was goofing off, pretending he was throwing a bowling ball down the painted lane, then hooking a basketball up into the crane bay. Reed remembered a wild yellow cloud spewing from a pipe—the cloud so thick he couldn’t see the crane operator thirty feet above. Reed and a crew had been hammering on a troublesome pipe, trying to loosen it. Suddenly UF 6 hit the air and hydrofluoric acid leapt out, with invisible tongues of fire that could etch glass. It left a residue of yellow powder. Thick clumps of it, like cornflakes, landed all around, way beyond the C-zone.
Now, in the murky bowels of the hell-hot cell, with Kerwin as his lookout, Reed—wedged in a tight space—was painstakingly scarfing out a flange with his burning rig. He concentrated hard, to keep his attention from wandering off the hot flame of the scarfing tip he was using to melt the weld on the flange. The heat in the cell was so intense it seemed to roar. He had learned to time his stay so that he did not pass out or cook his mind. He was aware of a harmonic vibration beginning on the west side of the building; then one began on the east side. They rolled like waves toward each other, and with a crescendo they overlapped. Reed could hear patterns inside the noise. He could feel the vibrations surfing through his body. He was so used to the sound of the machines running—in him and around him—that he always noticed any subtle changes. He could tell by listening if anything was wrong.
Reed went for a long ride on his bike. The rush of air was soothing, the landscape variations abrupt and arbitrary. Afterward, he could not have reconstructed the route in his memory. At loose ends, he stopped at a house in the Hawthorne subdivision, where Burl was running his baby earthmover, called a Bobcat. Burl had learned refrigeration at a vocational-technical school, but primarily he worked on construction crews. After he bought his own Bobcat, he was able to earn up to sixty-five dollars an hour, as much as a custom dozer with a much larger machine.
From the driveway, Reed could see two Mexicans on aluminum stilts, sanding drywall seams on the ceiling of a new garage. Outside, at the controls in the air-conditioned cab of the Bobcat, Burl was moving dirt in quick, successive front-end shovel loads. He turned and pivoted and spun the thing like a kid driving a bumper car.
When he saw Reed, Burl braked to a halt and cut the engine. He called out, “I’m moving the mountain to Mohammed.”
“Hey, Burl, you were hot-dogging it there. You looked like a teenager in a dance contest doing some dirty dancing.”
“Dirty dancing! That’s me. You see here seven loads of river-bottom dirt trucked in this morning.” He emerged from the Bobcat, stretched his hamstrings, and opened the cooler in the cab of his truck. “Want a beer, Reed?”
“No, that’s all right.”
He chose a guava soda instead. Burl picked a soft drink too, saying he was dehydrated.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I just wanted to watch you work your Bobcat. I wish I had one to play with.”
“I wish I could just drive it down the highway. I’d sell my truck and take off.”
“That’s an idea.” Reed leaned against the Bobcat, surveying the house with its imitation redwood decking and gas grill, and the yard with its lily pond and sculpted shrubs hugging the perimeter of the house. The swimming pool was sunk into a ring of fiberglass rocks arranged to resemble a rocky stream with a waterfall. The curved deck bordered the pool. The treeless front yard had pea gravel instead of grass and was scattered with what appeared to be heavy boulders from one of Jupiter’s moons.
“Isn’t this place the biggest pile of shit you ever saw?” Burl said.
They laughed together, enjoying the warm June afternoon. Reed felt improved.
He was leaving the ringer on these days because of his mother. Just after he had descended into successful sleep late the next morning, one of the social workers
Now, in the murky bowels of the hell-hot cell, with Kerwin as his lookout, Reed—wedged in a tight space—was painstakingly scarfing out a flange with his burning rig. He concentrated hard, to keep his attention from wandering off the hot flame of the scarfing tip he was using to melt the weld on the flange. The heat in the cell was so intense it seemed to roar. He had learned to time his stay so that he did not pass out or cook his mind. He was aware of a harmonic vibration beginning on the west side of the building; then one began on the east side. They rolled like waves toward each other, and with a crescendo they overlapped. Reed could hear patterns inside the noise. He could feel the vibrations surfing through his body. He was so used to the sound of the machines running—in him and around him—that he always noticed any subtle changes. He could tell by listening if anything was wrong.
Reed went for a long ride on his bike. The rush of air was soothing, the landscape variations abrupt and arbitrary. Afterward, he could not have reconstructed the route in his memory. At loose ends, he stopped at a house in the Hawthorne subdivision, where Burl was running his baby earthmover, called a Bobcat. Burl had learned refrigeration at a vocational-technical school, but primarily he worked on construction crews. After he bought his own Bobcat, he was able to earn up to sixty-five dollars an hour, as much as a custom dozer with a much larger machine.
From the driveway, Reed could see two Mexicans on aluminum stilts, sanding drywall seams on the ceiling of a new garage. Outside, at the controls in the air-conditioned cab of the Bobcat, Burl was moving dirt in quick, successive front-end shovel loads. He turned and pivoted and spun the thing like a kid driving a bumper car.
When he saw Reed, Burl braked to a halt and cut the engine. He called out, “I’m moving the mountain to Mohammed.”
“Hey, Burl, you were hot-dogging it there. You looked like a teenager in a dance contest doing some dirty dancing.”
“Dirty dancing! That’s me. You see here seven loads of river-bottom dirt trucked in this morning.” He emerged from the Bobcat, stretched his hamstrings, and opened the cooler in the cab of his truck. “Want a beer, Reed?”
“No, that’s all right.”
He chose a guava soda instead. Burl picked a soft drink too, saying he was dehydrated.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I just wanted to watch you work your Bobcat. I wish I had one to play with.”
“I wish I could just drive it down the highway. I’d sell my truck and take off.”
“That’s an idea.” Reed leaned against the Bobcat, surveying the house with its imitation redwood decking and gas grill, and the yard with its lily pond and sculpted shrubs hugging the perimeter of the house. The swimming pool was sunk into a ring of fiberglass rocks arranged to resemble a rocky stream with a waterfall. The curved deck bordered the pool. The treeless front yard had pea gravel instead of grass and was scattered with what appeared to be heavy boulders from one of Jupiter’s moons.
“Isn’t this place the biggest pile of shit you ever saw?” Burl said.
They laughed together, enjoying the warm June afternoon. Reed felt improved.
He was leaving the ringer on these days because of his mother. Just after he had descended into successful sleep late the next morning, one of the social workers
Similar Books
