Red Helmet

  The teacher of the class was Henry “Square” Block, retired from mining for three years but urged back by a wife tired of having him underfoot. Belying his nickname, he had turned softly round in leisure, acquiring a couch potato’s gut and the full jowls of too many chips and cans of beer while watching football and basketball and every other sport on television. For exercise, he had tried walking but got tired of seeing the same old neighborhood. Hunting was no longer fun, he’d never cared for golf, and gardening was just digging in the dirt. Then one evening Cable had called and asked him to teach his red cap boys. At first Square said no, but his wife, Hildy, said yes, and so here he was in the Highcoal mine classroom, nervous as a cat but prepared to teach his first class.

  Square stacked his lesson manuals on the table, wrote his name on the whiteboard, and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He had never been afraid of much in his life, but now, just an hour away from teaching his first class of red caps, he found his stomach in knots. What if his students laughed at him? He considered walking out the door and heading home, but he knew Hildy would chase him out of the house with a broom if he did. No, he’d teach this one class, see how it went. If it was too bad, then he’d quit and go back to loafing.

  After writing his name, Square thought about his students. Mole had given him the list and he’d glanced at the names. He figured they were going to be just like his grandkids and great-grandkids, who mostly sat around and played computer games. Not one of them seemed to care about working for a living. Likely these newbie red cap miners would be the same and that would mean Square would have to push them, more than a little.

  On the positive side, kids of today might be a bit lazy, but they were also plugged into the future. He recalled an afternoon of frustration trying to figure out how to make a DVD player work. His great-grandson, diagnosed as ADD and all that nonsense, took the remote out of his hands and had the movie playing in seconds. The kid even came up with a split screen where he could watch the movie and keep track of a ball game at the same time. The youth of today weren’t stupid. Mostly, he reasoned, they were just unmotivated. It would be up to him to provide that motivation.

  Cable stuck his head in the door. “Square, you ready for tonight?”

  Square ran a hand across his thatch of snowy white hair. “I reckon, Cable. How many you say I got again?”

  “Only four. I hope to get more for you next time.”

  “If there is a next time,” Square answered. “I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

  Cable came over and slapped Square on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine. I hired you because I remembered how you always took the time to explain things to new miners. They always came to you for help. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that Hildy called me and ordered me to get you out of the house.”

  Square chuckled. “She does say I tend to get underfoot.”

  Cable looked around. “How do you like your classroom?”

  “No complaints,” Square said.

  Cable nodded. “Good. Well, just enjoy yourself tonight. I’m not sure who’s coming. I’ve been so busy I had to let Mole do the hiring. Maybe I’ll pop in a little later, see how things are going and meet them.”

  “I’ll do my best for you, Cable.”

  “Your best is twice as good as anyone else’s,” Cable replied. Then he was off, leaving Square with multiplying butterflies inside his stomach.

  Square was a bit surprised when five, not four students showed up, and one of them was a woman. The first thing about her that Square noticed, and it was hard not to, was she was a pretty little thing. No, the truth was she was drop-dead gorgeous. There were going to be some jaws hanging in the gob when the boys in the mine got a load of her, that was for certain, and, considering the age of some of them, maybe their false teeth too!

  Square told the red caps to take a seat, and they did and stared back at him with the expectant faces of new students the world over.

  “My name’s Square Block,” he said. “I have more than forty years experience mining coal. I’ve done a little of everything inside, from shoveling gob to operating long wall machinery. You may not know what that all means, but you will. You’re going to shovel a lot of gob, and maybe one of you will end up operating a long wall, or a continuous miner, or a shuttle car, or some other kind of complicated machinery. There’s going to be more things for you to learn than you can imagine. Most of all, I want you to start thinking about being safe. There’s no reason for any man—or woman—to get hurt or killed in the mine, if you follow all the rules. Now, I got something for you to see.”

  Square placed four bright red helmets on this table. “I’m sorry, miss, but you weren’t on my list. I’ll get you a helmet, though. Don’t you worry. These helmets represent your entry into the profession of mining coal. You have a whole lot to learn, and it’s my job to teach it to you. If I don’t do my job right, you could get yourself hurt or hurt somebody else. And coal won’t get mined. That’s what we do, gents . . . uh, and ma’am. We mine coal, dig it out, and send it to the surface. Other men—and women—take it from there to carry it across the world. The whole world would just about stop if it wasn’t for coal. Steel wouldn’t get made, this country would lose half its electricity, and a whole bunch of other industries would grind to a halt. What we do is important. We ain’t paid much attention, unless we get ourselves killed, or trapped, or some-such. Only then do the television crews come a-running. Our job is to keep them TV folks away. We accept the world ignores us. We just go ahead and do what has to be done to keep things going. That’s always been what coal miners do.”

  Square passed out the helmets. One of the students, who looked Mexican, handed the girl his red helmet and smiled at her. She took it, fiddled with it, then looked up. Her eyes were filled with questions.

  “I want you to start wearing your helmet wherever you go,” Square said, “so you’ll get the feel of it. In the days ahead, if you slack off, or prove too stupid to learn, or give me any kind of grief, I’ll take that helmet back. Out you’ll go, no second chances. Questions?”

  “Why is it red?” the girl asked.

  “So you can be identified as a trainee and kept out of trouble.”

  The girl nodded her understanding. Square picked up a clipboard. “Let’s find out who you are. First, let’s hear from Chevrolet Harper. I was sorry to hear about your father, son. He was a great miner. Wished I could have made the funeral, but my wife’s uncle died about the same time. Tell you the truth, since I moved across the mountain I haven’t seen Squirrel, but he was a fine man, a fine man indeed. We mined some good coal together.”

  Chevrolet stood. He was just over six feet tall and wore a mischievous expression. He nodded toward another young man who had a similar expression. “That’s Ford, Mr. Block,” he said. “He’s my younger brother. From what you just said, I reckon you know all about us. Our family’s lived up on Harper Mountain for a coon’s age. With Daddy gone, and Ford and me out of the army, guess we need to learn how to mine some coal.” He nodded to his brother again, and they grinned at one another. “We’re gonna be the best coal miners you ever saw.”

  Square looked the boys over and thought they might be a bit tall for the mine. He kept it to himself. They’d find out for themselves soon enough. “All right, Chevrolet. You can sit down. No, Ford, you don’t need to stand up. Chevrolet told enough for the two of you.” Square scanned his clipboard. “All right. Who’s next? How about you? Your name is . . .”

  Gilberto Guiterrez was his name. He was a stout young man with a droopy moustache and dark, sad eyes. He rose and said, in accented English, “I come from Mexico. I have the green card. I want to mine coal and make some money. That’s it.”

  “You don’t need a red cap. You need a red sombrero,” Ford said, which made Chevrolet laugh. “Hey, Pancho, why don’t you go back to Mexico?”

  “Chevrolet, Ford, stand up!” Square ordered. The boys, looking sheepish, did as he or
dered. “Now, put on your helmets and come here.”

  Chevrolet and Ford came forward, and Square slapped them both on the sides of their helmets. “Owww!” they cried in unison.

  “Quit your whining. That didn’t hurt two hardheads like you, especially with your helmets on. But I hope it got your attention. We don’t make fun of anybody in this class. Now, sit down.”

  The brothers, for no apparent reason, limped back to their chairs and crawled into them.

  “You can sit down as well, Gilberto,” Square said. “I’ve not met too many Mexican miners, but I’m sure you’re going to do just fine. Chevrolet and Ford are going to help you every step of the way. Aren’t you, boys?”

  The Harper boys looked up with contrite expressions. “Yes, sir,” they said.

  “All right. Who’s next? Justin? I know you, don’t I?”

  A painfully thin young man stood up. He was in baggy jeans, and an overlarge plaid shirt hung on him like a tent. “My name’s Justin Brown, Mr. Block. You know me, I guess. I used to be quarterback on the high school team.”

  “Yes. I recall. Didn’t you win a football scholarship?”

  “Yes, sir. I lost it.”

  “I see. What’ve you been doing lately?”

  Justin scratched his head. “I got nothing to say about what I been doing. I’m here to work. That’s all.”

  “If you want to stay in this class, you’ll answer my question,” Square ordered.

  Justin stared at him, then shrugged. “I been in trouble with the law for drugs. My son got took away from me. My wife—well, she committed suicide. Ate Drano with a spoon while in the county jail. The state says if I can find a job and hold it, I might get my boy back. Mining coal’s about the only way I can get him.”

  “What kinda drugs did you take?” Square asked.

  “Meth, mostly, sometimes OxyContin.”

  “You wanted to get high, you shoulda just bought some ’shine,” Chevrolet said.

  “I didn’t want to get high,” Justin said. “I wanted to get dead.”

  “You can sit down, Justin,” Square said. “Thank you for being honest with us. You have a clean slate in this class. Nothing you did will work for or against you. It’s what you do from here on that matters.”

  Justin sat down. Both Ford and Chevrolet reached over and patted his shoulder. After hesitating, so did Gilberto.

  Square put his clipboard down. “All right, gentlemen, we have another student. Would you stand, young lady, and tell us something about yourself?”

  “Aw, everybody knows who she is,” Chevrolet said, and Ford and Justin nodded in agreement.

  “Well, I don’t,” Square answered. “And I reckon Gilberto don’t neither.”

  “I know who she is too,” came an angry voice from the doorway.

  “Cable,” Square greeted the mine superintendent.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your class, Square, but I would like a word with Mrs. Jordan, if you don’t mind.”

  Square’s eyebrows shot up. “Mrs. Jordan?”

  “Sure enough, Square,” Chevrolet said gleefully. “She’s his wife.”

  Song stood. “It’s all right, Mr. Block. Let me talk to Cable. It won’t take long.”

  “SONG, ARE YOU crazy? What do you think you’re doing?” They were outside, standing in the lights of the tipple.

  “My permission to enter the red cap class is from Atlas headquarters in New York,” she said, a lot more calmly than she felt. “I’m in this class for my own reasons. It shouldn’t concern you.”

  “Everything that happens in this mine is my business,” he growled. “Is this some ploy to get us back together?”

  “Listen to me, you moron,” Song hissed. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me back to you. You want to know why I’m taking this class? Fine. Without telling me, my father bought your stupid company.”

  Such was his astonishment, Cable’s mouth opened and his eyes went wide. He whipped off his hat and took a step back. “He did what?”

  “He bought Atlas, including your mine. He went around me when he did it. Now Hawkins-Song has a big turkey on its hands, and I don’t just mean this mine.” She nodded toward him.

  “I’m not a turkey,” Cable grumped, slapping his hat against his leg. He had the look of a man who needed to think, but without a decent thought to be had.

  “From a business point of view, that’s debatable,” Song retorted. “The reason I’m taking this red cap class is so I can learn enough to fix your idiotic mine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Since you can’t meet your orders, I’m going to be the consultant you claimed you didn’t need.”

  This was too much. Cable threw his hat down. “That’s crazy! You don’t know the first thing about mining coal. We’re just going through a bad spot that has too much rock in it. It happens. Of course, you wouldn’t understand that.”

  “Which explains why I’m taking the red cap class,” Song replied.

  Cable glowered. “I have years of experience and a college degree in mining, Song! This red cap class won’t teach you anywhere near what you’d need to know to solve this problem. What are you thinking?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking. My father is your boss now and you’ll do as you’re told.”

  When Cable just stared at her in stricken silence, Song softened her voice. “Look, you might not believe me, but I’m going to figure out what’s wrong with your mine. Don’t take it personally. It’s just business.”

  Cable’s mouth was compressed into a flat, hard line. He broke the line long enough to ask, “How come nobody at Atlas seems to know they’re part of the Joe Hawkins empire?”

  “Because he chooses to be silent about it for now. That doesn’t concern you. You just keep doing your job, as best you can, and don’t get in my way.”

  After a moment more of reflection, Cable picked up his hat. “It seems you and your father have me over a barrel.”

  “Finally, you understand. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a class to attend.”

  “Look,” Cable said, “there’s no need for you to take this class. You want to learn about coal mining, I’ll take you for a tour of the mine, tell you everything you want to know.”

  “No, thanks, Cable. If you want to occupy your time, why don’t you sign our annulment papers?”

  “I’m looking them over but they’re complicated,” he glumly replied. “Ticks keep biting me, giving me new forms of Lyme’s disease, making me too stupid to figure out your lawyer’s tricks.”

  Song almost laughed. “There are no tricks. Sign them, Cable.”

  “I will,” Cable promised. “But I’m asking you, Song. As a friend. Stay out of my mine.”

  “You are not my friend, Cable. You are my ex-husband, or will be soon. You are also my father’s employee. Don’t forget that. I’m going back to my class now. Good night.”

  Song walked back to the little brick building. Cable dourly watched her, then huffed out a little laugh. She’d soon learn how difficult it was to work in a coal mine.

  Cable trudged back to his office and looked in on Mole. He and the evening shift dispatcher, J.C. Flannery, were studying the monitors that showed data from the carbon monoxide sensors Cable had installed throughout the mine. Cable had also installed a seismograph in Mole’s office to detect tremors in the mine. If a pillar let go, or anything else that caused the earth to heave, Mole or J.C. would know about it, and soon after, so would he. There was also a bank of lights that showed when any of the telephone pager systems were in use. The pagers were all “permissible,” meaning they were shielded and grounded, safe in even methane-rich air. By punching the right button, the dispatcher could listen in on what was being said on the pagers, or call one to talk to a section foreman or any miner. With a few flipped switches and punched buttons, anything that was wrong in the mine would be quickly evident.

  But Atlas headquarters was always complaining about the money he’d spent on the
monitors. Cable knew very well his head was on the chopping block for overspending as well as not meeting the quotas for India. But, never mind, he believed he had done the right thing, and if a man did the right thing, Cable believed all would be well. It had to be. The world could be unfair in spurts, that was his sense of things, but in the long run, it was mostly fair. He would depend on the long run to see him through, and maybe Preacher’s prayers.

  There was paperwork to be done, including responding to another punitive fine from Einstein, this time for having too much grease on the rollers of a conveyor belt in Two East. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. As for Joe and Song Hawkins, he’d worry about them later. It didn’t matter who owned his mine. As long as he was superintendent, he’d run it the way it needed to be run.

  Cable sat heavily in his chair and looked at the stack of documents on his desk, then drew a paper from the bottom of the stack and tried to focus on it. He didn’t succeed.

  He opened the back door to his office for a breath of fresh, cool West Virginia autumn air. He listened to the sounds of the tipple, the low thrum of the bull wheel as it raised and lowered the cages, the squeals and thumps of the coal cars being pushed along the tracks, the rumble of the coal dropping through the chutes from the preparation plant. He loved the sounds of the mine. To him, they were pure music, the finest kind. This evening’s symphony told him all was well.

  Just across the way was the red cap classroom. He wondered what was going on in there and then imagined Song wearing a red helmet. That image made him shake his head. “She won’t last a day,” he assured himself, then went back to the paperwork on his desk.

  Nineteen

  Song woke, blinking into the darkness, disoriented and a little frightened. She had to think for a moment to recall where she was. The Cardinal Hotel was dark and silent except for the occasional creak of a floorboard. Rhonda had explained to her about those creaks. They weren’t ghosts, or at least she didn’t think they were. The floors creaked because the Cardinal was always settling as the ground beneath it shifted on the old mine works a thousand feet or so below. Song detected the faint scent of mothballs. There were a number of them scattered in the tiny closet and she didn’t want to think about what they were supposed to ward off. Her bed was an antique four-poster, ridiculously high off the wooden floor, with a step stool required to get in and out of it. Rhonda had explained that in the old days, the bed had to make room for a chamber pot.