William Gay - Provinces of Night

Albright cleared his throat. I was wonderin about a job, he said.

I don’t reckon I need nobody today, Woodall said. He was studying the working men, looking all about as if to see was everyone accounted for.

Albright played his hole card. They locked up Clyde Edmonds last night.

They did?

Cleve Garrison arrested him last night in Baxter’s on a drunk and disorderly. He was drunk as a fiddler’s bitch. He’d of needed a seein eye dog to find his way across the street.

He was running the crimper, Woodall said bemusedly.

He won’t be runnin it today unless it’s got a hell of a cord on it. That’s why I thought you might need somebody.

I don’t need just anybody. I need somebody that can operate a crimper.

Hellfire. I can pick it up. I was drivin a tractor when I was ten year old. Runnin a haybaler. A crimper’s a plaything next to a haybaler.

Woodall was thinking. His left eye had a cast to it as if he’d see a wider range of things than other men and Albright was never quite certain which eye was watching him.

There’s not much to it for a fact, he finally said. I don’t have anybody I can spare to put on it, so I’m going to have to give you a shot at it.

I won’t let you down.

We’ll get you a hardhat out of the trailer here. We’ll have to fill out some papers anyway. This here is a government job and everything has to be wrote down five or six times.

He had ascended the steps and was unlocking the office door. Albright was glancing about to see was anybody watching him get hired. They went in. The air in the trailer was hot and stifling and Albright felt sweat break out instantly all over his body. Woodall set him to filling out forms and began rummaging through a wooden box of hardhats and rubber boots. He laid a blue hardhat upon the desk.

You have to wear this hardhat all the time you’re on the work site.

Have you not got another white one like you got? Albright was licking the point of his pencil, studying Woodall’s hat.

These blue hardhats are laborer’s hats. This one I got is a superintendent’s hat. It might be a little early in the day for one of them. I been here twenty years and I own the company.

Oh. Well. Blue’s all right. One of them blue ones’d suit me just fine, I reckon.

Listen to me about this hat. You got to wear it all the time. This is a government job and the sons of bitches keep sending inspectors around trying to catch me fucking up. They catch a man working without a hat it’d be a hellatious fine on me and no telling what else. You got it?

Albright signed his name with a flourish. I got it, he said.

Let’s get going then.

Woodall was already going down the steps, striding off toward the tall brick building. Hey, Albright called after him. Where’s this crimper at?

Woodall turned. It’s on the roof, where did you reckon it was at? Do you not know what we’re talking about here?

Course I know. I just didn’t know if it was already up there or if we’d have to carry it.

They stood before a ladder leading to the roof. Albright looked up. The sheer brick wall, the ladder telescoping into the nothingness of a hot brassy sky. He judged it forty or fifty feet.

That ladder sure is one long son of a bitch, he said.

It don’t go but from the bottom to the top, Woodall pointed out. Let’s be for going up it. Time’s wasting and there’s a world of metal waiting up there to be crimped.

Albright took a deep breath and squared his shoulders and laid a hand to each side of the ladder. He started up. The ladder swayed gently and disquietingly with his progress. He could hear it grating against the brick parapet high above him. He could feel Woodall coming up behind him. Halfway up he stopped. His hands gripping the rung of the ladder were bloodless and white. His knees began to jerk spasmodically nor could he make them stop. The ladder began to shake.

Hey, Woodall called.

Albright didn’t say anything. He was staring through a window opening into a room where men were hanging drywall. He was imagining what the solidlooking floor felt like beneath their feet.

This ladder’s tied off up there. It’s not going anywhere.

I was thinking more in the line of me going somewhere without it, Albright said. Is there not any other way up?

No there’s not. We’ve not put the elevator in yet and the helicopter’s out on some other job. Why didn’t you tell me you were afraid of heights?

I didn’t know. I ain’t ever been on em before.

Just go up one step at a time and don’t be looking down. Look at the wall.

Albright rested his face on his clenched knuckles. He closed his eyes. After a time he began to ascend again.

When he reached the top he stepped over the parapet onto an enormous expanse of metal roofing. The roof was enclosed front and sides by the brick wall capped with stone but open on the rear and Albright’s feet sensed a slight pitch toward the open area. The roof felt solid and substantial beneath his feet when he stamped it tentatively remnants of his normal cockiness began to accrue about him now that he was safe.

The crimper was a squat metal device built close to the floor with four short appendages each ending in a roller. There was a handle on its back not unlike a harness and to Albright it looked for all the world like a fullgrown dachshund. To complete this illusion it was powered by an electrical cord wound about the handle like a leash.

This metal is all laid out and screwed to the lathing, Woodall said. It’s not going anywhere. But where the joints are there are two L-shaped edges and this crimper just rides down the joint and crimps the longer edge over the short one. You see? That makes it watertight. Here, I’ll show you.

Woodall hoisted the crimper and set it astride one of the seams. Albright watched. Woodall flipped a toggle switch and the crimper sprang to life and began a loud clacketyclack and commenced pulling itself along the crimped edge, its little rollered feet gliding smoothly on the metal. Woodall paid out cord from the roll across his arm and when he’d crimped six or eight feet leaned and grasped the handle on the machine’s back and lifting it and reversing its direction set it on the next seam facing and began crimping it. He cut the toggle switch.

You see? I just turned it to show you how. You let it crimp clear to the end of a seam then just pick it up and flip it onto the next one and go back the other way. You don’t need to shut her off unless you quit crimping. Just keep your power cord feeding and let her roll. Watch her on that back side where there’s not any parapet. Turn her two feet or so back from the edge. That’s been handcrimped already to keep a man from having to lean out over the edge and turn the crimper. You got any questions?

Whose airplane is that? Albright asked.

What?

Albright was gazing over the brick parapet into a level green expanse of field. In the distance a one-engine plane was tethered and the sun glinted off guywires securing the wings. Cows like tiny ceramic cows from a knickknack shelf grazed placidly in the weight of the sun.

Whose airplane is that?

It’s mine, Woodall said. Were you listening to what I said about that crimper?

Sure. I got it.

I had to fly all the way to North Carolina to get it. If there’s one in the state of Tennessee I couldn’t find it. Try it a seam or two.

Albright flipped the switch and walked alongside the crimper feeding it cord. When the crimped edge ended he flipped the crimper around and followed it back. Woodall nodded grudgingly. He laid a hand atop his head. Keep that hardhat on, he yelled above the din of clacketyclack. He turned and went back down the ladder.

I’m walkin the dog , Albright sang, paying out leash. Easy money, he was thinking, making up a shopping list as he sang, adding up prices.