Victor Hugo

A line to the hydraulic press burst, and our rig and geotechnical investigation stopped dead in its tracks. This was hardly a surprise; nobody thought our rig would last this long. The project was at a gold mine in one of the most violent states in Mexico, Zacatecas, so there was no promise we would ever get the rig home. Or us for that sake. Anything here was dispensable. So, the shittiest rig in the fleet was sent and my job was to keep it running. The procedure for fixing a blown hydraulic line is simple. Isolate the damaged line, remove the hose, determine the issue, buy a replacement, reinstall. However, finding replacements here is not so simple. We were in a third world country using first world equipment. And we did not speak Spanish. The hose’s gasket was stale and pulverized under time and pressure. Our little diesel 4x4 traveled to every shop and warehouse onsite, and thousands of gaskets later, we found our match. Thanks to our friend, Victor Hugo.

Who knows what the author looks like, but I know he is not Mexican and is dead. You know, the author of Les Misérables and Hunchback of Notre Dame. Victor Hugo. I thought this was common knowledge, and certainly to anyone sharing the name. After Victor Hugo, the mechanic, helped us find a gasket in the Komatsu 930E shop, I asked “¿Te gusta Les Misérables?”. His eyes informed me he had no clue what I was talking about. The same fucking name. No way. I ventured on to the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and I got the same response. A language barrier was possible with this title. After rephrasing my question, I concluded he had never heard of the author.

I take a step back in such moments. The world I navigate makes sense, and if not, I ask questions. Lots of questions. Curiosity is my guiding light. People interact with the world and others by following their light. It can be narrow and far reaching, or broad and near sighted. Some brighter, some dimmer. Thinking about a brain void of curiosity baffles me, but a man’s light could be family and community, or a job and passion. Different lights cast unique perspectives and shadows. Who am I to value one over another? Today I met a Poodle named Pascal, and the owner had no clue what a Pascal was. He has had the dog for ten years. I restrained from smacking him, but I leveled myself and wondered what his guiding light was. Certainly not curiosity.