Have You Ever Seen A Big Man Fall?

It was a song they all liked so Paul turned the radio up. When it finished Little Terry turned it back down so as to avoid hearing the irritating adverts. That’s when he collapsed. Hussein. It took both Paul and Little Terry to try and lift him back up. Rushing. Paul grabbed Hussein from under his right armpit, his face vasodilating under the immense strain of the effort, while Little Terry, being little, remained unable to handle the side of Hussein weighing the most. The side where his heart lived. Distressed, he called out to Massimo who was the only other person in the room. Panicking, Paul yelled at him to come over and give Little Terry a hand with his side. Rather than complying, Massimo seemed more inclined to want to know what had just happened. Paul retorted aggressively telling him to shut up, to help with the lift, then bring a chair over to sit him in. Massimo subsequently fell into a state of confusion; what was he to do first? The chair or the lift?

Little Terry yelled for the second time how he couldn’t lift Hussein alone, he needed assistance. Hussein was out. Cold. Someone suggested to call Con, the building site manager and pandemonium ensued. The voice sounded like Massimo’s who, despite there being one right in front of him, was still looking all over for a chair. Going against what Paul had initially ordered he reasoned that the chair should take precedence over the assisting lift. Once the chair was in place he could then help Little Terry and Paul mount the giant Hussein up onto it. What would be the use in lifting up such a man then having nowhere to sit him? That was his logic. So amidst the heat and turbulence of the dreaded moment he decided the first thing anyone should ever do if they happen to encounter a big man falling, is to look for a place to sit them. Somewhere secure and supportive. Massimo’s thinking however was soon rendered useless when circumstance would prove that a chair, in this context, would be totally ineffective. He wasn’t to come to this realisation until after he had hurriedly wheeled the seat over to where Hussein lay. How are we supposed to get him on there if he’s unconscious? Said one of the two men. What kind of idiot are you Mass? Profanity ensued. Arguing. Insults. Then came the speculations. The cause of the collapse. Paul said Hussein was feeling unwell that morning. He’d wondered why he wasn’t saying much. He seemed slightly under the weather. Little Terry just kept repeating the words heart attack. If we manage to get him on the chair we can at least check to see if he’s still breathing. This was said by Massimo who had at last brought himself around to help lift the side which held Hussein’s heart. The side too heavy for Little Terry to lift alone. We can see if he’s still breathing while he’s on the floor said Paul. Have any of you lot done first aid? The answer was a collective and disappointing no. Ok, after three we’re going to lift him up onto the seat. It was clear who’d given that order. The three men slowly raised big Hussein up onto the wheeled chair. Six foot three inches and fifteen stone of unconscious man. The only other person who had ever seen him in such a helpless way was his mother twenty-eight years ago, and his wife. Get him water quick. Now, check his breathing. Well? Feel for a pulse then. He’s dead! He’s fucking dead! No, that’s the wrong side you idiot. Put a mirror under his nose. I don’t have a bloody mirror. Then use something else for fuck sake. Like what? I don’t fucking know do I? What am I, a bloody paramedic? Shut up you twat! Both of you shut up, look, use the screen of your watch. I can see mist. He’s alive. Thank fuck.

Massimo ran over to the monitor which surveyed the main doors. He could see Con talking to a lady and two security guards. He radioed in. Con’s walkie-talkie was clipped onto his belt. It must be turned down. Forget Con. That was Little Terry who said that, going on to call Hussein’s name repeatedly. Loudly. In his ear. As if Hussein had just walked out the door and had left his keys behind. Paul took the water that Little Terry had brought over, splashing it anxiously over those unresponsive parts of Hussein’s face. Eyes. Movement. Life. Then, slowly, he regained form. His body developing itself into the holds of the chair supplied by Massimo, losing the support of the two men who were inflexibly positioned either side of him.

What happened mate, you scared the living shit out of us? Little Terry said. You alright Huss, can you breathe? Mass, go grab him some more water will you, said Paul.

Massimo filled a bottle from the drinking tap outside the room. Hussein rubbed his neck in a daze. He mentioned his head hurt. Maybe from the fall, maybe from something else. He didn’t know what happened or how he blacked out like that. Paul asked him if he was diabetic. Hussein said he wasn’t. Are you stressed asked Little Terry. I’m not sure. Perhaps. That’s never happened to me before. The three men stood round him concerned and attentive listening as he spoke in a hacked, discombobulated tone. All I remember is the song on the radio had just finished then nothing, I was out. Yeah I know, I went over to turn it down then bang. My chair rumbled like we were in the middle of an earthquake or something. I looked around, saw you flat out on your face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a geeza fall like that before said Little Terry. Me neither said Paul. Massimo didn’t say anything, instead he remained concernedly looking over at his colleague. Hussein took a small sip of the water then said again his head and neck hurt really bad. For the first time since all the commotion Massimo, with an unusual air of confidence and expertise, cleared his throat to say you might have concussion mate. Your best bet is to go hospital and get yourself looked at, better to be safe than sorry.

I think I should call my wife said Hussein. Little Terry looked over at Paul in the way a person might when a friend has just confessed they’re dying inside and need desperately to talk to the person who’s killing their heart. Turning away Paul shook his head, signalling to Little Terry it would be best to not say anything and let Hussein do what he needs to do. He understood. I’ll make you a tea he said. The DJ on the radio could be heard plugging a gig for a band nobody knew. Massimo looked again at the CCTV screen which surveyed the main doors. Con was gone.

Hussein knew his wife would be at work. Mobile phones weren’t permitted in the surveillance room as they were known to interfere with equipment, only a radio was allowed. Here you go pal. Little Terry brought him over a cup of hot tea, putting it down on the desk beside him. How you feeling now? Yeah a bit better, thanks boys. I’m really sorry to just drop on you like that. Don’t be silly Huss, we’re just glad it’s nothing serious. I mean, it would have been a real nightmare if we had to carry you over to those lifts said Paul facetiously. Little Terry laughed. Massimo didn’t. Instead he remarked by saying that little hobbit Terry couldn’t even lift you so I don’t know what he’s bloody laughing at. I had to come over and help him put you on the chair. Fuck off you wobbly mug, yes I could, I just couldn’t get a proper grip that’s all. Anyway, what the fuck were you supposed to be doing? You brought a chair over for a bloke who was unconscious. What’s he supposed to do with that, sit up and have his dinner? No wonder you’re in here watching these screens six days a week… fucking retard! I brought a chair over because Paul told me to and anyway...Alright you two pack it in. Hussein’s alright now so no need to start pouring your hearts out to each other. Someone try calling Con again. I just did Massimo said sulkily but he weren’t answering, he must have the volume turned down on his walkie. What kind of manager fucks-off during moments like those anyway.

Another song came on the radio. Nobody recognised it. Massimo went back over to his unit as did Little Terry. Paul wiped away the circles of water left by the bottle. Hussein told Paul he was going outside to try and make a phone-call to his wife. Yeah no problem mate, take the afternoon off if you want and go get some rest. He took the lift down to the ground floor, heading for the back doors where the guards were permitted to smoke and make calls if necessary.

Outside the day was cold but bright. November. Taking his phone out from inside his blazer he unlocked the keypad to reveal the wallpaper picture he had on the screen, the one of him holding up his young daughter while she laughed playfully on his shoulders. His wife had taken the picture. He looked at it, once with his eyes, then again with his heart. The sky appeared to look as if it had just swallowed the entire sun. It wasn’t bright anymore. Lifting his eyes from the screen he put the phone back into his pocket, then after a few seconds the giant Hussein headed back up to work.