Lone Rock

by Duane Lindsay

  He should have helped. He should have been the one yelling for the safely belts. It should have been Corley Sayres stepping over that railing, slipping over the edge, grabbing Dafari. But it wasn’t, it was Beck. Adrian Beck who had become the hero, not him.

  He heard the men asking Pieburn, “You all right?” He watched the touching hands, the anxious energy as they realized how close they’d come to disaster. He saw the fear turn to hysterical joy.

  Still he stood, frozen against the machinery, a living statue, a monument of cowardice. Pieburn raised his head from Adrian Beck’s embrace and stared at him. Just stared with those clear brown eyes, mahogany features deliberately blank, but Corley knew—he knew!—what the bastard was thinking. He could see it in the absence of expression.

  Adrian Beck looked up and met his eyes and Corley couldn’t stand it. With a roar of exasperated anguish he jerked his body forward and charged away, desperate to escape the accusing eyes. He only gotten five feet before the safety belt grabbed him around the waist and he was hurled backwards to land on his back at the feet of the other men. His hard hat clattered across the steps and his head banged against the metal, jarring him. Voices above him scalded his senses.

  “Corley—?”

  “Mr. Sayres? What happened? Are you—?”

  Snarling, a sound so close to a sob that he couldn’t tell the difference, Corley tore at the belt latch with his gloves, failed to open it and threw the gloves away. With cold bare fingers he twisted the clasp and was free. He rose to his knees, then to his feet and shuffled around the corner, stopping at the stairs for only a moment until shame overwhelmed fear and he pulled himself up, across, and over.

  He went for the next stairs, burning his palms with the cold resistance on the railing. By the time he’d reached the bottom his hands were bleeding and raw. He ran across the compound to his rented Trans Am, ignoring the startled looks from the few people out in the weather. He fumbled at his clothes, through layers of coats and overalls, leaving tiny blood trails but finding his keys. He twisted the ignition and the car roared to life. He twisted it again. The car squealed in protest and Corley settled down slightly, letting go of the key by spreading his fingers in surrender.

  The speed limit in the compound was 10 miles per hour, rigidly enforced by hired security guards. No one stopped him as he reached fifty, blasting through the open gate without stopping.

  The Trans Am jostled like a cork in a river, meeting every rut wrong on the long dirt road to the highway. Corley twisted the wheel to keep control and finally fish-tailed the car at the eastbound entrance ramp. He was doing ninety when he passed his first semi. The smooth tedium of the road slowly calmed him, the hypnotizing white lines clouding his brain to a sort of catatonia.

  “It wasn’t my fault, “ he said aloud. “I have a fear of heights, that’s all. I couldn’t help it.” With the tires rumbling a wheezy drone on the ribbon flat highway, his voice sounded hysterical in the closed car. He let his mind slip back to the events behind him.

  He remembered coming around the corner and seeing the entire state of Utah spread out below him. His bowels had cramped and he held back nausea by clamping his jaws. He twisted his belt around a nearby pipe and backed against the protection of a metal wall. He saw...

  Everybody crowding forward to peer over the edge, flaunting their fearlessness, and he felt like screaming at them. This is what safety belts are for, you idiots—to keep you away from the edges. Even Bruce Hackbarth, the dam n foreman himself, was over there, his belt uselessly wrapped around his fat belly.

  Corley recalled seeing through a gap as the men jockeyed for position. Pieburn Dafari was in front, nearly a head shorter than the others, leaning against the railing. Corley saw the look of baffled surprise on his face as the railing just snapped and fell away, making a shrill grinding noise like a fingernail on a chalkboard. Pieburn had hung there off balance for the longest time, overbalanced and unbelieving before falling over in slow motion.

  Corley had seen it all. A bunch of guys stupidly standing around, a noise, a fall, Their own fault, being up there without using the safety belts, Their own damn fault.

  In the car he began to breathe easier as he put miles and excuses between himself and the incident. He slid a cigarette from the pack, lit it with his Zippo, drawing in a lifesaving lungful of smoke. Screw them.

  The car was getting hotter and Corley stopped along the road to remove his heavy coat and coverall. He stared at the heavy safety harness when he removed it and stood along the car in the cold dry air, breathing smoke, remembering.

  Adrian Beck saying, “Give me yours.” Holding out his hand as if expecting it.

  “No,” Corley had said. Meaning, “Fuck, no.”

  Was Beck insane? He had gone over the edge, eighty feet above concrete, wearing three belts. He heard the gasps when Adrian had jumped, they talked about him swinging out to catch Dafari before he fell. And Beck was supposed to be timid, another damn engineer. Nothing special.

  Corley thought about the look Adrian had given him...a look filled with contempt. His jaw clenched until he thought his teeth would explode like shattered marbles.

  Wally said Beck was a push-over, He’d argued that he needed Adrian, that he wasn’t a problem, no threat to anyone, And he had believed him! God, how galling. Of course Beck was a threat! He’d just seen him jump off the edge of a building—he just...jumped...off the edge of the building.

  Corley leaned against the car, elbows on the low roof, staring out at the desert. He lightly inhaled his cigarette and thought about Adrian Beck and the clear threat he posed. Over the car, to the south, he saw a peculiar tall rock formation, like someone had dropped a Quaker Oats box out on the flats. He thought of Adrian Beck and Pieburn Dafari.

  35 – Maggie, Pieburn, and the Warthog

  It was now seven hours since Pieburn’s near fall. Seven hours filled with, as Bruce Hackbarth had predicted bitterly, endless paperwork. Everyone had to fill out their version of the event and Pieburn and Adrian had to be taken to the physician. Everyone agreed that the occasion called for beers but they were sixty miles from the nearest bar, so they just clapped Adrian on the back and said they’d never seen anything like it and slapped Pieburn equally hard saying, “Damn, you were lucky!”

  Pieburn, silent as a ghost during all the attention, didn’t said a word all the way back to the Casino. He watched Adrian with an odd intensity as he left the elevator and went to his own room.

  Adrenalin had washed through Adrian’s system like old coffee, leaving his stomach churning with unfamiliar chemical reactions, his mind filled with new emotions. He stripped off his gear and settled into the deep soaking tub, letting it fill around him to wash away the day. Christ, what a day. The event on the roof didn’t impress Adrian all that much. He’d been in higher places and probably more dangerous ones. What he’d done wasn’t bravery, it was just what he had to do. Anyone would have, he thought, letting the washcloth fold over his hand like a tiny terrycloth octopus.

  Anyone except Corley. What had happened there? Corley had seemed to panic, a thought so alien that Adrian shook his head in disbelief. He struggled up from the tub, toweled his body semi dry and went to the bed. He lay down naked and called Maggie.

  “You did what?!”

  “No.” Adrian explained. “Corley did. He refused to give me his safety harness. Pieburn almost died because of him.”

  “You went out over the edge of a building?” Maggie seemed fixed on this point and Adrian looked at the phone as if it was to blame for the misunderstanding.

  She seemed more interested in what he had done, rather than Corley or Pieburn. “Tell me again,” Maggie insisted.” From the beginning. Leave out no details.”

  “It was nothing really. The railing gave way and Pieburn fell. He managed to grab hold of a pipe, which was really impressive. I saw he wasn’t going to be able to hold on.”

  “So you jumped after him?” Maggie’s voice sounded nearby, as if she w
as in the room. Adrian became aware of his nudity and pulled the bedspread over himself.

  “How high was this?” Maggie asked.

  “Maybe seventy five - eighty feet. I’ve climbed higher than that.”

  “And did you jump off them too?”

  “He would have died, Maggie.” Adrian began to think she didn’t understand.

  Into the growing silence she said. “So could you.”

  “Yeah, but—” How to explain the difference? Saving Pieburn was something he’d done reactively, by instinct. Anyone would have done it. “Anyone would have done it,” he said.

  “Would they, Adrian? Would they really? Did anyone else jump off the building?”

  For a moment Adrian felt like laughing. He heard his mother’s voice from sometime long ago.” If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you do that too?”

  No, Ma, he thought now. I’d go first.

  “Did Corley Sayres jump?”

  “Well, no. That’s what I was saying, Mag. He didn’t do anything. He pushed against the wall like he was afraid. He wouldn’t even give me his safety line when I asked for it.”

  “Maybe he was afraid.”

  The idea surprised him. “How could he be afraid? I mean, it’s only a little height.” “People are afraid of heights. Adrian. They’re afraid of snakes and needles and math tests and public speaking. And if you confront someone with that fear, they can panic.”

  “I guess,” Adrian said. But the idea still bothered him. How could Corley Sayres, a man who everyone, including Adrian himself, feared, be afraid of something that Adrian handled easily?

  “It’s the bus again,” Maggie said.

  What?” His attention carne back to the voice on the phone. “The night you told me about. When you stood up to that gang and almost died.”

  “It was nothing like that!”

  “How was it different?”

  “ It was...I didn’t...” Adrian sighed, trying to find the words to explain. “When I stood up on the bus I was terrified. I was so afraid that I could barely move. But up there on the catwalks today, I just did it. I didn’t think about it and I certainly wasn’t afraid. They’re different.”

  “Are they?” asked Maggie.

  Later, long after a lingering goodbye, there was a knock on the door. Adrian looked at the clock; ten-fifteen.

  “Who is it?”

  “Pieburn Dafari. May I come in?”

  “Hold on.” Adrian put on pants and a thin blue sweater. He padded barefoot to the door and opened it.

  Pieburn stood deferentially in the hall holding a bottle of red wine. He gestured with it. “Would you like some company?”

  “Sure.” Adrian stepped back and Pieburn walked into the room. He settled into an arm chair near the curtained window and waited. The room was dimly lit by the bedside light, making it seem still and somber, like a library, or a church. Adrian settled slowly on the edge of the bed.

  “This will sound trite,” Pieburn began. “But you saved my life today.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Yes, you did. I was falling. I would have died.” He said it simply, a statement of fact without meaning. I would have died.

  “Anyone—”

  “Would have done it?” Pieburn finished.” Nonsense. Did you see Corley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he rush to my aid? Did the others?”

  “They would have,” Adrian said, and he thought that he meant it, but doubts had crept in; would they have? He waited and watched Pieburn, who sat quietly in the near gloom.

  “Forgive me for the silence,” he said at last. “I didn’t know what to say to you.” He held up a hand to stop Adrian from interrupting.” It was blind luck that I caught hold of that pipe. I should have fallen to my death immediately. I had taken off my gloves to secure my harness. You know how hard the clasp is—”

  “Yes,” said Adrian, remembering how frantic he’d been to get them latched.

  “And I was leaning over, like the others, and the railing...” he swallowed. “The railing broke and I fell. I was relieved to hold the pipe, but the cold was draining the strength from my fingers. I became terrified when I saw how far to the ground...that I would be smashed to the concrete.

  “I heard you yell that you were coming, but my fingers were already numb and I didn’t know how long I could hold on. I became even more afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought that you would somehow be able to reach me. In that moment I had hope and I was afraid it would be snatched from me. I could see that there was no way for you to get down in time, there were so many pipes in the way.

  “When my hand gave way so suddenly and I saw you leap into the air like a bird, I couldn’t believe what I saw. That you could make that leap...that you caught me...Adrian, I don’t have the words.”

  Adrian waited quietly, not knowing what to say either. Expressing feelings was so difficult. Perhaps it was why men did it so seldom. “But you have wine,” he suggested.

  “I do have wine,” Pieburn agreed. “A bottle of the best Burgundy the gift shop has to offer,” Adrian took the bottle and studied the label. “A good vintage. Possibly a well-aged October.”

  “Perhaps we should toast to each other’s good fortune. Me, because I have been saved—”

  “And me?” Adrian asked. “What fortune should I toast?”

  “That today you have found a friend.” Pieburn said carefully. “And I think you will need one.”

  Adrian smiled, thinking he could be right. For a moment he felt both secure and comforted. like coming home from a long journey. He took a plastic cup from Pieburn and waited for it to be filled. He held up the glass to the low light and nodded.

  “Let’s not go to work tomorrow.”

  “We’ re coming home.”

  “Really?” Maggie asked. “We?”

  “Me and Pieburn. Because of the fall. They’re worried we might sue or something so we’re being rotated home for at least a couple of weeks.”

  “Shall I pick you up at the airport?”

  “Would you?”

  “Do you need to ask?”

  Maggie and Pieburn made excellent friends. They stood together in the small living room of Adrian’s house, each holding a paint roller like a microphone, crooning Strangers in the Night as if they were center stage at Caesar’s Palace. Pieburn’s voice, a ragged baritone, sounded odd singing the familiar song with his lilting accent.

  Maggie, on the other hand, sounded wonderful. She had arrived late, dragging from her Fiero a large stereo, demanding impatiently that Adrian come and help her. The stereo turned out to be a very professional Karaoke machine, complete with microphones and stands, a box of CD’s that played music without vocals.

  Pieburn had leaped upon the machine gleefully, digging through them like a child at Christmas. “Look!” he said with delight. “Unchained Melody and Runaround Sue and Whole Lotta Shakin’ Gain ‘On’”

  Maggie liked cool jazz and traditionals and anything by Johny Mercer made her quiver like a Setter at point. Her favorite was It Had to Be You.

  Pieburn and Maggie, giggling like schoolgirls, monopolized the machine, arguing fiercely over what to play next, leaving the serious painting to Toby and Adrian. Toby took a turn at ‘The Midnight Hour with Pieburn and Maggie on backup vocals. The fact that Pieburn had a smear of peach blush paint across one mahogany cheek kept the song from being too serious. Adrian laughed until his sides hurt.

  “Come join us,” Maggie said.

  “No!” Adrian was horrified at the idea.

  “Why not?” Maggie’s paint roller swayed perilously close to his face. She pulled at his arm. “You’ll like it if you just try it.”

  “Thank you, no. I’ll just stay over here and listen.” He pulled his arm back and turned away, missing the small look of disappointment in her eyes. But she shrugged and returned to the music machine.

  Dinner, with everyone crowded around the small table in
the kitchen, was pre-made, ordered from the Deli at the local King Soopers: baked chicken and potato salad from plastic containers, chips from a big yellow bag. After the meal and four Cokes, Toby excused himself, having had enough adult company for one day.

  “Does the fireplace work?” Maggie asked. The painting supplies were put away, the drop cloths thrown out. The room seemed larger with bright new paint.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t tried it.”

  “I can do this.” Pieburn volunteered. “I used to make the fires at my parents’ home in Nairobi.” He scooted to the wood pile and begin carefully selecting pieces for kindling.

  “People,” he said, “are much alike all around the world.”

  Adrian, native solely to Ohio and recently, Colorado, could hardly dispute this. “Did they use a wood stove?” he called from the kitchen, where he was in charge of cleaning brushes and roller trays. He leaned around the corner to listen, his hands busy with water and soap, but he missed the look passed between Maggie and Pieburn.

  “Do you mean on the Kraal? After they worked in the fields, they had to come in and make a fire for cooking and heating the small hut. It also kept out the larger animals that would have come in from the veldt.”

  “What?” Adrian shut off the water and came in, rubbing his hands on a towel. “What veldt?”

  “Lions are common in Africa, as are hyenas,” Pieburn explained somberly. “They sometimes come into the villages to steal food. I’ve heard that they could carry away a baby, though, of course I’ve never actually seen it happen. Still, we kept the fires burning for safety.”

  Maggie had curled herself into a ball in the corner, her head buried beneath her shoulders, leaving only a flaming crown of red hair. She seemed to be shaking.

  “You kept fires going to frighten away hyenas?” Adrian said dubiously.

  “Also wildebeests. Or the occasional python would crawl in, or a warthog. Those were the worst; ugly things, all bristly like a thick brush, with tusks sticking out from the sides of the mouth.” He demonstrated by putting fingers in his own. “And the smell, ugh.”