Un Monstruo

I got a call on a walk-in cooler at a steak place. The condensing unit was mounted above the keg bin in the alley. I set up my stepladder. I could tell that the compressor was running not only by the sound but by the heat radiating from the condenser coil. I could also tell that the condenser fan wasn’t running by the fact that…well, the fact that it wasn’t running.

A big squirrel that had been relaxing on the refrigerant lines jumped to her feet when I started removing the top cover. She leaped up on the exhaust fan above me. Then down on the refrigerant lines again. She moved in alarmingly close. I was staring right into those flat black eyes, afraid she was going to attack my face while my hands were busy with the panel. She didn’t do that though. She hung back, shifting one way and the other. When I lifted the cover, I discovered why she was so nervous. She had made her nest inside, a sordid bundle of plastic bags, rags, twigs, and leaves. Over in one corner, behind the fan blade, I saw the gray flank of another squirrel. No. More than one.

That’s when I said fuck this. I’m not messing with these squirrels. For one thing, they’re much bigger than you think when you’re close up. The mother looked like she could, if she had a mind to, do some damage. For another…just fuck this. I called the owner of the restaurant and told him what was up. He said he’d come over.

Then I called Deb and told her I’d found a nest of squirrels in a condensing unit.

“What did you do?” she said.

“Well,” I said, “I killed them. Of course.”

“You what? You killed them? You’re kidding. How did you do it?”

“Oh, I used my torch. Burned them.”

“What? No! You didn’t do that!”

“No! Of course I didn’t do that! What kind of monster do you think I am? I called the owner. I figured he can call a critter getter or something. Get those things out of there.”

“You got gloves?” I asked the owner when he arrived.

“Yeah. I have gloves. And a jacket.”

He started by dredging out the plastic and rags. I held a box so he could deposit all this garbage inside. “I need another box,” he said. “Get another one.”

After I’d done that, he grabbed one baby squirrel by the midsection and shook him loose inside the empty box. Then he grabbed another squirrel.

“I guess these are the babies,” he said, shaking the second one loose. “The momma already came in and took one of them. I don’t know where she went to.”

“I can’t believe you just did what you did,” I said.

“What did I do?” he said.

“You just reached in and got them! I would never have done that.”

“They aren’t bad,” he said. “They are kind of big, though. Aren’t they? I mean, for babies?”

“Maybe they’re sort of…delayed or something. I mean, don’t you think they could run away on their own?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Kids today,” I said.

He took the box and disappeared somewhere. I went back to work. The squirrels had chewed the capacitor wires right up against the body of the motor, so I had to replace it. Luckily, I had a new motor in my truck. The work wasn’t so bad once I used the shop vac to clean out the remainder of the nest, although I did end up smelling like a zoo animal by the time I was finished. I was buttoning up the condensing unit when a kind-eyed guy, my buddy the meat cutter, leaned on the shelf and looked up at me.

“Qué passó?” he said.

“Ah,” I said, stalling for time while I tried to dredge up the word I wanted. “Uh. Como se dice…squirrel?”

“Ardilla?”

“Sí! Sí! Quatro ardillas!”

“So…” he said, looking uneasy, “you…” and he made a slashing motion across his throat.

“Muerto? No! No! No necessario! No. Uh…Vince took them. We…put them in a box. Como se dice box?”

“Un caja de cartón?”

“I guess. Yeah. We put them in a box. A box.”

“Oh!” he said, very relieved. “Bueno. Bueno.”

He went back inside while I continued fastening the top panel. A moment later, three line cooks, all hispanic, along with the meat cutter descended the concrete steps into the alley. Two headed one way and two headed the other. Then a young hispanic woman was at the foot of my ladder.

“Cuantos?” she said.

“What?”

“Cuantos niños?”

“Tres,” I said. “Tres niños and un madre.”

She nodded and turned toward the alley.

The other guys were by this time rummaging through dumpsters. I thought that was a little weird. I didn’t know why they were doing that. Maybe looking for bottles. Then the four guys and the woman joined up and were all staring into the same dumpster, which happened to be nearby. So I climbed down and joined them. I looked inside the dumpster. I figured there was something in there. I didn’t see anything other than trash.

“Qué passa?” I said.

Nobody said anything.

“Qué…buscan?” I said.

“Los niños,” said the woman.

“Oh!” I said. “No! We didn’t put them in a dumpster! We didn’t do that!”

“Dónde están?” said the meat cutter.

“Vince…uh…took them,” I said. “He took them…somewhere. No sé dónde. Exactamundo.”

“He took them home?” said the meat cutter.

“I’m not sure. No es seguro. Pero, no dumpster. Pienso qué. No dumpster.”

They all nodded. And the one who was holding the lid tentatively let it close. I headed back to the ladder and one young guy who, I was guessing, was finished for the day, joined me.

“You no get ardillas?” he said.

“Me? No! No yo! No.”

He laughed. “No? Porque no?”

He waited for my answer.

“Porque? Porque…porque tengo…afraid!”

He laughed. I laughed. Then I watched him walk away.

They give me heart, these hunted people who care so deeply for tres niños and un madre in this dangerous land. They really do give me heart.