and forth across the
table, as if she could hardly believe the impracticality she was witnessing.
“Virgil, don’t tell me you haven’t told Charles about
the water problem?”
“What water problem?” I asked.
Virgil kept his face and eyes averted toward his plate
while he cleared his throat.
“I did forget to mention one little problem,” he
continued.
“One little problem?” she said with a mocking voice
and smile, while she steered another fork full of mashed potatoes toward her
mouth.
“I guess this is a good time to mention it,” I
replied.
He cleared his throat again and focused his eyes on a
glass of water smudged with children’s greasy fingerprints.
“The water out there is no good,” he said.
An uneasy silence joined us at the table. I could hear
and feel blood pounding in my neck, ears and brain. Violet stopped chewing and
waited for my response.
“Well, can it be fixed?”
Virgil swallowed hard. “It’s been bad a long time.
They tried to fix it once, but no luck.”
“Who tried and how long ago?” I asked.
“The Ryders … and a long time ago.”
“That long?” I asked.
Virgil nodded, shoved a slice of bread into his mouth
and chewed listlessly.
“So what’s wrong with it that it can’t be fixed?” I
asked, trying to avoid an impending hemorrhage.
Violet had endured silence before, but I could see it
was something she did not encourage, so she broke in. “It’s black,” she said,
“and it smells awful!”
The pain traveled deep into the very core of my being.
The house I had just contracted to buy was without water , and a man I
believed I could trust had betrayed me, and for what, a lousy six percent
commission?
“I don’t understand,” I said. “A creek runs by the
house and there is such an awful lot of land.”
Virgil placed the fork on his plate and wiped gravy
from his lips. The words he was preparing to deliver I hoped would show me how
to eliminate, or at least contend with the problem.
“There have been a dozen wells dug out there,” he
said. “They’re good for a few days, but then they all go bad, black and
smelly.”
“What causes it?” I asked. “Why can’t something be
done?”
“The odor, we think, comes from sulfur in the water. Did
you ever smell rotten eggs? Well, it smells like that only worse. Normally
sulfur water would be good for you, despite the smell, but this stuff is black
and were not sure why. It could have something to do with the coal, but no one
seems to know.”
“What did the Ryders do?” I asked.
“It wasn’t always bad,” he replied. “It happened
later. Most people out there dip water from the creek or buy bottled water.”
“The water in the creek is all right?”
“Good enough,” he said, “if you boil it.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, nursing doubts.
Virgil thought so too. He stopped sucking air through
his teeth.
“These things have a way of reversing themselves,” he
said in his most conciliatory tone. His words, however, came too late to make a
difference.
Violet pushed away from the table. “Let’s have coffee
in the living room,” she said, brushing crumbs from her lap. “I just thought of
something that might interest you, Charles.”
“I don’t know if I can stand any more revelations
tonight,” I said.
“Relax,” she replied. “What I have to say may help.”
I would appreciate a single lumen of light on the
problem. I could not help but wonder about the market for bottled ‘black
water,’ or if it could be used for utilitarian purposes, such as flushing a
commode.
We wandered into the living room amid speculations of
subsidized water and sewer projects materializing in the not too distant future
that would put Elanville back on the economic map and command higher real
estate values.
We settled into padded furniture facing a fireplace
with gas logs that crackled like a real wood fire. Violet poured creamy brandy
and coffee into cups and passed them
table, as if she could hardly believe the impracticality she was witnessing.
“Virgil, don’t tell me you haven’t told Charles about
the water problem?”
“What water problem?” I asked.
Virgil kept his face and eyes averted toward his plate
while he cleared his throat.
“I did forget to mention one little problem,” he
continued.
“One little problem?” she said with a mocking voice
and smile, while she steered another fork full of mashed potatoes toward her
mouth.
“I guess this is a good time to mention it,” I
replied.
He cleared his throat again and focused his eyes on a
glass of water smudged with children’s greasy fingerprints.
“The water out there is no good,” he said.
An uneasy silence joined us at the table. I could hear
and feel blood pounding in my neck, ears and brain. Violet stopped chewing and
waited for my response.
“Well, can it be fixed?”
Virgil swallowed hard. “It’s been bad a long time.
They tried to fix it once, but no luck.”
“Who tried and how long ago?” I asked.
“The Ryders … and a long time ago.”
“That long?” I asked.
Virgil nodded, shoved a slice of bread into his mouth
and chewed listlessly.
“So what’s wrong with it that it can’t be fixed?” I
asked, trying to avoid an impending hemorrhage.
Violet had endured silence before, but I could see it
was something she did not encourage, so she broke in. “It’s black,” she said,
“and it smells awful!”
The pain traveled deep into the very core of my being.
The house I had just contracted to buy was without water , and a man I
believed I could trust had betrayed me, and for what, a lousy six percent
commission?
“I don’t understand,” I said. “A creek runs by the
house and there is such an awful lot of land.”
Virgil placed the fork on his plate and wiped gravy
from his lips. The words he was preparing to deliver I hoped would show me how
to eliminate, or at least contend with the problem.
“There have been a dozen wells dug out there,” he
said. “They’re good for a few days, but then they all go bad, black and
smelly.”
“What causes it?” I asked. “Why can’t something be
done?”
“The odor, we think, comes from sulfur in the water. Did
you ever smell rotten eggs? Well, it smells like that only worse. Normally
sulfur water would be good for you, despite the smell, but this stuff is black
and were not sure why. It could have something to do with the coal, but no one
seems to know.”
“What did the Ryders do?” I asked.
“It wasn’t always bad,” he replied. “It happened
later. Most people out there dip water from the creek or buy bottled water.”
“The water in the creek is all right?”
“Good enough,” he said, “if you boil it.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, nursing doubts.
Virgil thought so too. He stopped sucking air through
his teeth.
“These things have a way of reversing themselves,” he
said in his most conciliatory tone. His words, however, came too late to make a
difference.
Violet pushed away from the table. “Let’s have coffee
in the living room,” she said, brushing crumbs from her lap. “I just thought of
something that might interest you, Charles.”
“I don’t know if I can stand any more revelations
tonight,” I said.
“Relax,” she replied. “What I have to say may help.”
I would appreciate a single lumen of light on the
problem. I could not help but wonder about the market for bottled ‘black
water,’ or if it could be used for utilitarian purposes, such as flushing a
commode.
We wandered into the living room amid speculations of
subsidized water and sewer projects materializing in the not too distant future
that would put Elanville back on the economic map and command higher real
estate values.
We settled into padded furniture facing a fireplace
with gas logs that crackled like a real wood fire. Violet poured creamy brandy
and coffee into cups and passed them
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