don’t need any more red badges of courage after the kid-machete incident earlier this week, the ringworm/spider bite incident yesterday, and the nail through the foot incident today. We don’t need a Deathtrap collapse with three blocks and a bucket of mook crashing down on either the mooker or some unsuspecting passerby or shade squatter.
We had a near incident yesterday with Deathtrap 3000 version 3.0. One that resulted in Hondurans bailing from the scaffold like pirates over the rail of Buttbeard’s ship. This led a determined Marco Francisco to construct version 3500 today to cheat death. A new and improved version. Complete with… wait for it… wood screws. A definite upgrade in quality and stability to set some minds at ease.
Allergies have been bad. Captain Buttbeard has been popping zyrtec like aspirin, and yesterday on the ride back down the mountain from La Montinita I hocked up a wad of bloody flem and hit him directly in the back of the neck. We have been plenty productive though. Since arriving on the job site on Tuesday we have removed the roof, cut and wired all the rebar to line the walls around the building, repaired the trusses we removed from the roof, laid block two levels up to effectively ‘raise the roof’ and today we began the processes of re-trussing. We also built a wall inside to section off a room, as Marco Francisco touched on in one of his previous postings. We haven’t been without work. Thankfully we’ve received ample help from the local La Montinitans, including one particular fellow who wears a straw hat and has “reading eyes,” as H.P. Lovecraft described the protagonist through the words of the hobo in The Shadow Over Innsmouth. Piercing eyes. We think he’s a leader in the community, the way he works and directs, and the way the others look to him for guidance. If we hadn’t the help of the La Montinitans we wouldn’t be nearly as far along as we are, so I’d like to give a sincere shout out to them, whether their eyes ever grace this blog or not. Thank you for your help. We hope you remember with fondness the time you spent with the loco gringos from America mixing mook and crawling over trusses like spider monkeys.
The doom is echoing down Main Street, and the workers are both headbanging and trying to figure out what exactly they’re listening to. The sound of the children laughing and playing is echoing too, and we’ve ushered in a new craze with the Spanish equivalent of our expression of ultimate displeasure: PU CHI CA. What started out as our way of communicating our displeasure with the locals and each other has turned into a revolution, and now, in addition to the doom, we get to hear PUUU CHIIII CAAA!!! every time a kid kicks a kickball or swats a beach ball twenty feet into the air. Couple that with the doom and the “ARRR, matey, where’s Cap’n Buttbeard?” and you have your aural La Montinitan assault.
I feel it also necessary to mention that yesterday was a special day for two of our team members. It was Jerry’s birthday, so we had all the kids sing happy birthday to him in Spanish and then ambush him in a mosh. It was also a special day for Tom, who was initiated by Marco on behalf of the the Brain Trust, after considerable debate between the three standing members of the Brain Trust, into the Brain Trust. He has been appointed the position of tumor. *A round of applause for Tom*
Humor aside, this trip has had me thinking about how we dealt with red badges of courage before Tom joined the motley crew. Peroxide, alcohol, Neosporin and bandages go a long way in the land of daily bloodshed and bodily sacrifice. Tom is the medicine man and without him who knows what infections we’d be fighting.
Tomorrow is our day off. We are going to Mega Therion (the tourist version) and then we’ll eat lunch overlooking the black lake, which is fed by no stream and out of which no stream flows. We’ll continue with the rigors of intense labor under an unforgiving sun come Monday, by which time we’ll have hopefully finished shedding our dying skin.
Until then, adiós. Namaste. And DOOM ON.