When things go wrong or are done quickly, we all complain, protest, give light, with all our rights. But when they are done well, or come out well, we hardly say them. We dismiss them with an unspoken “that’s right” or “well, that’s their job”.
However, today I don’t want to do it. I want to publicly acknowledge two people I don’t know, but thanks to the fact that they did their job (well) I was able to do mine.
Two days ago there was a surprising and tremendous storm that left a large part of Havana without electricity and with different incidents. My house was one of those affected.
My neighbor Humberto, an electrician, did a quick assessment of the damage and gave me the telephone number of the Electric Company so that I could make the report. After many calls I got nothing. Daba always busy.
My mother-in-law made the report herself, for us. And then my wife Lisset managed to make a second report from her cell phone. And she is already, to wait.
For more than 24 hours we wait and nothing. Desperate, really.
At last the car from the Electric Company arrived. Someone yelled my name from the street. I left. Two workers in blue coveralls and hard hats were in a typical white cart with a ladder on the roof. They were two electric, unmistakable. I shook hands with each one and thanked them.
“What happened?” asked the driver. I told him everything: “after the storm…”. In his face I discovered tiredness and the certainty that he had already heard that same story many times. He got out of the car and took out his gadgets to inspect the electricity meter clock.
Oh, I didn’t say it: the other worker, while I was chatting with his colleague, had some yellow rice with sweet potatoes and salad for lunch, with a thermopack on his legs. It was half past 5 in the afternoon. And at that time I was having lunch.
I asked them if they drank coffee. Positive. While Lisset put the coffee on for them, I held the other electric device to measure the voltage in the house. “They’re down,” he yelled at someone who was having lunch, in a kind of encrypted language that was mysterious to me.
After a while, the lunch worker had already dropped the thermopac and was walking towards the streetlight, to climb on a ladder that his partner had put on the street, carrying it on his shoulder, while he chewed.
I used to say short phrases like “fuck it”, “tremendous click”, “many incidents?” Phrases whose only function was not to act as a mere spectator, voyeur and witness. One of them was checking my electric clock and the other was up on the stairs, fiddling with wires. Both wore gloves, tweezers, helmets, dark circles under their eyes and large doses of silence.
It was 5 minutes. Maybe more, but not much. “Look now,” the driver, who looked like the boss, told me. I went into the house, turned on the lights and connected the equipment. All good. The whole house already smelled of coffee. “All right, it’s already fixed,” I said out loud.
And I heard the boss say to the other: “that’s it, get off now, they have 122 with 122”. I did not understand anything. I assumed that they were good figures that guaranteed the stability of the voltage. I went to the kitchen to see if the coffee was ready. Indeed: Lisset worked the magic of turning an odor into an unmistakable black liquid.
I went out into the street and brought them fresh coffee. The ladder was already on the roof of the car and the driver was in his seat. To my surprise, the co-pilot had not finished lunch, he was finishing off his cold meal. They drank a cup of coffee each and literally savored the liquid.
While they drank, voices could be heard on the radio talking about other cases, other incidents and giving orders or asking questions. I looked at them with a little silly admiration, because I didn’t know what to do, how to react to those two workers from the Electric Company who were simply doing their job well done.
They were also so short on words. I guess exhaustion prevented them from talking much. I again said insipid phrases to accompany them. “Yes, very much,” said one of them. “There are thousands of incidents,” said the other. “They will be overwhelmed,” I said, always so predictable. And they no longer answered.
They drank their coffee with all the silence they were capable of. I thanked them. I shook hands again. They started the car and left. The co-pilot was still talking on the radio. The driver slightly waved a hand in goodbye and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I already had electricity. They told me that they had hundreds of cases ahead of them. Hundreds! And it was almost 6 pm.
When they left, I sat down to write this text with the feeling that these two anonymous workers (I didn’t even know their names), these two Cubans who were simply doing their job, so serious, so professional, so tired, deserved at least one sentence. . A paragraph. Something. Above all, because that day was Monday the first of May: a holiday.
If it hadn’t been for the storm, they would have been at home, with their children, watching TV or checking Facebook. It was then that I said to myself: “in case they look at OnCuba on Facebook, I’ll do a tenth for them.” And this came out. I hope it reaches you.
After the tremendous storm
that affected all of Havana
yesterday, since morning,
It was left in the dark Pepper.
I made the report. I noticed.
Rip. Point on the map.
And wait. What a long stage.
Until today, without protest,
they came to my home
two “superheroes” without capes.
anonymous. fatigued.
Haggard, somewhat hungry
and with slow movements
they saw the misguided
of so many wet cables.
And how swiftly
they climbed a ladder
and they took the cross from me.
Now I have light
and they have another dark circle.
Thanks for the good work.
Thanks for the good work.
Thanks for putting it together
our electric relaxation.
Thank you, like this, from below.
Thanks for so many efforts.
we are from two universes
different, but it seems to me
that what is well done deserves
also his chronicle in verses.
