Monday, July 20, 2020

I get a text message from my landlady asking me to come outside. Fortunately, I am up and dressed. I put my sandals on and head out. Her husband is at the top of the stairs up from my basement apartment. A manhole that I hadn’t noticed before is open. A pipe stretches out from it. Tools lie on the ground. That explains the strange sounds that I had heard earlier outside my bathroom window. The landlord speaks almost no English. I understand from what he says that the pump is broken. He says “pump” in English, though maybe the word is the same. I don’t understand the rest. He gestures, but I don’t know what he means. He hollers for his wife. The landlady comes out. Her English is better. “The pump is kaput.” She actually says “kaput.” “Someone will fix it tomorrow. These things will be on the ground until then. We want you to know so you don’t fall.” The landlord picks up a large chair and puts it at the top of the stairs. I can’t miss it on the way up. I will have to walk around it. I ask if the water is working. She says yes. He says no. They confer. She tells me: “The water is OK, but please when you take a shower: chick-chock!” She waves her hands. I get that she means for me to do it quickly. OK. I head back in.