"Robert F. Young - Project Hi-Rise" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

that time the drinks were coming pretty fast, and an argument had broken out down the bar between one
of the bricklayers and one of the brickmakers about the free foot-clinic. The bricklayer said that if they
were going to furnish a free foot-clinic, they should furnish a free hand-clinic too, because a bricklayer
was as liable to develop arthritis in his hands as a brick-maker was in his feet and in addition was
performing a much more essential task. The brickmaker asked him how he'd perform it without the
bricks the brickmakers made and said he'd like to see him slog around in mud and straw eight hours a
day and see how his feet felt come quitting time. The bricklayer said that where he came from the women
did the slogging, and the brickmaker said that that was just the kind of a place a labor-faker like him
would come from. Somebody broke it up just in time.
Not long afterward I left. I didn't want to be hung-over on my first spell of picket duty. It was a cool
night, and the stars were thick in the sky. I caught glimpses of the Project as I made my way home
through the narrow streets. It dominates the whole city. The whole Plain, for that matter. It had sort of a
pale, blurred look in the starlight, the six completed stages blending together, the uncompleted seventh
one softly serrated against the night sky. Working on it every day, I've kind of forgot how high it is, how
much higher it's going to be when we get back on the job. The highest thing ever, they say. I won't
dispute that. It makes a palm tree look like a blade of grass and a man look like an ant. Looking at it
tonight, I felt proud to be one of the builders. It was as though I'd built the whole thing myself. That's the
way a bricklayer feels sometimes. It's really great. I feel sorry for brick-makers. You'd never catch me
slogging all day in a mud hole.

Picket duty wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. There's been some talk about the Company hiring
scabs, but I guess that's all it is тАФ talk. Anyway, nobody tried to get in. Not that they'd have succeeded
if they had. The setup is ideal for picketing. You'd almost think the Company had built the wall around
the Project to make it easy for strikers to picket the place, come strike time, instead of to keep people
from stealing bricks. The gate's pretty wide, of course, but four pickets can guard it easily, and the wall's
high enough to discourage anybody from trying to scale it.
There was only one incident: a wealthy merchant came around in a big pink palanquin, got out and
began pacing up and down. He didn't say anything тАУ just kept looking up at that half-finished seventh
stage and shaking his head. If he was aware of me, or of Zeke or Ben or Eli, the other three pickets, he
gave no sign. Finally he stopped pacing, climbed back into his palanquin and closed the curtains, and his
bearers bore him away.

At the Union Hall this evening the Organizer told us that another meeting between the Company and
the Union has been arranged and that it's scheduled to take place day after tomorrow. This time, there's
going to be a Mediator present тАФone that the King himself appointed. Maybe now we'll get somewhere.
I hope so. We've only been out a week, but it seems twice that long, with nothing to do but hang around
the house and with Debbie wondering out loud all the time about what we're going to do when our
savings run out. To tell the truth, I'm kind of worried myself. Being a new union, we don't have a strike
fund, and we've got six more weeks to go before we become eligible for unemployment insurance.
Meanwhile, the bills keep coming in.

The second meeting is to take place this afternoon. All of us have our fingers crossed.
I drew picket duty again this morning. Ike picketed with me, having arranged it with the Organizer to
change places with Ben. With my old buddy to talk to, time went by fast.
Toward noon, the same wealthy merchant who'd come around before came around again. After
climbing out of his palanquin, he started pacing up and down the way he'd done on his first visit; only this
time instead of looking up at the half-finished seventh stage and shaking his head, he kept glancing
sideways at Ike and Eli and Zeke and me. Finally he singled me out and came over to where I was
standing, shooting the breeze with Ike. He had pink cheeks, with jowls to match, and a big blunt nose.
You only had to take one look at his hands to know he'd never done a lick of work in his life.