Chapter 32
They passed an area that had giant boilers attached to a series of tubes. Spiky towers shot blue and orange flames into the sky. Beyond that, not far from the idling ship, he steered the wagon down a dark cinder-covered path. The path ran between a line of railroad cars full of coal and the grimy black walls of the steel mill. Up ahead, bursts of red and orange light shot out of a doorway like gun blasts. And up above, through the open slits of darkened windows, more bursts of orange and red light.
This was the place where Frank lost his fingers, where flying sparks singed his clothes and burned scars onto his skin, where the heat made him sweat in torrents and made his muscles ache at the end of the day, where the smoke clogged his lungs and made him spit black globs like being caught in a choking dust storm. This was the place that Frank never wanted to go back to.
“You stay here,” Joe said to Mary. “If you see anybody, duck down. If that doesn’t work, tell them you’re waiting for your dad inside the mill, okay?
“Okay,” she said.
“I won’t be long. I promise. We’ll be headed home tonight. Don’t worry.”
Although Frank had told Joe about the steel mill, nothing really prepared him for seeing the real thing. The noise inside was thunderous. A clash of lights and spraying sparks. Massive steel beams, catwalks, dangling chains, and enormous swinging hooks. Buckets bubbled over, dripping with fiery red liquid. Filthy half-clothed men clung to it all like glowing ants. In the middle of all the chaos was a giant round blast furnace that was as big as a barn. It blazed with bright orange and yellow light. At the top, bare-chested men, shining with greasy sweat, heaved wagons of raw ingredients into the smoldering charge hole. Near the bottom, snakes of molten iron flowed like lava out of holes and into buckets, which were hoisted by chains as big as a man’s leg and then poured into the volcanic top of another furnace.
At first, Joe was too overwhelmed to move. No wonder Frank had nightmares. He took a deep breath and looked around for the fat man, but he didn’t see anyone who appeared to be particularly fat. Then he spotted a large muscular man wearing black bib overalls. He didn’t wear a shirt underneath. His greasy skin glistened from the flashes of light. Strapped around his head were strange goggles that completely encased his eyes with two cones. He looked more like a creature than a man.
Joe felt as if he were walking up to a giant. When he stood next to the side of the goggled man, he noticed little cinder burns and scars all up and down his slick arm. Joe hesitated before he reached out and tugged on the overalls at the man’s hip. He didn’t know what to expect, so he braced himself. The man lifted his head as if catching a scent on the breeze. He looked over his shoulder and then down. The lenses in his goggles blazed with bursting red light before they turned black and Joe saw himself shrunken small in the dark lenses.
“I’m looking for the fat man,” Joe said. “Templeton. He’s a friend of Frank’s. You know Frank?”
“Who the hell is Frank?”
“He’s my brother. He worked here.”
“Frank?” The man repeated it as if maybe he remembered. “And just who are you?”
He lifted the goggles off his eyes and pushed them up on his forehead where they looked like two horns sticking out.
“I told you. I’m Frank’s brother. We’re from the plains.”
“Plains? You’re a dirt-eater, then. Oh, hey, I remember him. Dirt-eater Frank. A real moron. Bitched and moaned.”
That didn’t sound like Frank to Joe. Sure, Frank could be gruff and ill-tempered, but rarely did he ever bitch and moan. His brother wasn’t a complainer. He did what needed to be done with little fuss.
“That must be a different Frank.”
“Oh, it’s him, all right. Lost three fingers. That was funny as hell. Boy, did he wail. Blood shooting all over the place.”
“That’s not funny.”
“You should’ve been there. It was funny.”
“He’s my brother.”
“That doesn’t say much for you.”
“Frank’s the best—”
But Joe didn’t get a chance to finish because the man started shouting for someone else.
“Hey, Petey!” he shouted. “Come here. You got to see this.”
A shirtless man, standing near a casting mold that glowed with yellow liquid, turned and waved his arm. His bare skin was slathered in greasy soot. He wore black gloves up to his elbows, which he tore off and slapped on the ground. Joe didn’t know why Petey had to come see him. Maybe he knew where the fat man was and he could point Joe in the right direction. Maybe Petey was a friend of Frank’s and that’s why he’d been called over.
When Petey walked toward them, he moved like a hunk of rock on stiff pegs.
“What is it, Stan?” Petey said.
“Remember that dumbshit dirt-eater from a year ago?” Stan said. “Frank or something. The one who got his fingers caught on that slag wagon? Remember? We took him to get drunk one time and he screwed that strumpet and didn’t even know it the next day.”
“Oh, yeah,” Petey said. “Kept saying when he got enough money he was going to leave this rotten place and go back home. Every damn day he said that. Annoying as hell. But he was fun to get all riled up.”
“Yeah, that’s him. Well, this here is his brother.”
“No kidding? This little runt?”
“I’m not a runt,” Joe said.
“Beg your pardon,” Petey said.
“I’m looking for Templeton. He’s a friend of Frank’s.”
“A friend?”
“You’re dumber than your brother,” Petey said.
“All that inbreeding,” Stan added.
“Say what you want,” Joe said. “I don’t care.”
“He’s got the same spunk as his brother,” Stan said. “That’s for sure.”
Joe was undeterred. “I got something for him.”
“For Templeton?” Stan asked. “What?”
“It’s only for him.”
“I already told you he’s gone today.”
“If you tell me where he’s at, I can go meet him.”
“How should I know where that fat bastard lives?”
“I really need to find him. Does anybody know?”
“Open your ears, shit for brains.”
“No,” Joe said. “You open your ears. I asked does anybody else know, not if you still did. It’s a different question, shit for brains.”
Petey laughed. “He’s got you there.”
“Shut up,” Stan said.
What Joe did next was a big risk. Frank told him to only talk to Templeton. No one else. Anybody different might turn Joe in for a reward. But he wanted to sell the diesel so desperately. He just wanted to get the money and go home.
“If you can’t help me with Templeton, maybe you can help me yourself.”
Stan’s eyes rolled with exasperation. “You’re a persistent little runt.”
“It’s important.”
“What do you want, then?”
“It’s a secret.”
“Everything’s a secret here. What makes yours so special?”
“It’s in my wagon. The secret.”
“Don’t play games with me. You’re on thin ice already.”
Petey chimed in. “Let’s take a look. It might be good for a laugh. What can it hurt?”
“Fine,” Stan said. “Show us what it is.”
After Joe stepped outside, the booming sound from inside the mill faded to a hum. But his ears were now ringing. He noticed Lester and Sam lifting their hooves like they were antsy. Joe looked around to see if there was any trouble. Then he felt a slight tremor in the ground, a vibration that must’ve been coming from the rumbling inside the steel mill, which was probably shivering up Lester and Sam’s legs in a painful way. He saw Mary in the cab, just her hat sticking up above the dash. He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake.
When they got to the side of the cab and the men could see Mary plainly, S
tan said, “You got to be kidding me. No way.” He waved his hand in front of him as if he were swatting away flies.
Joe was puzzled. “You don’t know what it is yet.”
“I can see what it is,” Stan said. “And I’m not helping that fat pig find little girls. She’s pregnant, for God’s sake.”
Joe looked at Mary again.
“No way,” Stan said. “I’m not going to be any part of it.”
“She hasn’t got anything to do with this. I haven’t even shown you what it is yet.”
Petey laughed. “What is she, your sister?”
“I don’t want to see her!” Stan shouted. “It’s sick. You people are sick. Selling your pregnant sister off.”
“No,” Joe said. “She’s not my sister. It’s not her. Listen to me.”
“No, you listen to me. Forget it.”
“Just tell me where Templeton is at.”
“I’m not telling you a thing.” Stan bent down and stared into Joe’s eyes. His breath smelled sour. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you. Take that girl back to her parents, now.”
He turned and walked away. Petey shook his head and chuckled before he turned and followed Stan.
“Hey!” Joe shouted. “Hey!”
The men ignored him and disappeared inside the rumbling steel mill. Joe was so frustrated that he kicked the ground hard enough to send up a shower of black cinders.
“I got to go back in,” Joe said to Mary. “Somebody in there has to know where Templeton is at.”
That was as far as he got because up ahead around the corner came some kind of motorized cart. At least it looked like a cart. On top of its roof was a single whirling red light. Joe thought it was the police, so he jumped in the cab and shook the reins to get Lester and Sam going. After only a couple of steps, the cart was right alongside them. It didn’t make any noise like a combustion engine, so it was probably electric. The man stepped out of the seat. He didn’t look like a policeman; he didn’t even have a helmet on, and his uniform had a strange insignia on it that Joe didn’t recognize.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” Joe said.
“What do you mean nothing? You don’t end up here by doing nothing.”
“We took a wrong turn.”
“This is private property, belongs to Spire-Samson Steel. And I’ll need you to leave unless you have a permission tag.”
“No, sir. Like I said, we took a wrong turn.”
He took out a small scanner and held it toward Joe.
“I’ll say you took a wrong turn,” he said. “This ain’t no hospital. Get going.”
Joe flicked the reins and Lester and Sam plodded forward. The wagon lurched and squeaked on the rusty axle. After they’d gone a little ways, Joe looked back through the window. The security guard got in his cart, turned it around, and sped up close behind them. He was talking into his scanner now as he followed them all the way to the end of the steel mill, where he stopped. He sat there watching them as they rolled away. The little red light on top kept swirling.
After it was clear they were out of trouble, Joe realized this wasn’t going to be so easy after all.
Off to the right, near the lakeshore, two towers shot flames of orange fire high into the air. He looked at Mary.
“I guess we’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
Mary coughed lightly, but Joe didn’t pay much attention. He was too busy dwelling on their situation. They only had two days left now until their tags ran out. Then Mary coughed louder with a dry raspy sound to it.
“You okay?” Joe asked. “That didn’t sound good. You’re not getting sick, are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said.
“It must be the air. It’s not like the good air back home.”
She coughed yet again.
“Breathe into your sleeve,” Joe said.
She brought the crook of her arm against her mouth.
“We need to get you some food,” Joe said. “I said I was going to last night but I didn’t do it.” He felt terrible now. He wished he’d done that first thing in the morning. Why hadn’t he done it? What was he thinking? “You’re probably getting weak, and if you get some food you’ll be better.”
Joe drove on beneath the dark buildings and the smokestacks spewing white and black smoke clouds. In the distance atop a thin tower was a white light like a star. But of course it wasn’t a star, and seeing it didn’t make Joe feel a sense of wonder. It made him feel trapped and small.
“We’ll get you something to eat, Mary. Don’t worry.”
Chapter 33
Back at the rooming house, Joe held Mary’s elbow and guided her up the creaky stairs. He couldn’t believe how quickly she’d deteriorated. Her tiny elbow felt like a grainy knot of gristle between his thumb and fingers. He’d gotten used to how thin she was, so he didn’t really notice if she was getting thinner. As he touched her now, with his palm against the sharp ridges of her spine, he wondered if their meager diet over the course of their journey was taking its toll on her, especially the last few days. After all, her body wasn’t only responsible for sustaining itself; it was also responsible for the baby staying happy and growing inside her. The last decent meal they’d had was the fish at the waterfall.
Inside the room, Joe led Mary to the side of the bed where she sat down. He got on his knees and unlaced the frayed strings on her shoes and slid the tattered leather husks off her feet. Her toenails were dirty and her toes chafed red. The only thing he could do was make her comfortable until he got some food in her. He plumped a pillow up for her to prop her head against and he eased her hat off her head.
“I’ll turn the television on,” he said.
After the first night, she started to watch the television. She liked the moving pictures, as long as there was nothing scary about them. But she didn’t like the sound, so he turned the volume down until it was silent.
A woman on the screen was twirling down the steps of a grand staircase in a dress that ruffled and floated around her legs.
Joe grabbed a chair from the table by the window. The legs scraped across the wood floor as he dragged it beside the bed. He sat down but couldn’t stay still. He looked at Mary and then looked at the television screen. He clasped and unclasped his hands. He threaded his fingers together. He pressed his palms tight and twisted them like he was trying to unscrew the lid off a jar.
Finally, he had to do something. He was about to go out of his skin. She wasn’t going to get better while he watched over her like a hen. He had no other choice than to go and search for food, no matter how long that took and what it cost. If he had to spend the last of their money and the rifle shells, he would have to do it. What was the alternative? He could steal, but what if he got caught? He could beg, but he had too much pride for that. Or he could ask Eve, but once again he wasn’t one to ask for help if he thought he could do it on his own. Besides, tomorrow they would find Templeton and sell the diesel. Everything would be fine. They only needed enough food to make it through the rest of the day and night. That was all that mattered at the moment.
“I can make it,” Mary said.
“I can’t take that chance.”
“We’ll be going home tomorrow.”
“I know that, but you need your strength now.”
“I’m not what’s important.”
“What are you talking about? That’s complete nonsense.”
“The money’s important.”
“The money doesn’t mean a thing if you’re not okay.”
“But I don’t want you to go. I can make it.”
She sat up and acted like she was going to crawl out of bed. But Joe grabbed her by the shoulders and stopped her.
“Let go,” she said.
“No, you need to stay right here and rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mary, I’m serious.”
“But if I’m fine, you won’t have to go.”
She twis
ted her shoulders to shake loose from his grip.
“Now stop.”
“No.”
“Don’t be so stubborn.”
She surprised Joe by knocking his arms away. She was stronger than she looked. Then she swept her legs off the bed and sprang to her feet. She took two steps and turned to face him as if to prove there was nothing wrong with her. But there was definitely something wrong. She wavered a moment. Her already white face turned ghostly. Her eyelids trembled. She seemed to realize she was becoming faint and what that meant.
“I’m fine,” she said. “You don’t have to go.”
Joe stood up because he thought she was going to fall, but somehow she held herself steady.
“It’s okay,” Joe said. “Just listen to me. Sit down. You aren’t well.”
Joe inched toward her. He was afraid to grab her again because she might try to wrench free once more and really fall. When she coughed, her little shoulders jerked up and her chest sunk like a popped bubble. Her head drooped low and her hair hung down so he couldn’t see her face at all. It was the way he was used to always seeing her.
“Come on, lay down,” Joe said.
She didn’t move. Joe stepped toward her, but before he could put his arms around her, she tilted forward and rested the crown of her head against his chest. He slid his arms along the sides of her hard belly and around her waist. Then he shifted her toward the bed again. She moved like a bundle of empty sacks in his arms. He set her on the bed gently before he bent down to lift her feet onto the sheets.
After he sat in the chair, she asked him, “What if you don’t come back?”
“That’s not going to happen,” Joe said.
“How do you know?”
“I just know. You have to trust me.”
He hoped she would confirm what he said by saying she did trust him or she did believe him, but she didn’t open her mouth or look at him. Instead, she stared at the images flashing on the television. So this was how it was going to be, Joe thought. She was hardening herself for the worst, cocooning herself again in case he didn’t return. No amount of talking was going to change that. It was the price he had to pay to make sure she was healthy again. She would understand, eventually.
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