Red Helmet (24 page)

Marla also made a slight bow. “Mrs. Jordan, how nice to see you,” she said. “That was a lovely silk suit you wore in church that day last summer.”

“Thank you,” Song responded gratefully.

“I heard what the church women said. It was most spitful of them.”

“Spitful?”

“Spiteful,” Omar translated.

“They've since apologized,” Song replied.

“Good. And well they should.”

Marla reached under the counter and withdrew a pair of bib coveralls, a pair of khaki pants, a khaki shirt, and a full-bodied jumpsuit. She placed them all on the counter. “These are your choices,” she said. “The jumpsuits are most popular for women these days, the bib overalls somewhat out of favor for men, the khaki pants and shirt a fine combination for either.”

Omar produced a pair of boots, which he also placed on the counter. “Full grain leather, hard-toe mining boots. They will last many years in the roughest of conditions.”

Square said, “You can't go wrong, boys, if you'll let Omar and Marla lead you.”

Omar took the male red caps off to a corner to try on their clothes, while Marla led Song to a rack of jumpsuits on the other side of the store. “Something in a pastel, I am thinking,” she said. “Such as Governor Godfrey favors.” She slyly looked at Song out of the corners of her eyes.

“No pastels, please, Mrs. Kedra,” Song replied. “Just a basic color. The navy blue is nice.”

“Indeed, it is. And it shan't show the dirt. An excellent choice. And call me Marla, please.”

“Yes, all right, Marla. Tell me something. Do you know Justin?”

Marla looked a little embarrassed. “Oh, yes. We are foster parents for his son, Tommy. When he and his wife were sent to jail, and then his wife died by her own hand, the court judged that he could not raise the child. He is a very nice boy, Tommy is, and a healthy four years old. Omar and I love him very much. Of course, we hope Justin is able to turn his life around. A son belongs with his father.”

Song nodded agreement.

“And a wife with her husband,” Marla added significantly.

“Don't start on me, Marla,” Song replied when she realized where the woman was heading. “I did my best with Cable.”

Marla dropped her voice so low Song had to strain to hear it. “Please, Mrs. Jordan, tell me true because everyone in town will ask me when they know we've had a moment alone. Why are you doing this thing, this going into the mine?”

“It's what I do. I consult. The owner of Atlas hired me to study this mine. It is only a coincidence that Cable is its supervisor.”

Marla frowned. “Is this so? It sounds very much made up.”

Song looked into the woman's clear eyes, so guileless and honest that it made her feel ashamed to tell the lie. “It isn't exactly so,” she confessed, “but I can't tell you everything. It's not for me to get back with Cable, but it is to help him.”

“I see. Thank you for telling me that much, Mrs. Jordan.”

“Please. It's Song.”

“All right, Song. Would you like to try the navy blue jumpsuit on?”

Song did. It fit perfectly. “I'll take two,” she said.

“Now, the boots,” Marla said.

“I'm sure you won't have anything small enough. I wear a size five.”

“Here you are,” Marla said after an excursion to the back of the store. “Size five, with steel toes and waterproofing. They are also insulated against electrical hazards. They will feel quite stiff at first, but I believe you'll break them in over time. You will also need these.” She was holding a pair of soft, gray socks. “It gets cold in the mine sometimes, or so I am told.”

Song tried the boots and socks on. They fit perfectly, although the boots were indeed stiff. “Why do you have boots in such a small size?” she asked as she walked in them.

“Ordinarily we would not carry such tiny boots. But these were a special order for another woman. She did not work at the Highcoal mine but another, the Fox Run mine, twenty miles
away.”

“Why doesn't she want her boots?”

“Oh, she doesn't want anything now. She died, run over by a shuttle car, so we were told.”

Song was not particularly pleased to be wearing a dead woman's boots, but there was nothing that could be done. She took another practice turn around the room. The boots felt like wearing concrete blocks. She worried about blisters. “I am told talcum powder helps,” Marla said. “But the only thing that can truly help is to spend as much time in them as possible to break them in.”

“I don't know how much I'll be walking in them,” Song confessed. “I don't know much of anything I'll be doing in the mine.”

“Then it is good that you are with Square,” Marla replied with certainty. “For he is a good man and will look after you.”

Marla strapped a wide black belt around Song's waist. “For your lamp battery and safety gear,” she said.

Fully outfitted, Song looked at herself in the mirror, from her shiny red helmet down to her heavy black boots, with the wide belt cinched at her waist over the navy blue jumpsuit. “I look like Batwoman,” she said.

“With a red helmet,” Marla added, giggling.

“What a woman has to do sometimes . . .”

“For love?” Marla asked.

Song frowned at the woman. “For work,” she firmly corrected her.

S
QUARE APPRAISED EACH
red cap in turn, approving the choices Song had made. Gilberto elected to stay in khakis, with Square's approval, but the brothers in their bib overalls were sent back.

“Our granddaddy wore a pair just like this in the mine!” Ford said.

“Because he couldn't find anything better,” Square replied. “Those things will get stiff as a board when they get coated with gob and then get wet, either by you sweating in them or the water that's everywhere in the mine. What you want is material that's strong and light. I suggest you take a look at the khakis or the jumpsuits.”

Justin walked out of the dressing alcove. He was dressed in a crisp, bone white jumpsuit. “Go back,” Square ordered. “The coal mine is not a place for an Elvis impersonation.”

It took a couple of hours, but finally Omar had the red caps dressed to Square's satisfaction. The Harper boys and Justin had settled on brown jump-suits. “I want you to wear your work boots from here on everywhere you go,” Square told them. “Everywhere, you hear?”

“In bed too?” Chevrolet asked sincerely.

Square couldn't resist. “Yes,” he said. “And in the shower too.”

Chevrolet and Ford looked at one another, then at Justin. Justin laughed. “He's yanking your chains,” he said.

Omar stepped in. “Mr. Block, you forgot your lunch buckets.”

“Why, so I did,” Square said, slapping his forehead. “Bring 'em out for the boys to see. There they are. Just plain old lunch buckets with a place for a thermos. Not like the round ones your daddies carried in the old days, boys. Those are antiques now, but they served, they surely did. The bottom was filled with water, the top held the food. We're a bit fancier now. There's plastic bottles of water down there when you want it. That's something Mr. Cable started. When you get back to the Cardinal, sign up for Rhonda to pack your lunch every day. Just give her your buckets and she'll take care of everything. I swan she makes the best sandwiches anywhere. And, trust me, you're going to get hungry in the mine, and when you get home, you're still going to be hungry. You'll burn a lot of calories down there.”

Square led his students back to the classroom, all of them walking stiffly in their heavy new boots. They walked past the mine superintendent's office where Cable watched them parade by. Song squared her shoulders and showed off in her red helmet. Mole came out on the porch and said something, and then he and Cable laughed and went back inside. Song's lip went out a bit, but she kept marching.

In the classroom, Square began his prepared lessons. There was so much to teach. He began with how a mine was laid out and some of the terms miners used to describe the geological features, such as ribs, the roof, and the face. He also reminded them there were hazards everywhere and nearly an infinite number of ways miners could get themselves killed or seriously injured. Coal miners, he said, could be electrocuted, crushed beneath roof falls, poisoned by carbon monoxide, blown up by methane, run over by any number of machines, cut to pieces by continuous miners, and eviscerated by exploding pillars, not to mention all the knocks and contusions inevitable in tight spaces.

Over time, coal miners were prey to rock dust silicosis, coal dust pneumoconiosis—black lung—sprung backs, busted knees, amputations, broken legs, broken arms, broken heads, and crushed fingers, toes, and nearly every other part of the anatomy. Square did not hold back from using examples. He named names of miners he'd known who had suffered each of the awful possibilities. “Your daddy,” he told the Harper brothers, “wasn't in the mine, but he was high up on a steel walkway that was slick from rain. One false step . . .”

“Daddy was always so sure-footed too,” Chevrolet said sadly.

Song recalled Constable Petrie's suspicions about Squirrel's death. As far as she knew, he hadn't investigated further. The next time she saw him, she would have to ask him about that.

Square went on. “You Highcoal boys all know Mr. Tolliver. He's got a wooden leg. He lost his real leg when a bunch of coal cars ran away on the main line. That was before we started using conveyor belts.”

“His peg leg don't seem to slow him down none,” Ford said.

“He nearly bled to death before we could get him out,” Square said. “And he was in pain for a long time. That's why he started drinking 'shine.”

“Guess that's why he started making it too,” Chevrolet put in.

Square took off his shirt to display a pink scar about two inches long on his back. “Roof bolt got me bad,” he said. “You get tired when you're walking, you straighten up, and they take a piece out of your hide.”

“I ain't never gonna get tired down there,” Ford piped. “The army got me in good shape. Ain't no roof bolt gonna get hold of me.”

“The army got you in shape in one way, but not the mining way,” Square said. “You'll see what I mean once you're down there.”

In the next nine working days, Square taught his red caps the basics of ventilation, and how to read mine maps, and how to set timbers and build cribs to support the roof and the ribs. They learned about the different kinds of underground coal mining, the traditional but obsolete way of undercutting the face, drilling it, and shooting it with dynamite, and the modern methods of continuous mining machines with spinning cutting heads. They learned about computerized long wall and short wall hardware that tore through vast lengths of coal. They learned to recognize shuttle cars, loaders, cutting machines, drilling machines, scoops, rock dusters, locomotives, and the little electric cars called jeeps.

Then Square loaded them up in his SUV and took them along a dirt road back into a hollow where there was a small mine in the side of a mountain. He called it a “punch mine,” and the three miners who were working it were outside, sitting on benches having lunch. “Y'all be careful with them shiny new red caps,” one of them called as Square led his students inside. Since they weren't wearing helmet lamps, they didn't go very far, but Square used a flashlight to point out roof bolts, timbers, and cribs. He tapped on the rock overhead with a brass-capped stick, telling them what to listen for when trying to find out if it was a good or bad roof. He walked them over to an entry where the coal was low so they could get a sense of what it was like. Song had always
loved to learn new things. “I think I'm looking forward to going inside the mine,” she told Gilberto.

“Not me,” he answered, looking at the roof with worried eyes. “Not with a whole mountain on top of me. I'm plenty scared.”

“You'll be all right,” Song answered.

“I keep thinking about all the ways there is to get hurt.”

“Then don't think about it.”

“But Mr. Block said we should think about safety all the time.”

He had her there.

On Thursday afternoon, Square's lesson was on the use of the self-contained self-rescuers, which he called by its initials SCSR.
Ess-See-Ess-Are
.

“This is the first line of defense when air becomes bad,” Square explained, holding up a small aluminum box with a belt clip on it. “Carbon monoxide is a killer gas in a mine. Sometimes miners just call it See-Oh. No matter what it's called, it's a silent killer that will put you to sleep and you never wake up. You can't see it, and you can't smell it. That's why your foreman carries with him what they call a spotter or gas monitor. They're electronic devices that can detect the percentages of the various gases in the air. He'll be checking it all the time, to make sure there's not too much CO. He'll also check for methane, which is an explosive gas.”

Song raised her hand. “What causes methane and CO to get into the air?”

“Good question—I was just getting to it. Methane naturally seeps out of the coal. It's part of the same process that created the coal out of dead plants. CO is caused by something burning. Methane, maybe. Sometimes—and this is the worst thing that can happen in a mine because it's so hard to put out—the coal itself catches on fire.” He lifted a pair of goggles from the table. “Where there's anything burning, there's going to be smoke. In that case, wearing goggles like these will help you see where you're going. A pair is included in every SCSR pack.”

Square showed them how to flip the lever on the SCSR pack and remove the cover. He took out the flimsy goggles and set them aside and then held up a gray plastic module with a white plastic bag hanging from it. Attached to the module was a mouthpiece and nose clips with a thin cloth strap. To demonstrate how to use it, Square put the strap over his neck, then put the mouthpiece in his mouth and clipped on the nose clips.