Tool by Tony Kruger
‘You’ve got to be in the system, to play the system, to get out of the system. That’s what you’ve got to do.’ The site foreman stared at me, waiting for me to nod in affirmation or raise an eyebrow, so I did both, but not because I understood him. I could only concentrate on the line of hair perched close to his upper lip, which looked like it would dissolve in his tea. I resisted the desire to flick it away, propriety standing behind me, its hands on my shoulders.
He carried on sipping tea and staring at his shoes, which made me stare at mine, but the boots had stopped feeling comfortable and anxiety began to spread from my steel toecaps upwards. So I followed some advice I was given once and wandered out into the backyard and picked up a hammer. It was the best advice anyone ever gave me: if you want to look busy, carry a tool and walk fast.
I hurried back through the site office with the hammer leading me, but just as I got near to the door I saw him take off his hat and for the first time since I’d met him, I got to see what he’d been hiding underneath. His head was hairless on top and as he went to smooth his scalp I saw his hand falter above the white shining pate. It happened in an instant, but plainly the hand still remembered the departed hair.
At that point I should have carried on by, but I didn’t. Instead I leaned forward and very gently placed the hammer on his head. Actually that’s not totally true. I made the sound of a helicopter and then very gently placed the hammer on his head. He looked up from his shoes, and it was then that I saw that he hadn’t really stopped talking to me and that there were tiny flecks of yellow and grey in his irises, that his pencil moustache was blond and his hand had a long scar running from knuckle to knuckle, and his mouth trembled from time to time and that the hammer was slipping from his bald head and he hadn’t even noticed it.
So I pulled him to me, hugged him tight and told him that he could count on me always. We stayed clasped together in the site office for some time, swaying to the sounds of the mixers and the cranes and the chisels and the drills.
He carried on sipping tea and staring at his shoes, which made me stare at mine, but the boots had stopped feeling comfortable and anxiety began to spread from my steel toecaps upwards. So I followed some advice I was given once and wandered out into the backyard and picked up a hammer. It was the best advice anyone ever gave me: if you want to look busy, carry a tool and walk fast.
I hurried back through the site office with the hammer leading me, but just as I got near to the door I saw him take off his hat and for the first time since I’d met him, I got to see what he’d been hiding underneath. His head was hairless on top and as he went to smooth his scalp I saw his hand falter above the white shining pate. It happened in an instant, but plainly the hand still remembered the departed hair.
At that point I should have carried on by, but I didn’t. Instead I leaned forward and very gently placed the hammer on his head. Actually that’s not totally true. I made the sound of a helicopter and then very gently placed the hammer on his head. He looked up from his shoes, and it was then that I saw that he hadn’t really stopped talking to me and that there were tiny flecks of yellow and grey in his irises, that his pencil moustache was blond and his hand had a long scar running from knuckle to knuckle, and his mouth trembled from time to time and that the hammer was slipping from his bald head and he hadn’t even noticed it.
So I pulled him to me, hugged him tight and told him that he could count on me always. We stayed clasped together in the site office for some time, swaying to the sounds of the mixers and the cranes and the chisels and the drills.
posted by Karl | 5:25 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home