Henge had Called about the Water Cannon

NOTE - This section of American Project contains adult language and content and is therefore not suitable for minors.

Episode 13

“Len!?” Mabel would yell, peering inside the door. She’d yell as kind of a warning. A heads up yell. An inquisitive yell. She would stare at the concrete floor, and listen for movement. As long as Len wasn’t sleeping with another woman, Mabel could control Len’s drinking.

One afternoon, in mid August, Mabel came inside the office, after calling out the obligatory warning and staring at the concrete floor for what she surmised was at least forty-five seconds, which, Mabel realized, was at least twenty seconds longer than comfortable.

Len was sitting at his desk, legs sprawled like a scarecrow, and empty bottles of O’Doul’s stood like little green Lite Brite pegs on the organizer calendar on the surface of his desk.

“Len!”
“Huh,” said Len. He looked up at his wife, his eyes crust covered slots. His mouth tasted like a nine volt battery.
“Len, Henge called the house,” Mabel said.
She said, “He wants to know when the,” she pulled a little piece of paper from her purse. “Water cannon is going to be ready, said he’d be over at the house this evening.”

The water cannon barrel, being lathed by big Ernie, was still a good five hours from being finished. Sax had TIG welded the base yesterday morning with some spare plate, but the pump apparatus still needed to be constructed, and Len knew that was no laughing matter.

***

Len thought, through his foggy mid afternoon stupor, that building a pump was an extraordinarily complicated activity. He thought about valves, and impellors, and reservoirs, and cranks and levers. None of these thoughts, however, actually came out of his mouth.

There was really no way, in his condition, Len Wiedeshofer could build a pump by this evening. Henge was going to stop by the house, Mabel said. Henge was going to want answers. Solutions. Outcomes. Henge would want no water cannon left behind.

“Fuck,” Len said to his desk. He was staring at the surface of his desk, and his wife was standing right there, watching him be drunk in the afternoon at Cheviot Machine and Screw, and not sleeping around on her.

“Now Len,” Mabel said. She said: “You still have a few hours to sober up.”

Mabel walked out to the small table under the punch clock. There was a Mr. Coffee coffee maker, and some powdered creamer and a can of Kroger brand coffee. Mabel opened the can, spooned some grounds in a filter, and filled up the glass carafe with water from the utility basin.

Sax Taxon glanced up from the workbench vice. He was working on a steel machete for his own personal reasons, and had overheard some of the conversation between Len and Mabel.

Sax knew where they could find a pump.

—

Photograph by Nythan James.