“I hope you don’t mind a little elbow
grease?”
“What’s that?”
“Hard work.” Shocked, I could think of
nothing to say. “This way,” he added. “How’s Sally?”
It was an odd question for him to ask, and I
was suspicious.
“What do you do here?”
“I told you before that I did all the dirty
jobs, clean-up, and such, but now, I do real work. This part of
Modal is a staging ground for everything involving drilling. It’s
fun. You’ll see.”
He took me first to a lunch room in which
several men were drinking coffees and smoking. Their conversation
halted and none of them said a word in front of us as though we
were spies. He showed me a locker outside the lunchroom marked
Christian and tossed me the key.
“Get changed.”
“Where’s the dressing room?”
“Any where. No women come into this area.” I
quickly changed into a work shirt and overalls as he watched. “Do
you know anything about drilling?” he asked.
I shook my head and tried on boots I found
in the locker. They fit perfectly. “This way,” he said when I was
ready. I was led through a set of narrow corridors where we saw few
people. We came into a room where several men under intense light
were gathered around a machine. “Don’t go any closer. That’s their
big secret.”
A tall well-built man came over and offered
me his hand which I shook firmly. He was clean-shaven and young,
his posture so straight that it arched. He appeared too rigid
though, a caricature of a perfect adult man, like something you
find in a science exhibition or in a mannequin. “I’m Merry Gerry
Dexter,” he said. “You’re Stan’s son?” I nodded. A stiffness
pervaded him. “We like Stan the Man, so you’re lucky,” he
continued. “I’ve some things I need you to study.”
He stepped into the corner and picked up a
cardboard container, flipping the top. Without Gerry Dexter seeing,
Lloyd curled up his eyes. He returned and passed me three books,
Innovative Drilling Practices, The Next Twenty Years of Energy, and
A Strategy of Fossil Fuels and Economic Renewal. All three were
thin books and I was thankful for that. He passed me two other
manuals in white three-ringed binders. Tappets: Essential
Information on Drilling, and Modal Oil, Vision and Statement.
“The only method by which oil or gas can be
really found,” he added, “is by drilling a hole into a reservoir.
What my team does is to develop the best damn drill that we can for
Stan the Man and our Friend, Ken the Wren. Now normally, we don’t
bother telling new-hires at Modal Oil this sort of thing, since for
a while at least, the only drills you’ll be seeing, are the ones
you clean, sharpen, and polish with Avoid Lloyd, here. Nonetheless,
read the books and keep your ear low to the ground. Do you know
what that means, my Christian Mission?”
I’d no idea, but I’d a funny feeling that if
I lied, he would discount me for my duration at Modal, that it
might have unintended consequences. I shook my head. “It means keep
your powder dry,” he continued. “Do you know what that means?” I
shook my head again. “It means sleep with your boots on. Do you
know what that means?” I swallowed and for the third time shook my
head. “Seems you don’t know much of anything, my Christian Mission.
Read! When we meet next week, please, know something about drilling
if not about old war clichés. Avoid Lloyd here will show you around
and then you can help him with his work for the rest of the
afternoon.”
I took the books and brought them to the
locker. Lloyd gave me a tour of the building and then showed me
where he worked. It was a grungy area where the light was low and
the air stank of grease. We plucked drilling apparatuses from bins
of lubricants and soaked them in solvents. Our task was to recover
drill heads, bits, or other parts, some were small, some large and
heavy, all were sharp. We’d to carefully clean them with files,
wire-brushes, and chisels. I received all sorts of nicks on my
hands. It was hard boring work and I grew tired fast. It seemed
forever before we took a break.
“Halfway there,” Lloyd said with a sigh as
we made it to the cafeteria. I was dragging my feet and was tempted
to quit. I could phone Stan and throw myself on his mercy, but I
couldn’t bring myself to do it.
The afternoon was more of the same, absolute
slavery, and at four o’clock, when Lloyd said, “Let’s hit the
showers.” I didn’t even give it a second thought. I ended up naked
with Lloyd in the showers, but by the time that it hit me, he had
soaped and scrubbed himself without even looking at me. He dried
off within sight, but was completely distracted. His body was lean
and his penis now was fully-developed like Terry Kray’s. He also
had developed biceps, twice the size of mine, and a chest of which
I was envious.
That night, after eating, I retreated to bed
and slept through to the next morning, not even looking at the
material on drilling. Larry drove me to a free-standing building,
the Kroffer-Danna Electronic Complex, in East Orange on Meadowdowns
Crescent. It looked large and was well treed and landscaped. Ralph
Peat’s Electronic Testing Equipment stood exactly in the middle at
the front of the building. I waved to Larry and tried the door as
he drove away, then noticed the bell. I rang and waited. A
fifty-year-old thin man answered. His light trim graying beard both
hid and revealed his face in a strange sort of combination. His
short hair was a tangle, but was also recently cut. He didn’t weigh
one-hundred and thirty pounds and looked rather light-weight in
every sense of the expression, however I instantly liked him and
offered my hand.
“I’m Ralph,” he said. He ignored my hand and
locked the door behind us. We walked through a small reception area
to a narrow deep open room which appeared to be in complete chaos.
Appliances of every sort, some of them stacked on one another,
stood at the back wall. Lathes, large precision drills, and
twenty-five or so power machines of every sort, stood in long rows
down both sides. In the narrow walkway down the middle, roles of
sheets of metal, wires, and electronic paraphernalia lay to the
sides. The ceiling was twelve feet above me, and to the side, above
the paraphernalia, crown-racks held more equipment and raw
materials. Three enormous tool cabinets stood to my immediate right
and most of the drawers were half opened and tools and portable
power gadgets lay everywhere. Buckets, metal barrels, and plastic
containers, held punched-out pieces or metal-shavings and were all
marked with black magic markers.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s Ralph’s Palace,” he said grimly. “Stan
has given me specific instructions for you. I hope you’re as bright
as he thinks you are. I don’t kiss butt. If you can’t cut mustard,
believe me, Stan will be the first to know.”
His eyes were focused. What came to my mind
was that he was trustworthy, but not as hard as he depicted. I knew
I’d be able to impress him. I didn’t know if I’d a mechanical mind,
I thought I probably didn’t, but I was damn sure that building a
refrigerator and a stove would make Stan believe I did. I’d every
intention of succeeding.
“This morning you’re going to key punch and
mold small parts for the fridge you are going to build,” he
continued. “Let me tell you how it’s going to work. The doors,
body, freezer-compartment, compressor, condenser, expansion valve,
and evaporator, will be the only parts supplied. Other than that,
you have to make, mold, find, and otherwise fabricate, the parts
from within these four walls and make them all work. For the
fridge, the passing grade is either it keeps ice-cream frozen for
twenty-four hours, or you fail. Then, our relationship ends. You
have six working days to complete it, but you can do it faster by
coming here whenever you wish to work on it. I’ll get you keys and
the access codes. Do you have any idea how a fridge works?”
I shook my head. “In a car,” he went-on, “as
you probably know, there are two essential ingredients, gas and
electricity. In a fridge there are four. The evaporator vaporizes a
refrigerant, in your case, freon, to absorb the heat from the box.
It’s then drawn into the compressor and elevated to high pressure,
raising the temperature. The hot gas is then condensed to liquid in
the condenser. From here the liquid flows through an expansion
valve, its pressure and temperature reduced to the conditions that
are maintained in the evaporator. It sucks out heat and is a
completely closed cycle. With no leaks it could last indefinitely.”
He smiled. “Don’t look so scared, it’s simpler than it sounds.
While you have to build the thing, you don’t have to reinvent it.
Taking into account your age and lack of experience, I’ve written a
design for you. Come, I’ll show you.”
His office was an extension of the
pandemonium of the outer room. Binders, newspapers, magazines,
spare parts, dirty coffee cups, a water cooler and half-size
fridge, and even items like sunglasses and hair-spray, had been
scattered throughout his office without sense. I’d come to realize
that there was just the two of us in “Ralph’s Palace.”
“Sit,” he said and passed me a binder.
Within was a step-by-step plan to build the fridge and the
instructions were simple. Then it struck me. We were playing a
game. He had to convince me that he was a tough nut, screwed on
tight, and I would have to work relentlessly to please him, but on
the other hand, he’d no intention of letting me fail, his
relationship with Stan depended on me passing this. I suddenly felt
much better.
“What rate of pay were you expecting?” he
asked.
I hadn’t been expecting any, but at once
came to a figure. I would ask for what Lloyd was earning at
Tappets. “Fifteen dollars an hour,” I said.
He had just taken a mouthful of what I
assumed to be coffee and spit it all over his desk, some of it on
me. “What?” he shouted angrily.
I could see that he was genuinely piqued.
“Fifteen dollars a day I meant to say.”
He sat back down. “That’s better,” he said.
“Go get started. If there’s any questions, I’m here, but I’m not
babysitting you.”
I studied the first page. A long list of
parts had to be found, punched-out, and molded, and I at once set
about doing this. That night at bedtime, I imagined that Sally and
I ran Tappets. We traveled the world over and bought businesses or
saved people. We grew enormously powerful and intervened in Cyprus
to stop the war. We saved President Nixon from Watergate and
prevented the communists from North Vietnam from invading the
south. Eventually we ruled the world and brought democracy to every
nation. At one o’clock, I awoke in a perfect world and slid in
beside Sally’s warm body, kissing her. She’d taken to sleeping
naked. The next day, I returned to Ralph’s Palace and began lining
up all the parts. By the end of the day, stopping only for a quick
sandwich, I was done and ready to start assembling next Tuesday.
With my first pay from Ralph, I bought Band on the Run by Paul
McCartney and Moondance by Van Morrison.
“What are you paying me?” I asked Stan when
I told him Ralph had paid me cash and showed him my new albums.
“What’s Ralph paying you?”
“Fifteen dollars a day.”
“We’ll pay you twenty.”
I was elated, not just with the money, but
with my progress on the refrigerator, my relationship with Sally,
and my whole life. However, all the while, the time ticked, and the
marshals who enforce The First Law of Life for people unlucky by
birth, especially for orphans, the law which says that when
everything is going well, things are certain to go wrong, were
amassing on my borders in great hordes. A big problem exists with
blocking out the paranoia that springs forth in your mind about the
first law: You deny it. You say that the reasoning seems faulty,
that payment won’t ever come due, that you can have endless luck
like the rest of the people. Nevertheless, you’re secretly afraid
that it’s not faulty reasoning at all, and that in fact, it’s
discerning of an order you can’t comprehend. You sense you are
powerless against the forces of the universe. You ask, ‘What is
more compelling than to be young and in love?’ You think you’re
completely protected, but of course, they’ll use your age and love
against you. Who controls the forces who would destroy love in one
of its purest forms, innocent pubescent romantic love such as Romeo
and Juliet, or such as Sally and me? I didn’t know it then, but
they’re everywhere, and they love that kind of tragedy.
A week later, on the Friday, Clara had a
stroke and her chances of recovery were low. Una packed up and left
for the island on Saturday. Mary was in Japan and Stan was at work.
Sally and I had the whole place to ourselves. It broke forth as a
gorgeous June day, hot, but not so bad as to make you sweat
standing still. Sally wore a bright blue two-piece bathing suit and
I had on long grey trunks. We uncovered the pool and dragged out
the patio furniture. Sally made some lemonade and brought it out
with rippled potato chips.
“That’s the phone ringing,” she said before
we dove in.
“Wait for me,” I called back as I ran to get
the phone. I talked to Stan for a minute and he promised to be no
later than five o’clock, which was fine with me. Rushing back to
the pool in bare feet, I hit the door bracket with my toe and flew
face down onto the patio cement. I looked up in shock. Sally must
have known from the tears in my eyes that I was hurt.
She rose and held her chest. “Are you okay?”
Without getting up, I rolled over. My chest was badly scraped, so
were my palms. It certainly felt like I had broken my toe and I
used all my will-power not to cry. The skin above the knee was also
mildly scraped, and of all things, my nose began to bleed. Sally
rushed over, a look of sheer terror was in her eyes, and it was so
dramatic that it made me laugh.