‘Jimmy says you’ve to come back now.’
Cammy turned again to sea and shore knowing that to go now was to never see them in quite the same way again. His hand strayed to his apron and the hammer that hung by his side, along with his saw the only tools he possessed to effect change in this or any other world; those and a bag of nails.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
They joined the others at the gabion to make six. Jimmy Gillies spoke. ‘Better call Trevor,’ he said. ‘He’ll see further than us. Meanwhile the mattress is ready so we can get the next pipe in. Trots!’
‘Yo!’
‘You and Jinkie bring it down from the compound. Don’t forget the sealing ring and lubricant.’
Trots jumped back into the driver’s seat and revved out a cough of smoky exhaust that blew across Jimmy’s overalls. He pushed the gear-stick forward and bounced back onto the marram grass. Jinkie followed on foot.
‘He’s a clown,’ Jimmy said. ‘Haste when he’s behind a wheel, slow as a donkey with a shovel in his hand. Every idea in the world about working but bone idle when it comes to doing. Paul!’
‘Yo!’
‘Phone now.’
Paul pressed the memory buttons that put him through to Trevor on the new site at Lochdon.
‘Trev! Paul here. Batcher’s broken down.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Jimmy wants you to bring in a load from Alness.’
‘A load is six cubic metres. You can’t need all that. Wait you, I’ll do the sum.’
Paul could hear Trevor’s fingers tapping on the calculator.
‘Pipe’s 15cm diameter, 15cm concrete around that. Point four five by point four five.’
Jimmy couldn’t hear as Paul could. ‘When will it arrive?’
‘He’s doing a sum.’
‘Times six metres less the area of the pipe also times six. Paul, that’s just over a cube. We’re not paying for six and the journey, which is what we’d have to do to bring it up from Alness. Get Trots and Jinkie to mix it by hand.’
‘He says we’ve to mix it by hand.’
Jimmy took the phone from Paul.
‘Jimmy here. The tide’s going to beat us.’
Words passed back from Trevor. When the call ended Jimmy looked at the phone as if it was responsible for some great stupidity before he returned it to Paul.
‘Willie!’
‘Yo!’
‘Get the shutters oiled. Cammy!’
‘Yo!’
‘Cut the dwangs, 45cm perzackly and twelve of. Paul!’
‘Yo!’
‘You and me’ll get the pipe in while Trots and Jinkie are breaking their backs up there.’
‘Trots? Some hope.’
‘Look at that.’
Breaking out of the marram grass again Trots had a length of ductile iron pipe balanced across the skip of the dumper, the pipe sticking out two metres to either side and Jinkie running alongside steadying it with his hand. On the shingle the dumper bounced away from Jinkie and the pipe rolled off.
‘As well Harry’s not here,’ Jimmy said. ‘Take the pipe over to the mattress. Where’s the gubbins?’
Trots reached into the skip for the jointing ring and tin of lubricant and showed them.
‘Put it all over there by the mattress.’
Trots frowned but did the job, carrying the pipe at opposite ends from Jinkie. ‘We’ll fit it too,’ he said. ‘That’s our job.’
‘Not this time. You two get back up there and mix us a cube of concrete. There’s none coming from Alness this day.’
‘Mix by hand?’
‘Quick time too, we’re fighting the tide.’
‘Who says we’ve to break our backs for nothing? If the bosses want, they can pay.’
‘Trevor says no.’
‘We work for Pat Healey.’
‘So, ho ho. Want a job up the road? Think Healey wants to stay in with Trevor? That’s to say Swannie? There’s no money in this. There’ll be money up the road.’
Angry Trots clenched and unclenched his fists.
‘We can do it, Trots,’ Jinkie said. ‘Couple of hours back and forward.’
‘Or we can stick together against the bosses. We can get the price we’re due for busting our backs.’
‘Stand arguing,’ Jimmy said, ‘and the tide beats us and everything goes back a day. Worse than that, since we’re right on the ebb just now work time gets less every day. Two pipelines down we’re that much further into the water with the tide taking that much less time to turn. We have to do this today.’
‘That’s it,’ Trots said. ‘That is the case. That’s what you put to them. They’re not daft. They’ll give in first time. Trevor’s organising the new compound, working out impossible programmes to kill the workers, ordering materials. He hasn’t got time to argue. C’mon, Jimmy, we’re in this together. Get him on the phone.’
‘I told you, Paul and I will get the pipe in. You start mixing now, I mean right now, and we’ll finish this today.’
Jinkie, that small man, took hold of Trots’ sleeve just above the closing and unclosing fist.
‘He means it, Trots.’
Trots jerked his arm away. His eyes found Jimmy’s eyes and remained deep inside them as he spoke.
‘Need is the capitalist game but we can play it as well as they can. They don’t think twice about exploiting the workers. They do it all the time.’
‘There’s a job to do and no time to argue.’
‘You know they do!’
Slowly and carefully Jimmy took his hands from the pockets of his overalls.
Willie began to whistle loudly.
Cammy stopped sawing and stretched his back.
‘There’s another job coming up the road,’ Jinkie said. ‘Don’t lose it for us.’
‘Round these parts we remember the Clearances. We remember the dogs as much as the shepherds, the shepherds as much as the masters.’
‘Think I’m a dog, Trots?’
‘Jimmy!’
‘What is it, Willie?’
‘Forgot your name for a minute, I was just making sure.’
Jinkie took hold of Trots’ sleeve. ‘C’mon, Trots.’
The rasping sound of Cammy’s saw carried in the breeze.
‘Okay,’ said Trots, ‘we’ll do it. The Workers know how to wait. We’ve been doing it for a long time.’
He climbed back onto the dumper and gunned the engine, turning it in its narrow circle and bumping back uphill into the marram with Jinkie running along beside.
His instrument set plumb above the centre line Paul swivelled the powerful telescope onto the nearest rig, centring the vertical cross hair on the tower above the platform. Swivelling it down again he found he could pick out lifting gear, windows, hand rails, crates stacked one above the other.
A door opened and a figure came out into the weather, pulling its collar up around its neck before running to a standing valve and taking its wheel in its hands and turning it anxiously, shoulders working, sturdy legs transferring all the forces both static and kinetic down into the platform. At sea level silent waves broke against the rig’s three massive round legs
‘See that, Paul?’
Willie Quinn had finished oiling the shutters and tucked bucket and brush upright among the marram grass.
‘See what?’
‘Three legs are more stable than two. That’s what we should have, three legs. We wouldn’t fall over as much. Not then.’
‘No?’
‘Proof positive there’s no God. He’d have given us three legs so us joiners could stand up better in the wind that way and slaters wouldn’t get blown off roofs. Fishermen could stand up in their boats.’
‘We’d walk different though,’ Paul said. ‘We’d spin along like those waltzer things you get at the Fair.’
Willie considered sagely. ‘We’d need ball bearings in our neck to keep the head steady while the body went round and round. Great things t
he ball bearings are. What do you think, Cammy?’
Cammy shook his head.
‘We’d do a better job than God. Three legs instead of two.’
Cammy was thoughtful of this blasphemy. ‘God gave us four legs,’ he said at last. ‘It was men that got up on two. That’s when it all went wrong.’
‘Paul, I need a rough line for the pipe,’ said Jimmy at the mattress.
‘You’ll miss the banter,’ Willie told Cammy, ‘if you go.’
‘Three legs,’ said Jimmy, ‘and three arms to go with them; one to steady the wood, another to work it and the third to scratch your arse, which is what you guys do most of the time. Paul, give me that line.’
Paul turned his instrument to sight the mark he had made on the wall of the closest Settlement Tank and locked it into position. On top of the wall the fitters were fixing the scraper rails on the walls. By tonight the job would be done and they would be away. Swivelling the telescope on its axis he focussed down on the mattress and guided Jimmy’s pencil onto the centreline.
‘Spoteroonie!’
Jimmy made a mark. ‘Near enough then.’
‘No. Spoteroonie.’
‘Boy’s getting confident,’ Willie said. ‘He knows his worth.’
‘Shoosh, Willie,’ Jimmy said. ‘He’s worth nothing without that qualification he’s promised me he’s going to get.’
Paul turning a stone with his boot frowned.
‘What’s your qualifications, Jimmy?’
‘Possession of the tools is all.’
‘So what’s your worth?’
‘A hammer and a few nails.’
‘You were the highest paid man on the site until the plant fitters arrived.’
‘A hammer and a few nails is all any joiner’s worth.’
Jimmy took his hammer out of his belt and spun it on his finger like a six-gun and pointed it at Paul. ‘Paper is worth more. Get that and you can do what you like.’
‘You listen to him, Paul,’ said Willie. ‘He knows what he’s talking about. A lifetime on the tools and what’s he got to show for it? Beautiful wife, big house, a nearly new car and a daughter at Uni, is all. Some hammer. Some nails.’
‘And a sore back,’ Jimmy said, still pointing, ‘arthritis coming on from endless soakings, the state pension and nothing with my name on it bar the label on my overalls.’
He put the hammer back in his belt.
‘Now Paul, help me fit this pipe. Willie, help Cammy finish off the dwangs.’
Between them, Jimmy and Paul, they lifted the pipe onto two blocks of wood on the mattress, its socket end looking up at the spigot of the pipe that had been laid from the settlement tanks. Jimmy took a clean rag from the bucket and lifted the pipe ends and wiped them carefully.
‘The tiniest piece of grit can spoil the joint.’
‘No matter,’ Paul said. ‘This open end won’t be tested.’
Jimmy looked at him out of the corner of his eye and it was a complete answer.
The pipe ends absolutely clean he took the rubber sealant ring from the bucket and coated it with lubricant and pushed it carefully into the socket. ‘That’s a fit,’ he said and replaced the pipe on the mattress. ‘Now, give me a piece of that timber for a cushion, and the pinch bar.’
Cammy passed him a piece of sawn wood and he and Willie stationed themselves at what would be the pipe joint. Jimmy went to the low end and placed the wood between the spigot and the pinch bar that he jammed into the mattress and placed his boot behind.
‘Ready?’
‘Yo!’
Jimmy pressed the pinch bar forward onto the wood, the wood onto the spigot and so eased the pipe forward into its mate. ‘Now Paul. Line again.’
Paul returned to his position behind the theodolite and guided Jimmy left and right until the new pipe end was in line with no margin for error either side.
‘Spoteroonie!’
‘Do you mean it this time?’
‘I mean it again.’
‘That’s good. Now just stay there. Willie and Cammy, bring the shutters over. This won’t take long.’
The six shutters were two metres long and a half metre deep, marine ply lubricated with linseed oil and fixed to a wooden frame simply with nails. Willie and Cammie placed them in pairs to either side of the pipe, spaced them at the bottom with the two-by-two dwangs Cammy had cut to size and at the top nailed them to the correct 45cm width. They took their line off the pipe and when they were done Paul again checked it. Jimmy nailed on the stop end and the box was ready for concrete.
‘These days they say the first men were blacks,’ said Willie. ‘Roaming up to the north out of Kenya.’ He shook his head. ‘Not true. They were white like us. It’s been proved.’
Jimmy looked at him for a long moment. ‘Where do these things come from? No, don’t tell me. Paul! How’s the concrete doing because we’re ready and the tide’s on the turn.’
Paul’s mobile phone rang. Trevor had a question.
‘The shutter’s ready,’ Paul told him. ‘If we get the concrete now we’ll finish, yes.’
‘Ask him,’ Jimmy asked, ‘if the fitter is coming out to fix the batcher. We won’t manage with hand batching tomorrow with less time. We’ll need the machine.’
Paul repeated this and waited again.
‘Trots and Jinkie are working away at the mix now,’ he said.
He listened again and switched off.
‘The fitter’s on his way. Trevor says to call him when we’re about finished.’
‘Do that,’ said Jimmy. ‘Listen, that’s the dumper on the way back.’
The dumper broke out of the marram grass and bounced onto the shingle spilling concrete. Jinkie ran out behind.
‘Here’s the Lone Ranger and Tonto,’ Willie said. ‘Remember that on the telly, Cammy?’
‘Before my time, Willie.’
‘You won’t remember who played Tonto then.’
‘Nope.’
‘Jay Silversleeves. He got the name when he was a joiner on the Hydro dams. With his colouring he couldn’t take the cold. His nose ran like a waterfall and he used to wipe it on his sleeve, over and over on his sleeve. He changed the name a bit when he got to Hollywood. Good joiner he was, started the same day as me on that big pyramid job in Egypt. He was on the wrong side at Little Big Horn though. We never spoke again.’
Trots manoeuvred the dumper so he could tip the concrete into the shutter. ‘Ready, Willie?’
‘Not without vibrators. You haven’t brought them down yet.’
‘Nothing works here,’ Jimmy said. ‘Look, pour half the concrete in.’
Trots pushed the tipping lever forward and the skip rose on its hinges. Jinkie pushed the back of his shovel into the flow, directing it into the shutter, allowing very little spillage.
‘Easiepeasie,’ he said. ‘Lemon squeezie.’
‘Now move over here and drop the other half.’
Trots reversed and moved the dumper sideways and tipped in the rest.
‘Now drive up and bring the vibrator unit down. It’s the wee electric one.’
Trots and Jinkie roared up towards the compound.
The concrete was mounded above the top of the shutter. ‘Will we shovel out the extra while we’re waiting?’ Willie asked. ‘It’s their job. They might not like it.’
‘No. Wait until it’s vibrated down, there might not be enough. They might have to mix some more. Look at the tide, though. We’re getting beat.’
The tide was lapping the base of the shutter.
‘Paul! See what they’re up to.’
Paul climbed up off the shore and stood by his theodolite, looking uphill towards the compound.
‘They’re on their way. No dumper though. They’re carrying the vibrator between them.’
Jimmy took his hammer out of his belt and spun it. ‘They’ve left the dumper behind. The vibrator weighs about as much as a mini car and they’ve left the dumper behind.’
Willie stroked h
is chin. ‘We’re going to have to get them put down,’ he said. ‘Cammy, do they deserve to live? As a moral philosopher you know about these things.’
‘What’s ‘‘deserve’’? What’s that?’ Cammy asked.
‘There’s more in that question than in any possible answer.’
Trots and Jinkie reached the edge of the marram and rested the vibrator on the shingle.
‘The dumper’s broke now,’ Jinkie shouted. ‘The fitter’s on the batcher and he’ll fix the dumper when he’s finished that.’
Willie looked at sweating Trots. ‘Working hard?’
Trots and Jinkie again picked up the machine by its two handles and carried it to the shutter where Trots grasped the starter cord and pulled. It whined into action first time and the half-inch poker jiggled on the stones of the beach, rattling like a beggar’s cup. He picked it up and tossed it into the mound of concrete and the mound slumped down in the shutter.
Paul shouted over the noise. ‘Willie, what were you saying about the first men? They were black. Everyone knows that. From Kenya.’
Willie pushed at the concrete with a shovel, forcing it in mounds against the vibrator, watching the tiny air bubbles come out and the cream form on top.
‘Look at that,’ he said, ‘lovely stuff. Trots, you can mix concrete all right. This would even make Harry happy and he is a famously grouchy person. The first men, black? Not so. All the new thinking says white, like us.’
‘That’s racist,’ said Trots, scowling. ‘You’re a racist.’
‘Just a thought. Can a thought be racist?’
‘Yes, it can.’
Trots lifted the poker out and put it in again, moving along the shuttering’s six metre length and as he went Willie looked at Cammy. ‘We are apes,’ he said. Right?’
‘So some say.’
‘No tails.’
‘True.’
‘But unlike all other apes we are hairless. Also unlike all other apes we have noses that stick out from our faces.
Jimmy ran his fingers along his own. ‘Some more so than others.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Willie. ‘In more advanced specimens, such as James here, it signifies a great astuteness and the correct understanding of the bounds of truthfulness, very useful qualities when dealing with the likes of Swannie. How’s the measure doing anyway?’
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