Between the Walls of Storm: Chapter 2, Part 1

Contributed by Trey Blakey, history major

Read Chapter 1: Placidity

Six blocks away from the docks, on the second floor of a grimy townhouse, a mother gently tossed in her sleep. Muttering things that only made sense to the participants in her dreams, her body twitched as he left the bed. Noah looked down at his wife, her figure illuminated by a cold blue glow from the night outside their small window, and tiptoed to the door. He looked back, saw that she was resting quietly again, and smiled. He sent her a bouquet of sweet thoughts, then shut the door slowly behind him. Footfalls now above a whisper, he made his way to the bathroom and washed his face. His shift at the factory started an hour before anyone else, two hours before sunrise, and a meager six hours after his last shift ended. He looked at his reflection, water dripping off patchy stubble. The sink filled steadily beneath his hands, water not yet risen high enough to touch his fingers. His eyes moved to the mirrored window behind him, and he stared at the moon as it shone for a moment through the clouds. My sun before dawn, he thought. The water had slipped past his fingers, raining onto the floor. Noah, startled, broke gaze with the moon and turned off the water. Splashing his face and forearms one last time, he unstopped the drain and dried his hands. He found his boots in the hallway and, sending one last sweet thought to his wife, crept downstairs and out the front door. Noah loved his city at this hour. He felt like he was the only person in the city, he could go anywhere, be anyone. When the city slept, he could be king and criminal. There was only Noah, the city, and the ocean at this hour. He paused six blocks down, looking out onto the swelling pitch that lapped up the city, his only neighbor. The sun would not touch the water for another two and a half hours, but Noah greeted the day just the same. His sunrise was the cold moon at his back, the soft street lamps over his shoulders. He turned to walk uphill towards the factory, leaving his dream city behind him.

The factory used to be a gargantuan church, and its walls still held that holy resonance. Stone walls contained the noise and smells of a decently productive fish cannery, sealing the cost of profitability from the city that benefited. Built at the time of the city’s original foundation, the church survived nearly all of the floods and fires that plagued the city thanks to being predominantly stone and housed by the predominantly stubborn. As the city grew, the church grew with spires to scratch the skies and halls to give home to the faithful. During the last great fire all the wood in the church was consumed in the blaze, leaving behind stones that outlived their faith. The previous cannery, closer to the water, was lost. The Blackwoods, an enterprising family within the city, opted to purchase the church and relocate the cannery uphill. During initial construction, workers discovered several large storm sewers leading straight to the docks from the church’s basement, and the Blackwoods discovered how to keep the flow of fish and labor out of sight. The promise of work overcame the promise of faith, and the factory fed the city with full kitchens and fuller banks. The Blackwoods expanded the business, investing in every corner of the city. Some of the workers joked they had become emperors, passing their power and wealth to their single son every generation.

Eventually, everyone owed something to the Blackwoods, including Noah. The youngest Blackwood and most recent heir, Max, had given Noah his job at the factory. The two grew up together, becoming close enough to know each other’s first names and earliest dreams. Max was at the wedding when Noah married his wife, and when Noah found out he would be a father soon after, Max found him a job at the factory.

“You’ll have to work long hours, but the pay should be worth it. Talk to the foreman and ask about a position as a greaser,” Max had told him late one night several weeks back. “It’s the least I can do for a friend.” Noah was stunned and honored, and he worked every day to make his friend proud of his decision. Max knew it was the least he could do. The job he had given Noah was arguably the dirtiest and most dangerous in the factory. For eighteen hours every day, Noah would be sprinting through the factory and tunnels, greasing and cleaning the machines that ran the city. Squeezing between pistons and gears, Noah would oil and grease the great machines with sardine fat in order to keep the process sanitary. During a break between deliveries, Noah would run the tunnels that led to the ocean, cleaning any traps and grates before the next delivery of fish. As the work day came to a close, Noah would clean off the used grease and prep the machines for the next day. Finally, after everyone else had left for home Noah would put out the great fires in the bell towers, smothering the infernos until they were left to embers, ready to be fed when he arrived at the factory again in six short hours. His work allowed him to afford his home, food for his wife and child to be, and enough money left over to have his wife continue going to school. “It’s tough as hell,” Noah said to one of his coworkers, asking him how he kept it up, “but it’s worth it.”

Noah reached the gate and looked back over the city. The sky was still dark, clouds patch but heavy. He could have sworn he saw a star, but it was just rain starting to fall. Pulling his collar up, Noah opened the gate and walked inside. The factory was cold.

Six blocks away from the docks, on the second floor of a grimy townhouse, a mother gently tossed in her sleep. Muttering things that only made sense to the participants in her dreams, her body twitched as he left the bed. Noah looked down at his wife, her figure illuminated by a cold blue glow from the night outside their small window, and tiptoed to the door. He looked back, saw that she was resting quietly again, and smiled. He sent her a bouquet of sweet thoughts, then shut the door slowly behind him. Footfalls now above a whisper, he made his way to the bathroom and washed his face. His shift at the factory started an hour before anyone else, two hours before sunrise, and a meager six hours after his last shift ended. He looked at his reflection, water dripping off patchy stubble. The sink filled steadily beneath his hands, water not yet risen high enough to touch his fingers. His eyes moved to the mirrored window behind him, and he stared at the moon as it shone for a moment through the clouds. My sun before dawn, he thought. The water had slipped past his fingers, raining onto the floor. Noah, startled, broke gaze with the moon and turned off the water. Splashing his face and forearms one last time, he unstopped the drain and dried his hands. He found his boots in the hallway and, sending one last sweet thought to his wife, crept downstairs and out the front door. Noah loved his city at this hour. He felt like he was the only person in the city, he could go anywhere, be anyone. When the city slept, he could be king and criminal. There was only Noah, the city, and the ocean at this hour. He paused six blocks down, looking out onto the swelling pitch that lapped up the city, his only neighbor. The sun would not touch the water for another two and a half hours, but Noah greeted the day just the same. His sunrise was the cold moon at his back, the soft street lamps over his shoulders. He turned to walk uphill towards the factory, leaving his dream city behind him.

The factory used to be a gargantuan church, and its walls still held that holy resonance. Stone walls contained the noise and smells of a decently productive fish cannery, sealing the cost of profitability from the city that benefited. Built at the time of the city’s original foundation, the church survived nearly all of the floods and fires that plagued the city thanks to being predominantly stone and housed by the predominantly stubborn. As the city grew, the church grew with spires to scratch the skies and halls to give home to the faithful. During the last great fire all the wood in the church was consumed in the blaze, leaving behind stones that outlived their faith. The previous cannery, closer to the water, was lost. The Blackwoods, an enterprising family within the city, opted to purchase the church and relocate the cannery uphill. During initial construction, workers discovered several large storm sewers leading straight to the docks from the church’s basement, and the Blackwoods discovered how to keep the flow of fish and labor out of sight. The promise of work overcame the promise of faith, and the factory fed the city with full kitchens and fuller banks. The Blackwoods expanded the business, investing in every corner of the city. Some of the workers joked they had become emperors, passing their power and wealth to their single son every generation.

Eventually, everyone owed something to the Blackwoods, including Noah. The youngest Blackwood and most recent heir, Max, had given Noah his job at the factory. The two grew up together, becoming close enough to know each other’s first names and earliest dreams. Max was at the wedding when Noah married his wife, and when Noah found out he would be a father soon after, Max found him a job at the factory.

“You’ll have to work long hours, but the pay should be worth it. Talk to the foreman and ask about a position as a greaser,” Max had told him late one night several weeks back. “It’s the least I can do for a friend.” Noah was stunned and honored, and he worked every day to make his friend proud of his decision. Max knew it was the least he could do. The job he had given Noah was arguably the dirtiest and most dangerous in the factory. For eighteen hours every day, Noah would be sprinting through the factory and tunnels, greasing and cleaning the machines that ran the city. Squeezing between pistons and gears, Noah would oil and grease the great machines with sardine fat in order to keep the process sanitary. During a break between deliveries, Noah would run the tunnels that led to the ocean, cleaning any traps and grates before the next delivery of fish. As the work day came to a close, Noah would clean off the used grease and prep the machines for the next day. Finally, after everyone else had left for home Noah would put out the great fires in the bell towers, smothering the infernos until they were left to embers, ready to be fed when he arrived at the factory again in six short hours. His work allowed him to afford his home, food for his wife and child to be, and enough money left over to have his wife continue going to school. “It’s tough as hell,” Noah said to one of his coworkers, asking him how he kept it up, “but it’s worth it.”

Noah reached the gate and looked back over the city. The sky was still dark, clouds patch but heavy. He could have sworn he saw a star, but it was just rain starting to fall. Pulling his collar up, Noah opened the gate and walked inside. The factory was cold.

Keep an eye out for more in this series!