The Hard Road

Photos
The Hard Road
Daniel Rodriguez snuck into the United States with simple goals. But his months working as a day laborer here have changed his life in ways he never anticipated.

The man brushes past him. "No, no."

"That's fine," Daniel says, returning to his spot.

At 10:40 a.m., a woman wearing a shower cap and driving an SUV promises Daniel and another laborer a moving job if they meet her at a U-Haul store about two miles away. The other laborer has a car, so the men take her up on it. They wait at the U-Haul for 40 minutes. When she still hasn't shown up, they head back to the 7-Eleven.

By now, the clutch of workers has dwindled to about nine. They are crouching in the trees behind the dumpster just off the property, because store rules require them to vacate by 10 a.m.

A claret-colored minivan pulls up, and the men mob it. Then they turn away one by one, snickering incredulously. It was a $9 an hour bricklaying job -- too low say the men, who generally will not take less than $10 an hour, especially when it's approaching noon.

Daniel sits in fallen leaves. He says he will stay until 2:30 p.m. "You don't lose desire or hope," he says. But then he contradicts himself. He says he does not think he will get a job today. Not on a Sunday. Not after noon.

At 3 p.m., he gives up. He is one day farther from the truck, and from home.

DANIEL BENDS OVER IN THE GUTTED SUNROOM of a Capitol Hill rowhouse, a circular saw in his bare right hand and a 2-by-4 propped on the toe of his boot. He pushes the saw across the wood, its blade spinning inches from his foot, until the short end drops. He hands the long end to Ruben Romero, who squeezes it lengthwise between the ceiling and the floor.

"There is a church of pure gold," Ruben says in a sweet voice before pressing the trigger of a huge nail gun and sending tremors through the room. He is boasting about Puebla, Mexico, his home.

It's Daniel's turn. "There in Sebaco, there are a lot of vegetables," he says, looking up at Ruben, 27. "Carrots, cucumbers, lettuce, red peppers, green peppers. And the good thing is how cheap food is."

The two got the framing job from Cruz Sosa, a contractor who is Daniel's brother-in-law. Cruz, jolly but with a quick temper, likes to see them work, not talk. But he has stepped out for supplies, and they are indulging in the free moments.

Sebaco also is home to a butcher who will kill a cow for you on the spot, Daniel continues. "It's not like here, where the meat stays a long time in the freezer," he says.