The real nature of our endeavor didn’t really sink in until ten o’clock yesterday night. Our evening was at that point suddenly interrupted by the furious pounding of angry fists on our door while wild shouts in Romanian echoed in the hallway. Immediately, the three of us men jumped to the door to check the deadbolt and block it from opening. Rita and her kids huddled on the couch. Adrenaline shot through my bloodstream as we waited at the door for what seemed hours, Jake with his eye to the peephole. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief, saying, “Oh, it’s the neighbors.”
I don’t think we have ever been happier to have our neighbors come pounding on our door at such an hour. Apparently, there was a leaky pipe somewhere in the bloc, and they had taken it upon themselves to discover the culprit. We were all laughing and grateful beyond words, but it took quite some time for the adrenaline to settle back down.
That’s when the magnitude of what we were doing finally hit me. This wasn’t just a fun little evening, this really was a life-and-death scenario.