The Furnace: Chapter 2, Part 2
Chapter 2, Part 2.
Contributed by Trey Blakely, history major.
“Embers must be out already,” he said to himself, “damn damp.”
Noah walked quickly to the bell tower, his coat still dripping with the fresh rain. He peered inside the furnaces that would power the great machines and found them just as cold and damp. Looking up into the tower, he could see sky through the makeshift chimney.
“Crap, I forgot to close them last night!”
Noah clambered onto the furnace and over to the doorway leading to the stairs that would take him to the top of the east bell tower. After some energetic steps and labored landings he reached the grated hatch. Gripping the cold crankshaft, Noah pulled and pushed against the ashen-clogged gears until the hatch slid shut. Jumping a few steps at a time back down the stairs, he waited for the furnace to dry out and relit the fire. Noah repeated this for all three bell towers, remembering to uncover the hatch after each successful lighting. From the streets below, the windows of the bell towers would glow a soft brown, then a brighter yellow, as though the sun were rising within the behemoth of a building. For the workers still to rise before the sun, Noah was the break of dawn on their horizon.
Fires lit, Noah checked the lines on the ground floor, greasing the boning machines thoroughly so he wouldn’t need to come back too many times while they were still running. More often than not, Noah would have to grease these machines while fish were still being deboned and filleted. This occupational hazard was how Noah had gotten his job, but he wasn’t about to let it be the reason he lost it. He pictured holding his child with missing fingers, shuddering. He’d be a whole father or no father at all. The first floor thoroughly checked, Noah moved on to the basement tunnels. He made sure all the carts were set to their chains, ready to be led down to the water and pulled back up with the daily haul. Finally, Noah moved to the tunnels. Prone to flooding, pitch black, overwhelmingly odorous, the tunnels were deadly lifelines. Noah remembered being caught exploring these tunnels with Max. Max’s father was furious and it cost Noah’s father his job, and nearly cost Noah his friendship with Max.
Noah reached the ocean and made sure to clear any debris from the mouth of the tunnels. The boats would only be able to deliver fish at low tide, so the tunnels had to be ready for the first delivery. Once the tide rose, anyone stuck at the mouth of the tunnel risked drowning. Noah hadn’t yet cleaned any bodies out of the tunnels, but he’d heard stories of unexpected swells swallowing and trapping a dozen men at a time. Noah moved back up to the factory and released the brakes on the carts, each flying down the tunnels towards every corner of the city by the sea, waiting to be filled. He looked up from the open basement toward the towers and saw smoke rising now, fires burning the damp. His gaze moved back down to the boning lines and canning lines, shining with pungent grease. Nodding to himself, he finally went to the lockers and put his coat away, rolled up his sleeves, and started work just as the first men of the morning shift arrived.
Noah watched the men file into the factory, chatting over paper cup coffee. A few acknowledged him, some giving him a morning nod. This time of the day was one of his few breaks, but he always felt out of place when everyone else was working. He tried his best to look busy, wiping down the last few stations, when he saw the light in his manager’s office go on. His manager was silhouetted against the blinds and filthy glass. Finally his manager’s voice broke the morning.
“Noah, my office, now!”
“Yes sir!” Noah shouted against the gears beginning to shift.
Noah’s feet begged hesitation. He didn’t hate his boss, this job didn’t make for good company. Noah was pretty certain that his boss hated him, however. Noah climbed the stairs to the door of the office, wiped his hands, and reached for the door knob.
“DREKTH, GET THE HELL IN HERE.”
Noah’s ears were already hot by the time he opened the door.
“Yes Mr. Stephano?”
“Noah, what do you do here?”
“Well, sir, I—”
“Would you say your job is particularly difficult, Noah?”
“Sir, it’s—”
“Because those men down there work ten, no, a hundred times harder than you at everything they do. Hell, I could do your job. You know that, don’t you?”
“Sir, I—”
“We are a unit, Noah, the chain that runs the engine for this town.”
Noah glanced at his scuffed boots. He remembered them being shiny when he bought them.
“So what the hell do you think you’re doing to this chain when you screw up.”
Noah knew this was no longer a conversation.
“Do you know what I found this morning?”
“I don’t, sir,” Noah said quietly.
“Wet furnaces, son. Do you even want this job?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry! I—”
“Don’t think you can raise your voice to me, boy! I know your type. Slackers, all of you! Now those boys down there are going to have to work twice as hard to make up for lost time while we wait for your mistake to get cleaned up. Would you like to explain to their wives why they’ll be late to dinner?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry, I just—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Drekth. Get the hell out of my office and get back to work.”
“Yes sir.” Noah turned to leave, the back of his neck burning.
“And Noah, one more thing.”
“Yes sir?”
“Fix this, and don’t do it again. I don’t care who knows your sorry ass, they won’t recognize you when I’m done with you.”
“Yes sir.”
