The City Under the Skin

23. THE PEDAGOGUE

Late night, a lumbering darkness, the smell of solvents and hot dogs hanging low in the downtown air, and even at this hour Sanjay, Billy Moore’s sole employee, continued to tend the parking lot, to guard it. He paced the perimeter, inside the fence, taking slow, ponderous strides across the white pea gravel. There were no cars parked there now, not even his boss’s Cadillac, only the trucks from the subcontractor of the Platinum Line, not that they didn’t need guarding too.

There was also the matter of Carla Moore. Sanjay could see that even though her father’s trailer was dark and he was obviously absent, Carla remained in the smaller trailer, the lights on, visible through the uncurtained side window, conspicuous and exposed. She was sitting at her desk, reading, making notes, and he found that touching: she was quite the little scholar. He also noticed that she had her father’s old leather jacket draped around her shoulders.

He was experiencing some mixed feelings toward Billy Moore at that moment. He had signed on as a parking lot attendant, not as a babysitter, much less as a guardian, and in one way, being left alone here with the little girl in the middle of the night felt like far too much responsibility. At the same time, he felt flattered that Billy Moore trusted him with his own progeny. He was not entirely uncomfortable with this paradox: he thought paradoxes were to be embraced.

His circuit of the lot took him right by the trailer window, and although he tried to be discreet and quiet, the sound of his footsteps made Carla look up and put her face to the glass. Sanjay smiled, tried to look benign, gave a wave that he hoped might appear avuncular or fraternal, and she waved back and motioned for him to come to the door.

He did as bidden, but he was reluctant to cross the threshold into the child’s private space. As an immigrant, an alien, even a well-educated one, he knew you couldn’t be too careful in these matters. He remained teetering respectfully on the trailer’s doorstep.

“When did you last see your father?” he said archly.

Carla realized he was probably quoting somebody or something, but she just said, “A few hours ago.”

“And do you know where he is?”

“Away on business, I suppose.”

“But isn’t this parking lot his business?”

“What can I say, Sanjay? He’s a man of many parts.”

“That he is,” said Sanjay. “And what are you doing, Carla?”

“Homework. I’m learning about skin.”

“Ah, skin, a very large organ,” he said, then wondered if perhaps he hadn’t phrased that very well.

“I’m learning about sweat,” said Carla, “and I’m kind of puzzled.”

“How so?” He liked to help people with their questions. He was proud of his pedagogic instincts.

“You see,” said Carla, “it says here that we sweat in order to cool down.”

“Quite so,” said Sanjay.

“But my problem,” said Carla, “is that I often hear people complaining about being hot and sweaty. But I never hear anybody say they’re cold and sweaty, so it seems the sweat doesn’t work.”

“Sometimes,” said Sanjay, “people go into a cold sweat.”

“Sure, but that’s different. It’s not like they start out hot and sweaty and they cool down and go into a cold sweat and that makes them feel comfortable. They go into a cold sweat because they’re scared or nervous or whatever.”

“You make a good point, Carla, and, of course, I can understand why you might be fascinated by the subject of skin, given your disease.”

“It’s not a disease,” said Carla. “It’s a condition.”

“Ah, no doubt as you say, Carla. The human body is not my area.”

“What is your area, Sanjay?”

“Back home I studied business and geology,” said Sanjay with quiet pride. “I was hoping to go into the mining industries.”

“Maybe you still will.”

“At the moment it seems unlikely.”

Carla didn’t argue with him.

“You know,” he said, and this was evidently something that had been on his mind for some time now, something he had to get off his chest, even if only to the boss’s daughter, “it seems to me there are certain liabilities in having these subcontractors’ trucks here on the lot.”

Carla didn’t say, “Why are you telling me this?” though her face certainly conveyed that. Sanjay was not deterred.

“The drivers seem a little lax,” he said. “If they scrape the fence or each other’s truck, they seem to find it quite the joke. And besides that, many of the trucks have signs on them saying HAZARDOUS MATERIALS, in one case even CAUTION: EXPLOSIVES. But these workers and drivers do not seem aware of the hazards, and they certainly don’t seem cautious.”

“Have you talked to them?”

“I have. I suggested that there might be certain elements in this city who would be all too keen to get their hands on some illicit chemicals and/or explosives.”

“And?”

“And, Carla, I’m afraid they did not treat my suggestions with the respect they deserved.”

“Have you told my dad?”

“Oh no, Carla. That is not the way. My job is to bring him solutions, not problems. I learned that on my very first day at business college.”

“And have you got a solution, Sanjay?”

Sanjay thought long and hard.

“No,” he said, “but your father did very kindly supply me with a baseball bat.”