A Wet Step

In the dark, rain had polished the step outside the storehouse. Margen approached with a crate on his shoulder and stopped abruptly: water ran down the wall, crossed the step and vanished beneath the door. He set down his load. Two passers-by explained how he ought to tackle the step; neither offered to move the crate. Jalvi, dark-haired and with chapped hands, was called over from the drainage channel beside the warehouse. She crouched to study the flow. “It isn't coming from above,” she said, pointing to the gutter blocked with rags and leaves. Margen dislodged the first clump with the toe of his boot. One trickle changed course; another followed. It did not dry the ground, but it stopped the water from entering again. Jalvi went back to the channel to make sure it did not clog once more. Margen lifted the crate more carefully. In Talmar, rain did not need someone to blame. It needed somewhere to drain. He put his foot back on the step, tested it and only then went on.