Windmills. Don Quixote saw windmills. He fought windmills. He lost to windmills. What would it be like to live under a windmill? It wouldn’t be quiet. Every time the wind blows there would be a constant whirling. Yet Jasmine wanted a windmill.
Chris tried to talk her out of it. Nope. There was no talking her out of it.
“Why do you want a windmill?” he asked her.
“I had a dream when I was a kid.”
“There you go. You and your dreams.”
Time and time again she brought up her dreams. When they first met, she had dreamed she was going to marry an engineer. Chris was an engineer.
They bought cars based on her dreams. They went on vacations to places that appeared in her dreams. One time they even had sex based on a dream. It was a position she saw in the dream.
Now this. They were going to spend a fortune for a house underneath a windmill. And it wasn’t even that good of a windmill. There were parts of it falling down. One blade rested vertically in the ground. It was older than the house. An older house had been torn down and replaced by the current house.
That night Chris had a dream. And it scared the hell out of him. Initially he had chalked the dream up to worry. But it came back three, four times. As long as Jasmine wanted that house, he knew the nightmares would not go away.
He told her his dreams. She just laughed. “I’m the dreamer in this family,” she said.
“Well, I’ll buy the house. But I’m not living there.”
“You have to,” Jasmine insisted. When she insisted, she usually got her way.
So Chris bought the house. That first month, no dreams for Chris. Nothing happened in the house. Then Chris began work on the windmill while Jasmine worked on the house. Chris took six months off from his job to do the work. He hired an architect, a contractor and several men to do the work as he oversaw things.
The blade stuck deep in the dirt needed to be pulled out and remounted. Chris wasn’t sure how that the blade had ended a third deep into the ground. It must have been a strong force that plunged that blade into the earth.
The architect, the contractor and Chris sat over plans for several days, discussing ways of getting that blade out. They brought out a bulldozer and mounted a chain to the blade. The blade would not move.
Jasmine came out to where the men worked. She took one look at the chain and the bulldozer. She took Chris aside. “Don’t,” she said.
“Leave the blade alone,”
“Leave the blade alone?”
“Yes,” Jasmine said.
“But it’s got to go. Without a new blade, the windmill will not rotate properly.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
Chris went back to the others. “Okay, guys. Leave the blade be.”
The work continued on the windmill for another month. But Chris was continued to be concerned about the blades.
One morning, over coffee, Jasmine said, “My mother’s sick.”
“Is it serious?”
“I have to go and see her. The doctor says she only has weeks to live.”
“Then you should go.”
Chris watched his wife drive away. Then he went back to the windmill. The stairs and the floor were almost done. For the next three days, the work went well. Chris worked from sun-up to sunset. Each night before he went to bed, he talked to Jasmime about the windmill, telling her of the progress he was making.
The morning of the third day, he looked at the blade in the ground. He decided the blade had to come out. The next day the contractor brought in the bulldozer and a pulley. The first time they tried, the chain snapped. The second time, the blade moved, then a second chain snapped. Finally, the third chain held and the blade gradually pulled loose.
When Jasmine had not heard from Chris for three days, she began to worry. Her phone calls were not answered. Then it hit her. He had gone ahead and pulled the blade loose.
“Oh, no,” she said. “He let them out.”