A Gift in the Dark

The Loneliness of the Tower Crane Driver

The Loneliness of the Tower Crane Driver

The short balding man in the group of three was getting more and more agitated as the conversation progressed. A large man in a hard hat, faded jeans and stained fluorescent vest stood nearby, but it was the impassivity of the tall man in his pin-striped suit and shiny new fluorescent jacket that appeared to be doing little to help the situation.

The shorter of the three men hefted his small bag of site gear and continued rancorously. "But I don't want to retire Mr Blackiston: it's my life, you see? I've been on this crane for 20 odd years now."

"Calm down, Charlie," said the foreman. "We're suggesting you could benefit from a job a little closer to the ground is all. Take it easy there's a good lad."

"I don't want to calm down," said Charlie. "Gloria is my crane. You know I'm the best crane driver you've got. You know it!"

"Yeah, I know Charlie. Listen, you get up there and start work. I'll talk to Mr Blackiston and see what we can sort out, eh?"

"Right, you see that you do. Those slabs need moving, and I need to get those pallets of tiles shifted too." Charlie glared at the still impassive Mr Blackiston and muttered his way towards the yellow tower on top of which he would spend the rest of the day.

As Charlie moved monkeylike up the long succession of rungs to his little cabin, the foreman and his shiny boss walked towards the site offices.

"He's got to go, John. He's well past retirement, he's got a dodgy hip, and he doesn't take orders."

"He does if you ask him correctly, Augustus," noted the foreman. "Besides, he could set a pallet load of fine china down on a windy day and not even make it clink. He's never ever dropped anything, bashed anyone or even had a day off sick in living memory. Hell, I can't even remember the last day he had for a holiday. Even the hip doesn't seem to slow him down much."

"Hmm. Perhaps he's due a break then. A long one."

As the two men moved toward the site offices, the crane known as Gloria crept into life above them, the long boom moving above the site transporting materials to the right positions to allow the latest block of ugly flats to be constructed in the centre of town.

"It's not right," muttered Charlie, "not right at all".

A pallet of bricks slotted neatly into place on top of a scaffold between a pallet of tiles and a sleeping brickie who didn't even stir as it landed next to him.

"How dare he. I'm old, not past it."

Charlie lifted the pallet again and gently nudged the chair of the sleeping man to wake him up, setting it down again as the brickie jerked into wakefulness.

"Thanks Charlie," came a voice over the radio. "Just the job."

"Yeah I know," said the imp who sat on Charlie's knee. "We've made a good team for too long for it to be broken up now. Honestly, can they take any longer to get those strops off that pallet? Ah, there they go: tiles next, Charlie."

"All right, all right, I'm on it." The boom moved again and a builder waved the hooks towards the ready roped pallet of tiles.

After a few minutes, the imp finally broached the subject of the earlier conversation "Charlie. Do you want to retire?"

Charlie looked at the tiny green figure of his friend of 20 years.

"No," he said. "I'd miss you. You know you're the only real friend I've got. Marjorie died so long ago now, and we never had kids. Besides you know you can't leave Gloria. Would you mind if I stayed a little longer?"

The imp known as Fitzt grinned a wide smile full of pointy teeth.

"As long as you keep feeding me peanut butter sandwiches, we'll be cool. Ah, talking of which I think that was the lunch horn! I'd do anything for a peanut butter sandwich."

As the fading notes of the horn drifted across the site, Fitzt shinned up a piece of string hanging from the roof and tuned in the radio to the lunchtime discussion on Radio 2, while Charlie placed a carefully trimmed peanut butter sandwich on his knee and opened his flask.

"Don't worry little friend, we'll sort out something."

"Aye, we will," said Fitzt landing next to his sandwich.

That afternoon, the foreman moved towards the base of Gloria. Charlie had radioed from on high to say the motors powering the crane had blown a fuse, leaving a collection of scaffolding boards swaying in the breeze some ten metres above the site. As a precaution, the foreman had made sure all of the personnel working in the area were well out of the way and had put up some metal pins with CAUTION tape stretched between them flickering in the wind. Charlie was making his way down the iron rungs, whistling cheerfully to himself as he made his way to the stores to collect a spare fuse.

"Hi Charlie," he said as he reached ground level. "Have you got a minute?"

Charlie's rendition of Sweet Home Alabama stopped abruptly and his face clouded as he remembered the conversation from earlier in the day.

"No. I'm not leaving Gloria," he said stubbornly. His gaze flicked over John's shoulder to where the pin-striped figure was making his way towards the two men. "I'm not!" he shouted with tears starting to form in his eyes, "and you can't make me."

John stepped towards him and rested his hand on his shoulder.

"Come on Charlie, we've got to talk this through. We can't..." his words trailed off as there was a sudden shout from one of the other workmen on the site. He turned and swore as he realised his boss had walked over one of the fallen pins as plastic CAUTION tape fluttered around him.

"For God's sake, his bloody jacket's blinded him to the obvious," he muttered as he moved to intercept him.

Charlie angrily rubbed his eyes with his hands. As he did, a movement in the corner of his eye made him look up. Grinning a huge toothy grin, Fitzt was spidering down the cable towards the hanging load of boards. Within seconds, the spiky teeth were making short work of something other than a sandwich.

"Wait!" shouted Charlie, and John stopped looking back over his shoulder.

"John, look out!" Boards splintered, tumbled and arranged themselves untidily on the ground narrowly missing the foreman who sprawled in the mud.

"Oh God, are you okay, are you okay?" Charlie asked as he helped him to his feet.

"I... I think so. You saved my life. Thank you." Charlie beamed at John, but his face turned ashen as he looked towards the now supine figure behind him.

A crowd was gathered around the pile of wood as John and Charlie pushed their way through. An expensive pin-striped suit ended at the neck as expected, but so did the body contained within it.

A few weeks later, once the safety people had finished working out what had gone on and the site had re-opened, Charlie opened his lunchbox and handed Fitzt a sandwich.

"I thought you might like to try cheese and pickle for a change."

Fitzt chewed for a few moments, and grinned in delight.

"I like it. But, on reflection I prefer peanut butter. I'd kill for a peanut butter sandwich...."

~~~ The End ~~~