Page 61 - WTP Vol. X #5

kind of respect, if nothing else, for his willingness to stick with it.
Despite those earlier efforts to insulate himself, willy-nilly he’d become caught up in the workaday world around him. His one-time inclination to show disdain and mock them had over time morphed into empathy for these men who dealt uncomplainingly with a dreary, physically demanding life; a life for most of them with no wonderful end in sight.
Reluctant to admit it, he admired their toughness and resilience. In those first weeks, he’d considered himself too good for them; now he wondered if he was good enough. He realized values and standards different than his animated them. But he had taken on board the notion they were just that—different. They deserved respect.
The summer ended hard for Tyler because it ended hard for Gus. Many of the men in the plant were farmers. They’d work on their places during the day, then drive 40 or 50 miles to the factory for the night shift. Tyler frequently saw the exhaustion in the eyes of these sleep-starved men. How did they keep it up? As it turned out, sometimes they couldn’t.
At the beginning of Tyler’s last Monday shift Gus had a troubled look on his face.
“Did you hear about Ed Spaulding?” he said.
“No.” Ed assembled casement windows.
“Run off the road heading home to his place up north Friday night. Hit a tree. They say he hadn’t had much sleep all week. Probably dozed off.”
“That’s bad news.” Tyler didn’t know what else to say. Spaulding was an old timer like Gus.
“Good worker, you know. Him and his son was milk- ing 15 or 20 cows.” His voice loaded with deference; Gus showed a serious face. “When it come to hitting jackpot, he was one of the best. Yes, sir.” Gus paused. “Been here a long time. Him and me started out together.”
Things like that had importance for Gus and the oth- ers. Tyler had considered Spaulding a yokel. Now he felt guilty. He’d missed the sense of camaraderie, the long-term friendships, and the shared experiences. He’d missed a lot. Tyler hadn’t thought about these men having lives outside the factory. He knew noth- ing of their families or of their children. He didn’t even know if Gus was married. But he sure as hell
had grasped one thing; Gus had feelings.
On the afternoon of Tyler’s last shift, Jack Peters told him he had an invitation to stop by the front of-
fice. “Mr. Acton says he’d like to ask you how the job went.”
“Okay, but I better check with Gus first. Don’t want him to miss out on a jackpot.”
When Tyler mentioned the invitation, Gus said, “Of course, you gotta do it. He give you the job, for Christ’s sakes. And he’s a friend of your old man.”
“But what about tonight’s run?”
“Don’t you worry. New fella is already here. Name is Bartlett. Lenny Bartlett.”
“Guess this will be it then,” Tyler said.
“Yeah, guess so. I’ll be watchin’ the paper; for when you do something famous.”
Tyler studied his shoes and then haltingly extended his hand. “Well, see you around.”
“You done good, Tyler. You’re still kind a full of your- self. But you ain’t such a smart ass like you was when you come. You done good.”
Tyler relished the words. Yes, sir. He’d done good. Tolstoy could wait a while longer.
Farrar is a former American diplomat with multiple postings in Japan, Europe, and Washington, DC. His stories have appeared more than eighty times in literary magazines. Farrar’s work often features a pro- tagonist encountering the customs and morals of a foreign society. He lives with his wife, Keiko, in Minnesota where he is a member of the Loft Literary Center.
54