You work better in the morning. . . you are fresh. You tire towards lunch. You work better after lunch . . . you are fresh. You tire towards five. . . but Blue can keep at it. . . . Blue is a tiger for it. . . . Blue on the jumbo press . . . and the thump . . . and the thump . . . and the thump . . . a thousand soles a day from Blue on the jumbo press . . . the six-foot jumbo press that takes a side of leather. . . . Blue Henderson is a star . . . he takes risks . . . he keeps his foot on the treadle . . . don’t keep your foot on the treadle, Blue. . . the giant head of the press rises and falls without ceasing . . . you’ll lose your fingers, Blue . . . you are not a stuff-cutter unless you have lost two fingers . . . and you’ll lose two fingers if you keep your foot on the treadle, Blue. . . but he keeps his foot on the treadle . . . for you’ve got to take risks to do one thousand soles a day . . . and between the rise and fall of the jumbo’s iron head his hand darts in and moves the heavy, sole-shaped knife a cut further. . . and the thump and the bang, and the island floor trembles, and dust falls on the heads of the girls in the cleaning room below, and in the stiffened hide that once had clothed a bullock’s shoulders, is punched a hole the shape of a footprint. . . .
And again the knife is moved, and again the bang, and again the hole . . . a thousand times the hole. . . and each mutilated hide, a fretwork of leather, is cast aside. . . and another hide . . . and another. . . and another. . . a thousand soles, and the bang and the thump and the darting hand beneath the falling weight and the quiver and tremble of the island floor on its supports of steel. . . .
But you get tired before lunch . . . even Blue gets tired before lunch . . . for your belly is empty before lunch . . . but watch that the knife doesn’t catch in the leather, Blue . . . swallow the dust in your throat . . . you’re a tiger for it, Blue . . . the manager says so . . . and the doctor said you had a weak heart from rheumatic fever—when you were a kid . . . ha-ha . . . and the thump . . . a weak heart. . . and the thump and the thump . . . you’ve got no weak heart, Blue . . . you’re a tiger for it . . . the secretary says so . . . the director says so . . . the manager says so . . . the manager says you’re a tiger for it, Blue . . . twelve hundred soles a day, he says, Blue . . . but you’re only doing a thousand, aren’t you, Blue . . . your docket says so . . . and the thump and the thump . . . don’t get the knife caught in the leather . . . if it rocks over your hand will go, Blue . . . and you will get compensation under the Workers’ Compensation Act from the Workers’ Compensation Department of the Workers’ Insurance Limited capital, three millions. . . .
Watch the knife, Blue . . . you get tired before lunch with an empty belly . . . and watch the side of the jumbo, too, Blue . . . only an eighth of an inch clearance there, Blue . . . and you’ve taken your foot off the treadle . . . and the press is still . . . the scarred hand pulls at the knife jammed in the thick crop . . . but you’ll have to reach over further, Blue . . . just a little further . . . and . . . you’re tired, Blue . . . lean over further . . . now, pull . . . pull harder, Blue . . . empty belly . . . tired . . . now . . . she’s out . . . pull her over . . . step back with the knife . . . she’s free . . . you’re right . . . the treadle is behind you . . . don’t step on the treadle, Blue . . . look out for the treadle, Blue . . . the treadle . . . LOOK OUT! . . . Jesus! and the thump. . .
The manager ran down the factory shouting, ‘Get Martin.’
Men turned their heads, shoes held stiffly in their hands. The girls straightened their backs and looked quickly at each other. Martin, the first aid man, sped towards the cupboard with the red cross painted on the door.
The factory’s machines, deprived of their food, snarled with empty mouths.
‘Get Martin . . . hold his head up, Ron . . . lift that bar, Plugger—quick. . . . Christ! . . . hold this . . . steady . . . steady . . . lift him, lift him . . . Jesus, look at the blood! . . . you’re hurting him . . . look out. . . lay him down here. . . .’
‘O-o-h . . . O-o-h’
‘You’re all right, Blue . . . grab the wrist . . . Christ, it’s spouting! . . . here, Martin, the bandages . . . you’re all right, Blue . . . Tie the ligature— there, higher. . . .’
‘Goodo, Martin. How you feelin’, Blue? Feelin’ all right?’
‘I . . . I . . .’
‘Don’t try to talk. You’re all right, Blue.’
Lift him, Plugger. Get his legs, Ron. Now, steady.’
Drip —— Drip ——
‘Get on with your work,’ yelled the manager.
‘Steady, Plugger. . . . Put your good arm round my neck, Blue. . . .’
‘He’s white as a bloody sheet.’
Drip —— Drip ——
‘Lift him, Ron . . . he can’t walk. . . .’
‘What about his fingers? They’re on the floor.’
‘Shut up, you bloody fool. Don’t let him hear you. You’re all right, Blue. . . . Hang round my neck. . . .’
‘Careful, here . . . a bit higher, Plugger. . . . Now, steady. . . . You’re all right, Blue. . . . Keep his head up. . . . Turn round. . . . Legs first down the stairs. . . . Steady, now. . . .’
‘Christ!’ . . .
‘Wipe it off the rail. . . .’
Down . . . Down . . .
Drip —— Drip ——
‘Is the car ready?’
‘It’s here.’
‘Through the door . . . steady. . . .’
Drip —— Drip ——
‘I—I—I gotta pain in me chest.’ The words came from Blue in gasps.
‘I know, Blue . . . steady . . . you’ll be all right.’
Drip —— Drip ——
Tut the cushion at his back. . . . Rest his head on this. Martin, you sit beside him with your arms supporting his body. Hop in the back, Plugger. Keep his arm up. . . .’
Drip —— Drip ——
The car jerked forward.
Drip —— Drip ——