13. He meets the shadowy dock man.

The two men made it back to the engine to find that Bobby was gone. They started getting tools out, Roy working like a surgeon arranging them just right in the order he knew they would be using them and the lad just following along and moving things out of Roy’s way. When they were finished, they sat on the tool boxes and lit cigarettes. They smoked in silence, Roy wiping sweat from his face with a bandanna. From above, sounds were heard coming from the galley. “Sounds like Bobby has a batch of iced tea going,” Roy observed. The lad nodded and continued smoking, casually observing more of the engine room. The relative quiet of the engine room was shattered by the sound of a dog from the galley’s watertight door being slammed open, the weight of Bobby stepping onto the fidley, and the door being slammed shut again. The entire disturbance was finished with a single bang of the dog being roughly slammed into place. Bobby came down the stairs at a good pace, his feet turning the metal steps into gongs as they struck. He hit the engine room’s deck plates with a bang and turned immediately to the lad.

“Go find Tommy,” he commanded, “and tell him we need ten gallons of that VARSOL he has stashed. And no bullshit. I know he has some and I’ll come up and get it myself if he doesn’t give it to you. Tell him that.”

“Ok,” the lad responded. “Where do I find Tommy?”

“I said ‘Go. Find. Him’, “Bobby growled. “If I knew where the fuck he was, I’d a told you where to go, wouldn’t I?”

The lad looked at him for only a second and then started up the stairs to the dock. What an asshole. This guy is going to need to calm down if we’re to get along. He considered, too, that Bobby was going to have to see that he was no idiot. To be fair, if engineer Bobby thought he was at all like deckhand Bobby, then maybe he was being tough to make sure he was understood. The lad relaxed and set out to do his first task.

He went back to the forward bitt where they had boarded earlier and made the high step up the cap rail of the bulwarks. One more step and he was on the dock barge. He stopped to look around. The place looked deserted. He walked toward the gang plank leading to the driveway, picking his way around the many pieces of scrap metal, and fittings that littered the dock. He went up the gang plank with long deliberate steps. When he got to the top, he stopped once more to look for his next waypoint. Movement caught his eye. It wasn’t really anything but smoke coming from the open doors of an old shipping container. He carefully stepped up until he could see that two men were sitting inside of it, one on an old metal bucket and the other on an empty line spool. Both were smoking cigarettes, conversing quietly.

He stepped into their view and they both looked up at the same time. One of them, the one on the metal bucket he recognized as the shadowy man that hung around the fire the first day he came to the tugs. He was staring at the lad with narrowed eyes and it gave the lad the same uncomfortable feeling he had that day. The other man sat on the rope spool and smiled at the lad with a broad, gap-toothed smile, almost hidden by the bushy mustache that was as gray as the hair that hung long from under his ball cap. His face was youthful though. The lad was surprised to see the gray hair on such a young looking face.

“What can we do for you, young man?” the friendly man asked.

“You Tommy?”

“I’m Tommy.”

“Well. Bobby sent me up to get a couple of cans of VARSOL from you.”

“He did?” Tommy teased, almost singing the question. “What if I tell you to tell the fat prick that I don’t have any.”

The lad dropped his head for just a split second, the first hint of frustration showing early in the conversation. “Look. He knows you have it and he’s been a real ass so far. I really need to come back with some, or it isn’t gonna go well for me. You have some, right?”

“Yeah, I do. Take it easy. I wouldn’t mess with you too long.” He stood up while taking a last long pull off his cigarette, snubbing it out on the container wall by the time he was upright. The lad could see he was a tall guy. “I have it in another container. C’mon. We’ll get it.” Now the little quiet man stood up too and followed Tommy out of the container.

“Don’t let Bobby push you around,” he said to the lad as he passed him. The lad followed the quiet man toward the container as Tommy led. He continued, “Bobby thinks he’s hot shit because he worked for a big diesel company before this but he get a check every Friday the same as all us. If the old man told you to help with that engine, you do that and you’ll do good. Bobby can’t do a thing about it. They ain’t his engines.”

The lad was relieved that the skinny guy was talking to him at all. He jogged a step or two to catch up and held out his hand. “I’m…..”

“I know who you are,” the skinny man said without looking at the lad’s hand. “I’m Bridges. Donny Bridges. I work up on the dock if you need anything from around there.”

“Ok,” replied the lad. “Thanks.” He was starting to realize that Bobby wasn’t well liked by too many so far.

They reached the container where the paints and liquid goods were kept. Tommy went inside and when he returned, he was carrying in each hand a round five gallon can. He set them down in front of the lad and then closed up the container. He and Donny wished the lad a good rest of the day and walked away, headed up the dirt road toward the office. The lad watched them for a few seconds and then bent to pick up the cans of solvent.

He walked the other way down the road back to the dock. The cans weren’t heavy but the thin, formed metal handles were digging into his fingers. He set them down for a bit to give his fingers a chance to recover some circulation, wishing he had a pair of gloves, but items like these were not to found at this outfit. He would try to remember to buy pair. Picking up the cans, he headed towards the tug, stopping only once more until he arrived at the edge of the dock where he made the step down to the boat carrying one can on his shoulder and holding on for balance to the dock and boat with his free hand. He left the cans on deck and headed down to the engine room.

Work had already begun on the engine. There were parts obviously missing and with Roy on one side of the engine, Bobby on the other, more were coming off as the two men tinkered meticulously.

Bobby heard the lad’s footfalls on the ladder and turned. “Get it?”

The lad nodded. Bobby stopped his work and waved him down. He took the lad over to a tub made from the bottom of an old oil drum which had been cut off neatly with a torch. He instructed the lad to pour the solvent into this drum and to begin cleaning the parts that were starting to pile up beside the tub. He was actually very patient while he showed the lad the scrapers, picks, and brushes that he could use to do the job.

But he made one thing very clear. This was as good as it was going to get during the first half of the engine repair. If he wasn’t up to it, to let him know now so they could get some other help.

“I can’t clean parts if we just stand here talking,” the lad responded with a smile. With that, he set to work.

12. He moves toward the engine room.

The next morning, the lad returned to the yard in daylight during what could be known as regular working hours. This time, the gate was open and there were more cars parked down the dirt driveway. He knew where he was going today, getting straight out of his car and heading toward the dock. He walked down the plank to the dock barge and saw the little boat he had worked on and the bigger tug tied up to a berth on the end of the barge. There was a group of men, four of them, standing by the bigger tug, talking. He stopped to see what was happening. He recognized the old man from yesterday but the other three men were strangers to him.

“Real sharp crew there,” came a voice from behind him. He turned around. It was Bobby who had climbed up to the dock from the little tug. He had the same disheveled look as he did yesterday and it appeared that he still had on the same clothes too.

“Yeah,” answered the lad. “What’s going on?”

“They’re talking about fixing that junk pile. C’mon. Let’s go check it out.”

Bobby headed for the end of the dock and the lad followed. They got to the end of the dock where the group of men was and they stopped, lit cigarettes, and watched from a few feet away. The old man was talking to a heavier middle aged man that the lad now recognized as the engineer, “Mr. Mechanic” as Bobby had called him, from the bigger boat. The other two he was certain he didn’t know. One was another middle aged man, skinny as a rail, his face rugged from years in the sun. The other was a man in uniform looking work clothes, complete with a name tag over his pocket but the lad couldn’t make out the embroidered script. He wore glasses and was looking directly at the engineer, watching him as he talked to the old man. It was obvious that the conversation was between those two.

The engine was in bad shape. The work needed to be done in a hurry. There was a big trip coming up. The job couldn’t be done half-assed unless the old man wanted to have to do the job again soon. Of course they all knew how important this was. The engineer was hired to perform just such an important job. The old man realized this and was only trying to look out for the company. Nothing was implied by his concerns. The mechanic agreed with everyone. The craggy faced man was silent during the whole conversation. It sounded like a plan of action had been formed. Then the engineer said, “If we’re gonna finish on time, I’ll need more help.”

The old man looked around at all of the men on the dock, Bobby and the lad included. “Here,” he said. “Take this young man,” pointing at the lad. “Get that engine fixed.” With that he hobbled away, back to the office. The lad watched him as he made his way up the stout boards that formed a gangway from the dock barge to the land. He forgot about the other men as he wondered what could have happened to the old man that gave him such a bad limp. When the old man reached his truck, the lad turned back to the two men near him.

The engineer had his arms folded across his chest, his forearms resting on the ample belly that stretched the fabric of his t-shirt. He was speaking to the mechanic in hushed tones and nodding his head when the mechanic spoke back to him. Every now and then he shifted his eyes to glance over at the lad. This made him a little nervous but he continued to wait for an indication that they were going to move. After a minute or two more, the men turned and walked toward the boat. He wasn’t sure what to do now and as he was about to move toward them, the engineer turned and with a bit of irritation in his tone asked, “Comin’?” The lad was now certain he was needed and quickened his pace.
They all went to the edge of the dock barge and one by one step down to the cap rail of the tug’s waist and then made a second step to the main deck. Each step down was at least two feet and the lad was thinking how badly it could hurt if one misjudged the distance and took a fall. They all walked single file toward the stern and turned at the end of the deck house. The lad stopped for after he turned to look at the large winch that was now visible. It was considerably larger then the one on the small boat- as tall as he was with a diesel engine mounted ahead of it to drive the big drum of wire. He was impressed but soon realized that the other two men had disappeared into a watertight door. He quickly followed.

Inside the door, he found himself walking on the grating of the fidley through which he could see a large yellow engine, and with a glance to his right he could look through the open space to the other. Ahead was another door but the group turned right, continuing on the grating walkway to a short flight of stairs leading down to the lower engine room. The engine room was larger than the one on the little tug. There was about 5 feet between the two engines and plenty of room to walk around the generator engines. The whole room was no bigger than a large living room. It was dimly lit as the only lights were ancient incandescent fixtures that cast a yellowed tint on everything. The maze of pipes and wires clinging to the bulkheads cast eerie shadows and it didn’t help that the lower half of the bulkheads were painted the same dark red as the peeling paint on the diamond plate decks. The upper half was so dingy with oily soot residues that it barely resembled the white paint that was put there originally. On the forward bulkhead was another watertight door with a step up to it. He wanted to see this.

The mechanic and the engineer weren’t even paying attention to him so he put his hands on the combing of the door and eased his head into the room. TO his right were two big air compressors and on his left was a large tank to receive the pressurized air these produced. The room had a set of deep shelves dividing it into another section where a workbench was mounted. All over the bulkheads were gaskets and belts hanging from random pieces of metal, bolts, and makeshift hooks put in place to serve this function. The shelves were piled with boxes and bags and loose parts. Every square inch of space was occupied by a tool, or a part, or a piece of scrap rope. Even the angle iron in the overheads had long pieces of stock lashed in them. On the forward bulkhead of this room, he saw a door similar to the one he was peering through but it was closed. Next to it was a small chest freezer. He would have liked to walk in and peek inside but this looked like a personal item. It had more to do with the life of the tug than its work. He let it go and turned toward the two men, still talking about the engine.

The starboard engine was obviously the one that was ailing. Both men were looking at it, the mechanic rubbing the sides of his chin with a thumb and forefinger, the engineer resting his crossed arms on the shelf of his belly. How long can they talk about this thing? The lad was asking this as he examined the engine on his own. He had never paid much attention to the diesel engines he had previously run across but he could from this one that the basic parts were not much different from the gas engines of the beat up cars he had nursed along over the years. Even for this engine’s considerably larger size it wasn’t difficult to recognize the parts that resembled those of a car.

“You know what you’re looking at?” The engineer was talking to the lad now. The lad looked over and saw that the engineer was waiting for an answer.

“I have an idea. I won’t say I know much about it yet until I know what I’m supposed to do for you.”

“You’re supposed to do what I say, when I say to do it. You don’t need to know anything except that. If the old man thinks you’ll be of some help to us, fine. He might know about deck hands but I know about engines and I don’t know any deck hands that will do the bull work around them.” His tone wasn’t friendly at all and the lad knew he was up against a challenging individual here. He wanted so much to fire back a smart response to the fat man’s remarks but he curbed himself.

“Well?” he started, “We’re not gonna know standing around here. What do you need first?”

The engineer snorted. “Hmmph. Follow this man here and hump his tools down from the truck.”

The lad looked at the mechanic who gave a slight smile and started toward the stairs up to the main deck. The lad followed. They made their way to an old white pickup with work boxes on the back and the mechanic turned to the lad. “Sorry about Bobby. He doesn’t get much help around here. I’m Roy. I have a business up in town- come down to help the old man every now and then.”

The lad shook Roy’s hand. “Bobby might get more help if he weren’t such a hard ass.”

“Yeah. I know,” said Roy who was pulled tool boxes and work bags off of the truck. “He’s not too bad a guy once you get to know him some. Give him a chance.”

“He’s not the one who needs the chance around here, though.” The lad was grinning when he said that. Roy grinned back.

“If you can just try to keep up, you’ll do better than the last ones. Let’s get these down there and give you that chance.”

The lad swung a heavy metal tool box up onto his shoulder and picked up a canvas work bag with his other hand. “I’ll take any he gives me.”

Away to the engine room they trudged under their burdens. The lad was getting another start.