The Construction Site

The workmen wasted no time—promptly at eight a.m. they set upon their task. The street was startled awake by a clamor: hammers rang out, power tools whined, and a radio blared at full blast. On top of all this, the workmen whooped and whistled, like a gang of youths descending upon a playground.

As a result, the still-sleepy street quickly became jovial. Children emerged from surrounding houses, to investigate the commotion (in fact, they had been awake for hours, waiting for a reason to leave their rooms). The señorita of the house under construction made an appearance, too, balancing a silver tray laden with a pitcher of coffee and a mug for each workman. Charmed by her beauty and thoughtfulness, each and every workman paused what he was doing and filled a mug, though not before one had been filled for the señorita.

Already the workmen were drenched in sweat, for the sun was merciless despite the early hour. The smell of morning sweat mingled with other scents—the sawdust, the steaming coffee, the water sizzling against the asphalt as neighbors sprayed their hoses (an excuse to watch the scene)—until they became one bouquet, tied with the ribbon of lavender and roses roasting in the heat.

Now the children thronged around the site, emboldened by the smiles of the adults. A soccer ball announced its arrival with a thump, and the children began to play.

At first, the men held back, out of a sense of propriety, yet the children’s enthusiasm proved too great. The light-hearted game became a vortex which sucked one workman after another into its increasing frenzy. Hammers, power tools, utility belts—all lay forgotten in the dust as the game spilled out into the street.

Curiously, the señorita seemed unconcerned by the diversion. She watched the sweating bodies, which, in their joyous movements, vied for her blessing. And so she gave it, smiling benevolently and returning to the shade of the house, in the knowledge that the work could always begin tomorrow.

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