And, paradises, even the dumb heavenly ones, also need some arrangements for living. But my home for the next year or so, was even a bit less than I expected. As any sort of pioneer worker, you knew you were not going to afford a mansion. But .... I didn't expect what I got in this assignment.
As previously described, after the night train trip, we arrived at the station. I had a suitcase, (my worldly belongings, plus of course, the obligatory 'theocratic' library. J said we needed to take a taxi, because it was just outside the town border. OK. When the taxi arrived, we got out and I asked J, where's our accommodation, and he said, "There," pointing to a small one room building on the edge of an old quarry.
I began to wonder what I'd gotten myself into. Later, I heard that building's history. It had once been the kitchen for a homestead. When the quarry work began, the homestead was demolished, leaving only the kitchen for the use of the quarry workers. What was it like inside? Well, it had an old fuel stove, a bunk bed (i.e.2 levels) and that was it? There was no electricity and no water. I asked J, where's the bathroom and the toilet? He pointed up a hill opposite to a cattle trough and said, "we wash up there in that, and get our drinking water there, too !" and then pointed to the quarry, and explained, "Just go down into the quarry and dig a hole - just like the ancient Israelite soldiers."
A pile of WT and Awake magazines (packed in rolls as the WTS packed them for mailing) that they hadn't placed sat on a small table. The next day we collected even more from the Post Office.* So that's my start, as a SP. PIO.
Month's later, my father, passing through this town on the way too somewhere else, stayed with me for the night. In the morning, as he left, he said to me, "You're living a bit rough, son!" He was not a believer, in spite of his sister becoming a nun.
* I finished up with over 1500 unplaced mags. When the Circuit Servant came for his 6 monthly visit, I asked him what should I do with the old ones. He looked at them and snapped at me, "Place them, of course." Yeah! That would've tested even Jesus' miraculous powers.
As more and more rolls accumulated, and my conscience was more and more tested, I thought I'd get rid of them by burying them in in a dry creek bed. So I did. The dirt was hard, and I couldn't make the holes too deep. So I did what I could. It hadn't rained much for a whole year, but a few days later a downpour. When it stopped, I hurried to the creek, to make sure they were still buried. But, they weren't - they were floating, most face up, looking reproachfully up to Jehovah.
