Provider's Son (7 page)
“That Safety girl, Sinead, is my daughter.”
Patrick stared at him.
“Oh fuck sakes, man, why didnt you tell me before I shoved my foot down my throat? Right to the ankle.”
“Its alright by.”
“We bitch and complain but theyre just doing their job.”
“Its alright.”
After they finished the SFC Patrick drove around the site looking for their foreman, who was by now doing the morning stretches with his team of pipefitters. The welders worked hand in hand with the pipefitters, usually one welder and his helper to a pair of fitters. They were teamed up with two twenty-something country boys from Saskatchewan.
The four of them went to their job site, a six inch pipe located above an eight by eight scaffold deck, sixty feet off the ground. As Levi helped Patrick hoist up the bag of tools, tiger torch, fire extinguisher, and welding leads, he wondered what in the name of God he had gotten himself into. The wind, minus-twenty degree Celsius, whistled through the racks and down Levi's neck, out through the leg of his pants, and back up through again. Yet, Levi was told that minus twenty was literally half as cold as it sometimes got in the dead of winter.
The laughing and shouting of men could be heard echoing about the steel scaffolding, girders and cement walls, the cage holding the endless pipe, cold machinery, and round vessels that would soon be brought to life. This was phase three of the project. Another year and it all would be awakened, to be fed the pitch-like earth to be digested into crude oil, currently fetching 110 US dollars a barrel. The air would begin to stink when the plant started processing, but just like the fishplant in Gadus, stink meant money.
They all took part in putting together the spool of pipe. The glow from the welding rods was so bright it would light up the scaffold deck even though it was broad daylight, casting their shadows against the tangle of beams, pipes, and scaffolding that surrounded them. Patrick offered Levi the chance to weld the tacks. After that Levi simply stood in the freezing cold handing welding rods to Patrick, a man who was soon about to retire from a racket Levi was just getting started in. As a pressure pipe rig welder Patrick was making over one hundred dollars an hour, and probably grossed over two hundred thousand a year. This was a promising future, but by the time Levi was ready to rig up himself he would be approaching sixty. Not that there weren't rig welders on site over sixty. Men who went through bad investments, bad divorces, or simply handled their money like children.
When Patrick started welding a pipe he didn't stop until it was finished, unless it was break time. But if there wasn't more work assigned to the pipefitters they might stay there chatting for hours. Levi was amazed by this. Even when the foreman came along no one moved. They simply looked at him and grinned.
“Hows she coming along bys?” the foreman said.
“Good,” Patrick said.
“Right on,” the foreman said, and headed back down the scaffolding ladder.
“He dont care wer not doing fuck all?” Levi said.
“The weld is done,” Patrick said.
“Youre going to have to get used to the pace around here,” one of the fitters said, laughing.
“Yeah, you dont want to work yourself out of a job do you?” the other fitter said.
“I guess not,” Levi said.
The next job was at the very top of a stack, one hundred and fifty feet up. It was a simple weld, no pipe, just a few guides. To get the tools there Patrick climbed up first and Levi stayed on the bottom to tie on the tool bags to the gin wheel. Patrick would haul one and Levi would tie the next one. When all the tools and welding leads were hoisted Levi had to make the climb.
Ten feet. Twenty. Thirty. Stop.
Levi got off onto a deck and looked up. He still had another one hundred and twenty or so to go. Each ladder went thirty feet, and then there was a deck to take a break.
Forty. Fifty. Sixty feet. Stop. Levi's heart was racing. He would not look down. Climbing up through the scaffolding or the side of the racks was bad, but there was something about climbing up the side of a cylindrical vessel that was much worse. The sides curved away so that the ground below was much more visible. It gave the illusion that the climb wasn't completely vertical, as if the ladder was leaning back towards the ground.
Seventy. Eighty. Levi desperately clung to the rungs of the ladder.
The time between when one hand let go and grabbed on to the next rung felt three times as long as it should have. He was constantly worrying that his gloved hand would slip from the rung while the other hand was continuing to the next one. Would it be possible to catch himself on one of the scaffold braces if he fell? How far could a man fall and still catch his weight with his hands? A foot maybe? The wind blew stronger at this height. Yet to his left two men were assembling a scaffold and chatting about their motorcycles as nonchalantly as if they were only six feet off the ground.
Ninety feet. Stop. Only one ladder, thirty more feet to go.
He closed his eyes and went up the ladder.
One hundred and twenty feet. Done.
When Levi stepped off the ladder onto the deck Patrick was already setting up his work site to get ready to weld. He didn't notice the paleness of Levi's face, who wondered if this was a normal first reaction to climbing this height for the first time, or if the fear would persist. And if it did persist, how long it would last? As the minutes passed, however, Levi wasn't feeling any better. To try and calm himself he stared off in the distance and watched the gigantic Euclid dumptrucks lumbering across the mines. A double-cab Ford F-150 pulled up alongside one that was parked, and it was only as long as the diameter of one tire of the Euclid. He found himself calming somewhat, but he couldn't stare at trucks all day, and as soon as he took his mind off of them and looked away the panic began rushing back in. Yet the thought of telling Patrick that he was too afraid to stay, and actually turning around and climbing back down the ladder, was unthinkable. He would almost rather fall off.
For the next two hours until the following break he stood there watching and handing along welding rods, grinders, and the chipping hammer. The problem was that he was too nervous to actually learn anything. His first day and he was already considering that he had made a big mistake. And to make matters worse, between breaks until the end of his shift, he would have to make the climb at least seven more times that day.
When Levi stepped off the ladder for the last time that day his relief was difficult to hide. On the way back to camp he looked for the wolf he had seen in the clearing, but it had disappeared into the wilderness.
The hours passed slowly but the days gathered quickly, and, if anything, the heights got harder instead of easier. What bothered Levi most was that his short-term memory was useless when he was nervous. And when he was at heights, which was half the time in this job, he was always nervous. Even when Patrick let him tack welds Levi found himself sticking on the rod way more than he normally would. It was so frustrating that he would feel like throwing the rod oven over the scaffold.
This day had not been going well from the start. He barely caught the bus because his alarm clock didn't go off. The only kind of alarm clock that was available in the convenience store was digital, instead of a “real one” as he thought of the windups. He didn't trust digital clocks because he didn't trust himself setting them. He didn't eat breakfast because he had not been able to ever since he started the job. And even when he got on the bus he tripped up in somebody's foot and fell down in the aisle. As soon as everyone saw he had not hurt himself, at least half of them laughed out loud.
Every climb up the ladder felt like the first, if not worse than the first. It was pure force of pride that was enabling him to do it. Why wasn't it getting better? Didn't facing fears make them easier?
It was lightly snowing. Work didn't stop for snow, unless it was a blizzard, because the scaffolders always had hoardings built for those who needed it. A scaffolder had to wear a safety harness at all times, but a man could only move so far with a harness before he had to tie-off somewhere else. Occasionally, if a man was particularly busy, or in an awkward position where the lanyard kept getting in the way, he would glance about for a safety rep, and if the coast was clear, do a quick job without tying off.
Levi was at about sixty feet, handing welding rods to Patrick, who was welding a pipe support onto a beam. It was after first break, and Levi stared in a half daze at a young scaffolder who was assembling toe boards with his older partner. Being in each other's work area, both groups had signed on each other's Safety First Card's earlier.
Patrick finished burning the last rod on the weld and told Levi he needed to take a leak.
“Can you start wrapping up while Im gone?” Patrick said. “You can lower everything down to me when I get back.”
“Not a problem,” Levi said, snapping out of his trance.
Levi unhooked a grinder and began wrapping the cord around it. Once again he found his gaze drifting towards the two scaffolders. The young scaffolder was unhooking his lanyard and moving to the end of the scaffold. He bent over to get in under a pipe at the same time that the older scaffolder was turning with a long floor plate. It hit the young man in the buttocks propelling him forward, so he reached out to grab something, but there was nothing to grab. They had not yet put up the railing on that side of the scaffold. And over he went. He did not yell or scream. There was no sound until Levi heard the cluttered thump when the boy's body hit the concrete. The man who hit him made no sound either, until he looked over the side and saw the boy at the bottom.
“Roman!” the man screamed in the most painful wail Levi had heard since his nephew had died. He had to be the boy's father. Levi would be haunted for months by both sounds, the body hitting the concrete, and the father calling to his boy, over and over, even after his crew dragged him away.
The whole site was shut down and every man in the vicinity of the accident was questioned. Those that were signed on to the boy's Safety First Card were ordered to the clinic for a urine sample. There had been a lot of congestion in the area where they had been working all morning, so ten men had signed on the SFC, Levi and Patrick among them. All were gathered together, where two safety officers, a foreman, general foreman, supervisor, and Erbacor Energy Project Manager, Bill Smith, was waiting for them.
Bill looked gravely about the men. His hair was black with no signs of grey, and a little longer behind the ears than one would expect of a man of his position. To Levi he looked like he belonged in sales, a little too slick to be the senior project manager of one of the largest oil projects in Canada.
“Gentleman, having to take this urine test is no reflection on your character, its just procedure. If I had been signed on to the SFC I would be taking it just like you guys. I know this is the last thing you want to be doing considering what youve just seen, but rules are rules. Its all to make us safer in the end.”
“What about Roman?” Patrick asked.
“All we know so far is that he is in serious condition. His father is with him now. I cant imagine...” He sighed and shook his head. “But unfortunately, even in these kinds of stressful situations there are procedures we have to take. Its a rule put in place for your own protection.” Some of the men mumbled under their breaths while others glanced at each other nervously.
They were taken to the clinic in three company trucks. In one sat Levi, Patrick, two scaffolders he didn't know, and his foreman, who was driving.
“Okay bys,” one of the scaffolders blurted, obviously from Newfoundland, “I might as well be honest, because Ill probably lose me job anyway. How in the fuck can I get around this piss test? Im going to fail it plain and simple. Im going to fail it, I knows I is.”
“Ive got fake piss in my lunch bag,” the other scaffolder said, “but that wont do me good here. Im fucked too.”
“Fake piss,” Levi said. “Whats that?”
“Fake piss. Synthetic piss. Even bought one of those fake cocks to put it in. What a waste.”
“Fake cock?” Levi said.
“Yeah,
The Urinator
. Works like a charm I was told.”
“How big is it?” the foreman said.
“I wanted it to be true to life. Twelve inches.”
“True to life? Youd have to buy four to get twelve inches for you.”
“Why do you keep it in your lunch box?” Levi asked.
“I got a special case for it.”
“What,” Patrick said, “a hotdog bun?”
“Sure we can go back and get it,” the Newfoundland scaf-folder said, the panic in his voice drowning out the humour. “The other trucks is ahead of us.”
Everyone looked at the foreman in the driver seat.
“How can we do that?” the foreman said.
“Sure itll only take five minutes. Come on, by, turn around while we still got a chance!”
“Theyll see us, man. Its pointless. Im not losing my job over this.”
“Seriously. This is no joke bys. Jesus Christ, I got a lot of bills back home. I cant lose this job. Turn around the fuckin truck, now!”
“Its not my fault you snort your paycheques up your goddamn nose!” the foreman shouted, but he was a big enough man that he could get away with it. Only the sound of the truck engine followed, and the tires rolling over the gravel.
When they stepped out and headed for the clinic Levi sidled up to Patrick. “Is it that much drugs floating around here?”
“You know how many come out of this place, working here for years on end, making a hundred thousand a year, and not have two cents to rub together?”
“The young crowd on the go now havent got a clue by. All they wants is good times.”
“Yeah. Seems like every generation is more spoiled than the last. I spoiled mine too. Couldnt seem to help myself. As a father I always wanted to give better than I got.”