Chapter 4

Jack leaned into the engine compartment and wrestled the water pump out. He had to admit that he was moving a lot easier after the massage. It had been tough getting up off the floor when she finished working on his back muscles. He had been tempted to take a long nap, but he had too many things to do before it got too dark to do them. Abby had driven him to the auto parts store and dropped him off, before leaving for her apartment. Standing up, he examined the old water pump thinking that metal shouldn’t ever wear out like that.

He sighed and asked the million dollar question, “Should I rent a room to her?”

“I think she’s got a screw loose with all of that talk about a commune,” he said.

He put the old water pump on the ground and picked up the new one. He looked over at the sun and knew that he was not going to finish fixing the truck before the sun went down. The massage had been nice, but it had eaten up the little time he had to fix the truck.

He leaned into the engine compartment while he said, “She’s nice enough to look at.”

He slipped the water pump into the engine with a grunt. It didn’t want to cooperate. Of course, these kinds of things never went easy. He struggled getting the water pump fastened in place for five minutes. He had just finished when he realized that he had left off the gasket.

He said, “I can’t concentrate worth a damn tonight.”

He pulled off the water pump and looked over the engine. Deciding that it would be easier to inspect the engine from underneath, he crawled under the car.

He muttered, “I don’t need a woman in my life that I’m not screwing, taking over things.”

The old gasket was still on the engine. He realized that he would need to clean up the area where the gasket was before putting on the new one. He crawled out from under the truck and went over to his toolbox looking for something to clean the old gasket off the engine.

As he sorted through the tools, he said, “It is going to get dark soon and I’m going to be cooking my dinner in the dark.”

Finding an old thin bladed putty knife, he crawled under the truck again. Maybe fixing the water pump was a one man job, but having a helper to fetch tools might have been nice. Having someone fix his dinner before it got too dark would have been nice, too. He scraped a knuckle and swore.

While blood welled up around the scrape, he said, “That woman has put some bad ideas in my head.”

The gasket peeled off nicely. He strained his neck trying to get a good view of the area to make sure that there weren’t any bits and pieces left that would prevent a good seal from forming. He absently wiped the bloody knuckle against his pant leg leaving dark red stains on his pants.

He said, “The damned thing about it all, is that she’s right. She’s at home cooking a meal that I won’t get to eat. She’s probably cooking something better than canned stew, too.”

He put the gasket sealant around the engine and slipped the new gasket on. He put some more sealant on the new water pump and put it in place. It wasn’t any easier working on it from under the car than bent over the engine compartment. Working more by feel than by sight, he muttered, “This would be a whole lot easier with the right tools.”

He tightened down the water pump and looked at the job that remained to be done. There was no way that he was going to get all of the rest of the parts on before it got dark. Shaking his head, he said, “I’ll have to finish it in the morning.”

Stretching a little, he couldn’t remember his back feeling so free of tension in ages. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked down at the parts scattered on the driveway he said, “I’ve got to admit that massage did make me feel better.”

After a minute, he said, “Damn it, I don’t need a woman running my life.”

He started picking up the parts making sure not to disturb any of the bolts that he had fitted through them. He placed the parts with care into the back of the truck, where they wouldn’t get kicked around. Once the parts were taken care of, he packed up his tool box and carried it to the garage. In the garage, he picked up a foot long piece of two by four and poured a little gasoline on it. He carried that out to the cheap barbecue grill that he had and put it in. With the flick of his lighter, the piece of wood was lit.

He went into the house and returned a minute later with a can of stew. He pulled back the top and set it aside while the piece of wood burned down. He looked to the west and watched the sun set. It was getting dark. He watched the fire for a minute and then said, “I might as well walk to the library tonight. At least it will be a little cooler and well lit.”

An hour and a half later, Jack walked into the library. It was only going to be open for another hour, but he figured that would be enough. The woman at the reference desk looked at him and shook her head. She noticed the blood stain on his pants mixed in with the smears of engine gunk.

She asked, “Can I help you?”

Not wanting to tell her that he came there just to have a place with lights and air conditioning, he picked the first topic that came to mind and asked, “Have you got any books on communes?”

Looking up at him with a surprised expression on her face, she asked, “French communes, sixties communes, modern communes, or Israeli kibbutz?”

“Uh, I guess something about modern communes?” Jack asked rather surprised by the list of topics.

“Ah, there was a good article in one of the news periodicals. Hold on a minute,” she said typing on her computer. She smiled and said, “I thought I remembered correctly. There is a good article on the topic.”

“Really?” Jack asked surprised by her interest in the topic. He wondered if it was a female thing.

She tapped a few keys on the keyboard and answered, “Yes. I’ve always thought it would be a good idea, but there’s nothing like that in this area. If you know of one, let me know.”

“Sure,” Jack said with a frown. He took a minute to look at her as a woman. She appeared to be in her mid-forties. There wasn’t a wedding ring on her finger. She wasn’t exactly an attractive woman, but seemed pleasant enough. She could stand to lose about twenty pounds.

“Life as a single woman is rough. My toilet doesn’t flush like it should and it costs me a hundred dollars just to have a plumber come out to look at it. There are times when I would kill to have a man handy with tools around the house,” the woman said.

“Oh,” Jack said looking over at her.

The printer spewed a couple of sheets out and she rolled her chair over to the printer. Picking them up, she gave a little kick with her foot and rolled back to the desk. She handed the small stack of papers to him and said, “Here’s the article.”

“Oh,” Jack said looking down at the sheets of paper. He had expected her to send him into the area with books.

“That is a reasonable introduction into the topic. You can use one of the computers to search out some more background from what is in that article,” the librarian said.

“Okay,” Jack said eyeing the row of computers with suspicion. He didn’t exactly get along with the machines.

Seeing the look Jack gave the machines, the librarian said, “We have classes on Thursday nights on how to use computers to look up information on the web.”

“I don’t really like computers,” Jack said.

The librarian smiled at the comment that she heard only too frequently and said, “You will.”

Jack went over to one of the tables and sat down to read the article. Much to his surprise, it was an article about middle class communes. The California commune that was described in the article had people of all ages living in it. The place described wasn’t what he had imagined. It sounded more like a condominium complex with a common kitchen than some sixties love nest. He frowned and re-read the article thinking that he must have been missing something in it. Shaking his head, he said, “Those Californians are all crazy.”

There were some names in the article, so he decided to find out what he could about the people involved. Looking over at the computers, he sighed and said, “I’ll never find what I need. I’m going to need some help with this.”

It seemed to Jack that the phrase, ‘I’m going to need some help, ‘ was getting old. He was saying it too many times a day. He rose from his chair and returned to the librarian. He said, “Ma’am, could you help me?”

“Sure,” the librarian said standing up. She headed over to the row of computers knowing exactly what he needed.

Jack followed behind wondering if he was wasting his time. The librarian showed him how to use a search engine to look things up on the web. Using one finger, he typed in the name of one of the people mentioned in the article. There were a number of web pages returned and he clicked on one of the links. He discovered that the web was addicting and lost all track of time. After reading one article, he sat back and said, “This can’t be real.”

“It almost feels un-American,” he said after reading another web page. To him it read like some sort of socialist society. He shook his head and sat back in thought.

A tap on his shoulder brought his mind back to the present. The librarian said, “It is closing time.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jack said.

“That’s okay,” she replied with a smile.

“Let me use the bathroom and then I’ll head out,” Jack said. The chance to use a well lit bathroom was too good to pass up. He was tired of pissing in the toilet by candlelight at night.

“No problem,” the librarian said. It would take at least fifteen minutes to get everyone out of the library.

Jack finished repairing his truck and had one carpet laying job early in the week. He worked on Mrs. Johns’ porch in his free time getting it into pretty good shape over three days. She was appreciative of the work he had done and paid him ninety dollars for his time. He had spent every night at the library reading up on modern communes trying to figure out how it could work. He had learned that the librarian’s name was Mary and she was a pretty nice lady who helped him get started every time he needed to use the computer.

Thursday night finally rolled around and Jack was at the library waiting for the class on how to use the computer to start. A young kid, maybe twenty years old, walked over to the row of computers and said, “Welcome to the Thursday night class on computers. I’m Daryl, the instructor for the class. Who is here for the class?”

Jack raised his hand and looked around. He was the only one with his hand up. Feeling a little uncomfortable, he said, “I am.”

“At least I have one this week,” Daryl said. He was getting paid for teaching the class whether or not anyone actually showed up. It was better when he had someone, but he didn’t care one way or the other.

Going over to Jack, Daryl said, “Let’s go through this a step at a time. It is really simple once you get the basics down.”

“I hope so,” Jack said. He appreciated having access to so much information, but he didn’t like using the machine. The alphabet was arranged weirdly on the keyboard, the mouse tended to not move at times, and he never really understood the program he was using.

Daryl asked, “What topics are you interested in learning more about?”

“Communes,” Jack answered.

“Interesting. I wouldn’t have taken you to be a hippy,” Daryl said looking over at Jack. The guy struck him as a construction worker rather than some free-love spouting hippy. Rather than long hair and a beard, Jack wore his hair short and was exhibiting the onset of male pattern baldness despite being in his mid-twenties.

“I’m not,” Jack replied beginning to appreciate how Abby must have felt with that charge being leveled at her each time she mentioned a commune.

Daryl said, “Well, the first thing we do is open a browser. You have your choice of browsers.”

“I have a choice?” Jack asked staring at the screen of the computer. He didn’t see anything telling him that he had a choice. He asked, “What choices?”

Smiling at the confused expression on Jack’s face, Daryl said, “Do you see these icons on the screen?”

“You mean those little pictures?” Jack asked. He had wondered what they were.

“Yes,” Daryl answered. Pointing to them, he said, “Each of those represents a program that you can run by double clicking on it.”

“That’s a program?” Jack asked leaning to look closer at the screen. He wasn’t sure what a program looked like, but it was kind of surprising to discover that it was a picture.

“Basically it is a link to a program. If you double click on the icon, it will start the program.”