It\u2019s Friday evening, so I imagine the whole city feels free from the grip of school and work. Dad\u2019s driving us home in the company van. He squeezes through a congested area where shoppers board the buses and four lanes merge into one big mess. I watch from my seat in the back. Most of the trucks head for the building supply district called Zone Isle. That\u2019s Mongolian for One Hundred Neighbors. I went there once with my father. I remember walking down its twisting, narrow road with a myriad of little shops, each one exploding with boxes of greasy nails. It was a dangerous place too, so many stacks of lumber and sheets of glass in the way.<\/p>\n
Now we pass the river on our left and the yurts dotting the hills beyond, their red doors visible even at this distance. We come to a lurching stop for a cow to cross the highway, followed by a couple of wild dogs. We turn at the closest entrance to our subdivision, a steep, washed-out gravel road situated on the edge of the hill. The van wheels spin against the rocks.<\/p>\n
Just short of the top, I see an elderly man pulling a large, aluminum, milk container in a rickety cart. His long, dusty Mongolian coat lined in sheep wool kicks up at his knees to reveal traditional boots with the curled-up toes. I know he’s bringing water for his family from the spring near the marshes.<\/p>\n
To avoid hitting him, Dad jerks the van quickly to the right sending us dangerously close to the edge of the precipice. From my window, I see the old man lose his balance. The cart flips on its side, sending water down the hill. I\u2019ve watched that man carry water a hundred times, but this is the first time I see him. \u201cDad, let’s help him!\u201d<\/p>\n
We can’t stop, we need the momentum. So, I crane my neck to catch a final glimpse. The old man sets the can upright and positions it back on the cart. A strange feeling catches in my throat…<\/p>\n