Still holding a hammer, Number One rested one hand on his hip and smiled at his handiwork. Although he had had the help of six other men to accomplish the task, he thought of the idea first. And now it began to rain. Number One felt he had done his fellows a great service. That no one from underneath the tarpaulin expressed not one syllable of gratitude annoyed him a little. He consoled himself with the idea that the forty people under the heavy sheet would be thankful one day for the comfort and protection against the rain, which by now had evolved from juicy drops to an unrelenting torrent. Because of the noise of the rain falling on the stones and the sand, Number One did not hear his colleague approach from behind “Better put this on now," Number Two advised, handing over an oilskin. The recipient thanked him and donned the garment. Meanwhile, the movement under the tarpaulin had subsided. The 80-square-metre sheet was fastened to the ground by stout iron spikes through holes at 30-centimetre intervals and strengthened with brass eyelets, like oversize shoelace holes. The forty people of various shapes and sizes underneath had complained bitterly for months about not having shelter from the merciless rainy season, but they had done nothing about it. They would write letters to newspapers condemning the authorities in the strongest terms for not providing cover from the rain and storms that wracked the country every year with increasing force. Homes were destroyed and never rebuilt. Temporary accommodation in the form of tents and huts built of corrugated iron sheets and stiff cardboard were no substitute for the architecture of which the country had been proud for 150 years. Television talk shows hosted pundits, whose experience of living under canvas or in a noisy hut was nil, maundering about austerity measures and the unwillingness of richer nations to bail out the country's ailing economy. But the eggheads rarely came up with a workable plan. Indeed, they seemed to delight in the sounds of their own voices as the presenter fawned over them in the comfort of a warm studio as they theorised, moralised and condemned of the powers that be. Consequently, six men whose physique would have been welcomed by publishers of bodybuilding magazines and a seventh, known as Number One, someone born to leadership, decided to take action and apply a one-size fits all protection policy as an emergency measure, which would surely become permanent and unshakable as the spikes that held down the tarpaulin. “Let us out," cried a voice from under the tarpaulin. Voices of various pitches and octaves echoed the plea. Number One frowned. “This is for your own good!" he snapped. “I want to get out to the shops!" another voice whined. “You'll have to wait, won't you?" “But you promised," someone from under the sheet said. “So what?!" Number Two bellowed. Number One tapped Number Two on the upper arm as if to tell him not to speak so frankly. Number Two looked down at his boots and muttered something about what the people had wanted. “We did make one or two promises, but no one listened. Not really. The people don't know what they want," Number One explained, “They think they do, but they have no idea how to protect themselves against the rain. Pah! Would any of them know where to get a tarpaulin this size from? “Pah! Do any of them have the logistical know-how regarding tarpaulin and shelter technology?" “We have brought this tarpaulin out of the kindness of our hearts and given them shelter from the rain. We have laboured and asked for no reward." Someone under the tarpaulin tried to stand upright. “Right! Let us out of here!" the stooping individual growled. “Only when the rain stops," Number One shouted back. “This is an outrage! We're all suffocating down here!" the growler said. “Better to suffocate down there than drown in yonder flood," Number One retorted. Another under the tarpaulin occupant asked when they would be let out. “When the rain stops and the floods subside," Number One answered. The same occupant inquired as to the duration of their stay under the sheet. “Hard to say, really. Could be a few days, maybe a week. Might be a month. Who knows?" He was asked if he had heard any weather forecast. “Forecast? What forecast? Look, we are acting in your interest," Number One said rather testily. “Do you think it's fun for us, your...er...I don't know... to stand out here in the rain, waiting for the weather to change so that you can come out safely and go about your business without falling in a muddy ditch and drowning?" There was no reply. Well, Number One was acting in everyone's best interests. Yes, they would all thank him and give him bouquets when the rainy season would be over. Yes, he would be hailed as the hero of the hour and he would be heaped with honours, which might even include a commemorative piece of the tarpaulin in a little glass case with a brass plaque commending Number One for his foresight and wisdom. After all, he had thought of the idea first. Suddenly, a hand clawing its way from under the tarpaulin snapped Number One from out of his reverie. He stamped on the hand. Someone howled with pain from under the sheet. He thought of a new use for the hammer that he still held.
