“You sure the coal man’s comin’ this mornin’?”
“He usually comes around nine or ten every other Saturday during the winter. Depends on how many deliveries he has.”
Roy and his friend Johnny Murphy were standing in the alley behind Roy’s house waiting for the coal truck to arrive. Two feet of snow had fallen during the night, then the temperature had dropped, so the ground was covered by a frozen crust. The boys, who were both eight years old, liked to slide down the coal chute into the pile in front of the furnace in the basement. The best time to do it was on delivery day, when the pile was highest.
“I’m freezin’,” said Johnny. “I shoulda worn two pairs of socks.”
It was almost ten o’clock when they heard and then saw the big red Peterson Coal truck turn into the alley. The truck crunched ahead and skidded to a stop in front of Roy’s garage. Alfonso Rivero, the driver, climbed down from the cab and tromped over to where Roy and Johnny were standing. Alfonso was a short, stocky man in his mid-forties. He was wearing a black knit hat pulled down over his ears, a navy blue tanker jacket and steel-toed work boots. An unfiltered Camel hung from his lips.
“You waiting go slide?” he said.
“Hi, Alfonso,” said Roy. “Yeah, I thought you might be late because of the snow and ice.”
“We been out here since nine,” said Johnny Murphy.
“I hate the nieve,” Alfonso said. “In Mexico, no hay snow and ices, except in los montañas.”
“Why do you live in Chicago?” asked Johnny.
“We don’t have no work in Mexico, also.”
Roy and Johnny watched Alfonso take down a wheelbarrow mounted on the back of the truck and set it on the ground, then open the two rear doors and hoist himself inside. He pulled a thick glove from each of his side pockets, put them on, picked a shovel out of the coal pile and began shoveling it down into the wheelbarrow. When the barrow was full, he leaned down holding the shovel.
“Take la pala, chico,” he said to Roy.
Roy took it and the deliveryman jumped down. Roy handed Alfonso the shovel. He stuck it into the pile of coal in the wheelbarrow and wheeled it through the passageway leading to Roy’s backyard. The boys followed Alfonso, who stopped in front of a pale blue door at the rear of the building, undid the latch on the door and swung it open. He shoveled most of the contents of the wheelbarrow down the chute and dumped in the rest, then headed back to the truck for another load.
After six trips back and forth, Alfonso said to the boys, “Es todo, muchachos. Okay now for deslizamiento.”
“Muchas gracias, Alfonso,” said Roy.
“Yeah, mucho,” said Johnny.
Roy went first, sliding all the way down and landing in front of the furnace. As soon as he got up, Johnny did the same. They went out the basement door and ran up the steps into the yard.
“Once more, Alfonso!” Roy shouted.
“Si, uno mas,” said the deliveryman, and lit up a fresh cigarette.
After the boys emerged from the basement, Alfonso closed the door to the chute, latched it, and pushed the wheelbarrow back into the alley. Roy and Johnny trailed him and watched as he tossed in his shovel, closed the doors and re-attached the wheelbarrow.
“See you dos semanas, amigos,” Alfonso said, then climbed into the cab, started the engine and drove slowly away down the alley.
Roy and Johnny’s faces were covered with coal dust, as were their hands and clothes. They picked up clean snow, washed their faces and hands with it and rubbed it on their coats and pants.
“I wouldn’t mind havin’ Alfonso’s job,” said Johnny. “You get to drive a big truck and stand around smokin’ cigarettes in people’s yards.”
“Alfonso’s a good guy,” said Roy. “He probably lets any kid who wants to slide down the piles.”
“It don’t seem so cold now,” Johnny said. “You hear about Cunningham’s mother?”
“No. What about her?”
“She died yesterday.”
“Tommy didn’t say anything about her being sick.”
“My father says she committed suicide. It’s a mortal sin, so now she can’t get into heaven.”
“Maybe it was an accident.”
“My father says she ate a bullet.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Shot herself in the mouth. She’s probably already in hell.”
“Don’t say that to Cunningham.”
“My mother said she thinks Tommy’s father pulled the trigger.”
“Why would he murder her?”
“When husbands and wives are arguin’ they’re always sayin’ how they’re gonna kill each other. I hate hearin’ it when my parents fight. You’re lucky you only got a mother.”