Red Helmet

by Homer Hickam

  Song put her hands over her head and stretched. “Speaking of backs . . .”

  “I feel like I’m stove up half the time,” Chevrolet admitted, as he, Ford, and Gilberto joined their fellow red caps.

  “I wonder how our town got its name,” Ford said. “I surely ain’t seen much high coal. I stay bent over beneath that low roof all of the time.”

  Gilberto rolled his head. “I spent all day Sunday in a hot bath. I kept running it to make it hotter. My bones still hurt.”

  “No dang wonder there weren’t no hot water when I took my shower!” Chevrolet erupted.

  “Try yoga,” Song suggested.

  “Twist myself around like a pretzel?” Chevrolet demanded. “That’s the problem, not the cure!”

  “You red caps gonna stand around yakking all day?” Bossman yelled. “Get to work!”

  Song and Justin crawled into a mantrip compartment together. Two black caps were in there already asleep. The mantrip trundled onto the main line and picked up speed, the posts flying by in a gray blur. It all seemed routine for Song now.

  “How are you doing, Justin?” she asked when she saw he was wearing a morose expression.

  “I’m still off drugs, if that’s what you’re asking,” he snapped.

  “That wasn’t what I was asking, but I’m glad to hear it, all the same.”

  Justin peered at her, then shook his head. “You ever done drugs?”

  “Some men are like a drug,” she answered. “So I guess we’ve all got addictions. But what happened? How did you start?”

  He shook his head and turned away as if she was not worthy of an answer. But then he turned back to her. She sensed his need to explain.

  “One semester in college and I came running back. I just didn’t fit out there, but it didn’t take too long before I knew I didn’t fit here, either. The mines were mostly closed then, so there were no jobs. About the only thing left to do was to get high. Clarissa was a cheerleader in high school and tried college but came running back too. We got married when she got pregnant the first time. She lost the baby, then we both started on meth, oxy, uppers, downers, painkillers, even heroin. Whatever. We didn’t care. We broke into houses, stole what we could. Did some shoplifting in Beckley or Bluefield. Clarissa worked as a dancer in one of those men’s clubs. Anything for money so we could buy the stuff we needed.”

  “What about your son?” Song asked. “Didn’t the drugs . . . ?”

  “He’s fine,” Justin answered quickly. “That’s the one thing we did right. When Clarissa found out she was pregnant, she laid off the stuff until she had him, but then went right back on. I took care of both of them, best I could. I mean except when I was high. One day I came home, she’d gone off somewhere. I asked around, heard she’d been arrested. I gave the baby to some friends and went on a toot myself, then tried to sell some dope. I was in jail when she committed suicide. Before the funeral, they took my boy away from me. I thought about killing myself then, my idea to join Clarissa, you know, but I didn’t have the guts, I guess.”

  “But you’re here now,” Song said gently. “Trying to put your life together.”

  “Yep. Because of Preacher. They put me in a clinic to dry me out and Preacher came over and sat with me and started to explain how heaven and earth worked. He said the devil made me evil by luring me into drugs. He said the only way to get out from under the devil’s spell was to get baptized in the Lord. So that’s what I did. It worked too.” He pondered the passing posts and cuts, then looked at Song. “You don’t believe in all that, do you?”

  “I believe Preacher knew you needed to believe in something,” Song replied. “But I don’t think you were ever evil.”

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong!” Justin retorted. “I made straight As in school and I was the big football star. I thought I knew everything there was to know. But my teachers didn’t teach me about what was good and what was evil. Oh, I knew what felt good, but that was all. If you haven’t figured it out, let me tell you, there’s true evil in this world and those drugs I took, it was drinking the devil’s own piss.”

  “But you’re all right now,” Song insisted.

  He shook his head. “You just don’t get it. Once the devil has hold of you, he never lets you go. That’s why I still want it, why I’d give anything, even right now, to get high. But I know it’s the devil talking in my head, telling me to go on, it won’t hurt anything if I just take another pill, just this one last time. Get thee behind me, devil, that’s what I have to say every minute, every hour, every day.” He looked away. “I’m sorry. I get a little worked up.”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “I’m going to get my boy back.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Justin took on a determined expression. “First, I have to wear a black cap, and then have a real responsible job, like operating a continuous miner or a shuttle car. Then I can tell that judge, hey, I’m somebody important in the Highcoal mine. You can trust me with my boy.”

  “If I can help, be a witness or something . . .”

  He gave her a sharp look. “You can. Tell Mr. Cable to make the foremen let me do something besides hold a shovel.”

  Song shook her head. “That wouldn’t work, even if Cable did what I asked. You have to earn your way down here. You know that.”

  “So you’re not going to help me, right?” He shook his head. “You’re like everybody else. Just talk.” He turned away from her and pulled his helmet down over his eyes, feigning sleep.

  Song sat back against the steel bench and allowed a long sigh. She thought over what Justin had asked. Of course, she could help him if giving him what he wanted was helping. After all, her father owned the mine and she could do whatever she wanted to do, even forcing Bossman and Cable to train Justin for a responsible job. But would that truly help the young man? She didn’t think so. Maybe too many people had given Justin too much throughout his life. Maybe that was why he’d turned to drugs when his life hit a snag. No, the way things were done inside the mine, where a man—or a woman—proved himself, step by step, day by day, that was the right way to go.

  Still, she would do what she could, within limits, one red cap for another. Justin, after all, deserved a chance. The steel wheels of the mantrip kept clicking on the rails, each click carrying them deeper into the mine while Song thought over what she could do.

  AT THE FACE, “Brown Mule” Williams provided a prayer, and then called Song over and told her to report to the roof bolt crew.

  “How about Justin taking my place?” she asked.

  Brown Mule cocked his head. “That dopehead? I don’t think so. He can shovel gob.”

  “But he’s off drugs.”

  The foreman reached over and rapped her helmet with a knuckle. “When your hat’s white, lady, you can put crackheads on heavy machinery. But right now, it’s red. So here’s your choice. Do what I tell you or get off my section. You got less than a second to decide.”

  Song saw he was serious. “I’ll find the roof bolt crew,” she said.

  “Lucky Irvine’s the leader. Get going.”

  Lucky Irvine proved to be a tightly wound little man who ran his team like a well-oiled machine. “You mess up once and you’re gone,” he told her, and Song believed him.

  The first thing Song discovered about roof bolting was it required perfect teamwork. When the continuous miner moved out of a cut, the roof bolters moved in, first holding up the freshly exposed roof with a power lift, then operating a drill to punch a hole in the roof, then feeding the roof bolt into the hole. If everything wasn’t done sequentially and efficiently, the entire shift had to stop. She felt enormous pressure not to slow things down.

  Her assigned task was to look for anything left behind and to make sure nothing impeded the reentry of the continuous miner after the bolts were secure. When a wrench fell off the front of the drill mount, she scrambled after it, and Lucky started screaming. The roof bolter was shut down
, Song was jerked back by her jumpsuit, and everything stopped. Brown Mule came running. When he saw the situation, he turned purple with outrage, though he allowed Lucky to provide the lecture.

  Lucky spun Song around and demanded, “What did you just do?”

  Song was a little breathless after she had literally been pulled off her feet and dropped into the gob. “I just picked up a wrench,” she explained.

  “Right. But where did you pick it up?”

  “In front of . . . oh!” She knew now what she’d done wrong.

  “That’s right. You were inby, under an exposed roof.”

  Lucky took a slate bar and lightly tapped the unsupported roof. In an instant, a huge dome-shaped dense black boulder fell, striking the bottom with a solid thump.

  “That’s a kettle bottom,” he said. “An old tree stump sitting there for millions of years just waiting to fall. We got more than a few of them on this section.”

  Song stared at the huge stone. It would have easily crushed her skull, helmet or no. Her wide eyes told Lucky he had made his point, but he pressed it home. “You do that again, and I will have you sent you out of this mine. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Song replied meekly.

  “Then get back to work.”

  During the last hour of the shift, Bossman came by. Song was operating the drill by then. As Bossman and Brown Mule watched, she used the slate bar to knock down some draw rock, then inserted the bit and fed it up through the roof. She chose the correct length of bolt, pushed it into the hole, and torqued it down. The lights of the foremen flashed over her, then turned away as they huddled, talking over whatever foremen talked about.

  On the walk to the mantrip, Bossman came up beside Song and said, “Good job,” and kept walking. Song was filled with pride, but tamped it down when she again found herself sitting beside Justin on the mantrip out.

  “Shoveled gob all day,” he said glumly, then pulled his helmet down and turned away.

  Before supper, Rhonda beckoned Song into the kitchen where she pointed at a bathroom scale. “Step up, honey; let’s have a look.”

  Song stepped up and discovered, as she feared, that she had gained weight. But why, she thought, did her jeans fit so well? “You’ve lost fat but gained muscle,” Rhonda explained. “I can see it in your back, your shoulders, and your arms. You’re what they call ripped, girl!”

  It was true. Song even had a six-pack of abs.

  “All right, muscle woman,” Rhonda said, “get out there and put the feed bag on.”

  At the red cap table, Song couldn’t hold back. She told them what it was like to be on a roof bolt crew and what Bossman had said about her.

  Justin slammed his fist on the table, rattling the plates. “Why are you getting these great jobs? You still sleeping with Cable?”

  Ford glared at Justin. “What’s your problem, buddy?”

  Justin stood up, knocking over his chair. “I don’t have a problem. Everything is just freakin’ awesome.” He gave Song an angry glance, then stalked out of the dining room.

  “What just happened?” Gilberto wondered.

  “He’s tired of shoveling gob,” Ford said.

  “Well, who ain’t?” Chevrolet demanded.

  “This is my fault,” Song said. “I shouldn’t have been bragging. If Justin doesn’t get a good job in the mine, he’s afraid he won’t get his son back.”

  “What’s that got to do with you?” Ford demanded.

  Song shrugged. “Nothing. He’s just frustrated.”

  “Let’s all go up to his room and kick his butt,” Chevrolet proposed.

  Rhonda swung by. “Leave Justin alone. I’ll call Preacher. That’s who that boy needs to talk to right now.” She raised an eyebrow at Song. “And, yes ma’am, your bragging could ease up a bit.”

  “Sorry,” Song said in a voice as small as she felt.

  AFTER EVERYONE HAD gone to bed, Song sat at the table in her room and laid out the printouts she’d made the night before. With a borrowed calculator from Rhonda, she began her calculations, comparing the tons of raw coal produced at the Highcoal mine month by month with the tons of the various grades that resulted after going through the preparation plant. When she got the tonnages, she converted them into percentages. When she was finished, one number instantly leapt out at her. She tapped her finger on it. “Right there is where it started,” she said to herself. “April of this year.”

  She pondered the silent number, then went downstairs. She checked the parlor, the dining room, and the kitchen to make sure she was alone, then went into Rhonda’s office and sat down at the desk. She slid the county telephone book across the desk, then opened it and began to scan its entries. Even though it was late, she needed advice on what to do next and she didn’t think it should wait. She found the number and dialed. A woman’s voice answered.

  “I’m sorry to call so late,” she said. “But I’m one of Square’s red caps. Could I please talk to him? Yes, ma’am. It’s very important.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Song looked for Bossman and found him in deep discussion with one of his shift foremen. He turned toward her with a broad smile. “Song, good morning. I wanted to have a word. I’ve decided to let you be a continuous miner helper today on Brown Mule’s section. You’ll get some training time in the operator’s seat.”

  Song was thrilled at the prospect and knew Bossman was doing her a great honor. But she had other business to attend to.

  “I’m not feeling well,” she lied.

  Bossman raised his eyebrows. “Then why are you here?”

  “Well, I thought I could work outside today.”

  “Outside? If you’re too sick to work in, you’re too sick to work out.”

  “I’d really like to work out, if you don’t mind.”

  Bossman glared at her. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “It better be something serious. Do you realize most red caps would kill to get trained on a continuous miner?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “That time of the month, is it?” He shook his head and spat a stream of tobacco juice into the gob. “Well, there’s another reason I don’t like women in the mine.”

  “It’s not my time of the month,” Song replied evenly. “Even if it was, I could work. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

  Bossman’s lips curled up in doubt. “I should make you go see Doctor K, get a health slip. Are you wimping out on me, girl?”

  “No, Bossman.” Song felt terrible for disappointing him, but she had no choice. And she definitely couldn’t tell him the real reason. “I just need to work outside today.”

  Bossman shook his head. “All right, have it your way. Check with Buck Puller—he’s the chief electrician. You’ll find him over at the office. He’s got some boys changing out some wire at a couple of fans. They can use a hand, likely.”

  Song steeled herself for more rebuke. “I’d rather work at the preparation plant.”

  Bossman peered at her with his bright steady eyes. “You asked for a job outside, I gave you one, and now you’re telling me you want to do something else?”

  Song plunged on. “Square said we red caps should work all parts of the mine. I haven’t pulled any training at the preparation plant.” She looked at him beseechingly. “Would that be all right?”

  Bossman chewed a couple of half-hearted chews, then spat again. “All right, little lady. We’ll do it your way. Tell Stan Stanvic I said you could help him today. Stan runs the plant.”

  “Thank you, Bossman.”

  His expression was layered with disappointment. “All I got to say to you is have a nice day outside. No, wait. Something else. I hope you like shoveling gob. You didn’t level with me just now, and I don’t trust any miner who tells me a lie. I surely ain’t gonna let a liar sit in on a continuous miner.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “That don’t change nothing.”

  “One more thing,” she said, shrinking back a little.

 
; “What?” he demanded.

  “Could you, please, maybe, since I can’t do it, let Justin be a helper on the continuous miner today?”

  “That druggie? Not a chance.”

  “He’s not a druggie anymore, Bossman.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me, and I believe him.”

  Bossman harrumphed, then stalked off.

  Justin swung by. “I acted like an idiot last night,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Justin. I was stupid, bragging like that in front of you.”

  “You ready to get on the manlift?” he asked.

  “I’m working in the preparation plant today,” she said.

  Justin nodded. “I worked in the plant the other day. It’s pretty boring. Mostly I helped grease rollers and such. There’s a big console of computers and stuff you’ll probably like, though.”

  “Can’t wait,” Song said, glumly thinking about the continuous miner and how much fun it would have been to work around it.

  Song watched as Justin and the other red caps got on the manlift. Bossman was on it too. He turned his eyes toward Song just as the manlift disappeared beneath the ground. His eyes were not friendly.

  SQUARE MET HER at the door that led inside the vast steel building that housed the coal preparation plant. She thanked him for coming in.

  “I’m feeling better,” he allowed. “It’s good to get out and breathe in some good coal dust. Just what a man with black lung ought to do!”

  “Don’t make me feel any worse than I do already,” Song pleaded, then told him about Bossman and the continuous miner.

  “Do you realize what a chance that is for a red cap?” Square demanded.

  “Yes, and please leave me alone about it. Look, Square, I need your help to understand how this plant works.”

  “Why, exactly?”

  “After you teach me about the plant, I’ll tell you.”

  “You’re a woman of mystery, ain’t you?” Square said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Just help me. Please.”

  Square nodded, then led her up steps made of steel grate and into a control room. At a console of video monitors and gauges, an obese man with a round face, angry eyes, and a pencil-thin moustache swiveled their way. “Song, meet Stan Stanvic,” Square said.