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.