In a room furnished with 16 luxurious leather chairs positioned one in front of the other, in such a way that you can barely fit into it as the chair ahead of it is so close. Roughly enough space to put your feet down and have 6 inches to spare. These chairs are offset diagonally to allow for all the chairs to fit into a room which is longer than wide. In the front corner of the room is a widescreen TV in which I am watching the olympic coverage, seated one chair back and to my left is the man I seen at supper the night before.
He is an older man perhaps 65 and by the way he walks, not in the best physical condition. He's meek and has a high geeky voice with a nasal twang. He's nearing the end of his life as opposed to beginning it, if you know what I mean. He and his arrivals are late for supper which tells me this is their first day at this camp. Upon seeing him at the supper table surrounded by younger men I assume he's there on some mentoring mission or perhaps even a group outing for some organization - I'm thinking church. But, this being a camp in Alberta especially designed for housing individuals working for Encana in the oil and gas industry, I immediately decide against this first theory of mine.
At breakfast he seems kind and addresses those who walk into the dining area, bidding them a good-morning.
He says fuck a lot, which I don't find odd. This is a camp where the men are hard working, tired and dirty at the end of their day, the work "fuck" is common place. But this doesn't sound right coming out of his mouth. You see I have prejudged him and I expect him to be polite and kind, soft spoken and Grandfather-like.
After I eat my supper I go directly to the TV room and sit one seat back from the TV. The older man is in the room watching the olympics and offers me the control. "No" I say as this is exactly what I wanted to watch.
During our time together he learns I am from Newfoundland and tells me that him and a few friends are planning an RV trip this coming summer. I learn he works for a trucking company transporting drilling rigs from one location to another. He sits in the chair where he farts from time to time. No expression or gesture is made, no reference to it. He is old and farts as though every fart leads to a better life, like it is pertinent to his health at the end of the day. When he gets one out there is an audible sigh of relief. Each gaseous expulsion is like a treat for him, I guess where he is old his guts don't work like they used to and the old adage of farting being a sign of health is now his mantra.
He gives colour commentary during the moguls competition, again he uses the word "fuck" profusely. I now think he says it to sound gruff, just to fit in, in this hard working atmosphere where the man with the deepest, scratchiest voice is king, a place where smoking a pack of cigarettes a day just barely tempers the voice box and years of straight whiskey puts the finish on it. But he doesn't have to act around me, and I try to encourage this with my friendly banter.
The next day I eat my supper and head er straight to the TV room to get my full of the olympic coverage. Half asleep and yawning is the old man laid out on a chair suffering through the final hours of consciousness. After half an hour of sports coverage punctuated by slight conversation I simply say "sure buddy you're better off hittin the sack, you can barely keep your eyes open". He takes my advice and walks to the door saying "see you in the morning".
5:25 the next morning I'm sat at the table eating my oatmeal and in walks the old man with a "good-morning" and sits next to me. On the TV is Sportsdesk(as it was once called and I will forever call it) and they are showing the highlights from the day before. They are covering the NBA allstar game and after a minute the old man looks at me and asks "you watch that Nigger ball?"
"What?" I utter.
"Do you follow Basketball?" he reiterates.
I pause as 5 quick things come to mind. I'm figuring 10 long seconds pass as I try to put my words together and be diplomatic yet strong in my conviction.
Here is a man whom I have pitied and sort of befriended. Without calling him out or making a scene I decide to say in a firm and cold voice, whilst patting him on the shoulder "You know you should keep those racist comments to yourself, not everyone appreciates them"
"No" was all he said.
He said it in a way that I couldn't discern whether he was defiant or concurring with what I said and he had just realized.
I had nothing further to say.
What puzzles me is that the first night of us watching TV together, one of the people who works at the camp walked in the TV room and grabbed a bag of potato chips and smiled acknowledging the 2 of us. The old man commented "that guy's a good fella". "Who? Isaac?" I said in agreeance, while actively making him aware of the worker's name. "Yes" he said saying "he's a good guy"
The funny thing about Isaac is that he's Black.
