Hunched on his knees in front of the three-foot coal seam, Buddy was lost in the back-and-forth rhythm of the truck mine's relay: the glitter of coal and sandstone in his cap light, the setting and lifting and pouring into the cart that carried the stuff to the mouth of the mine. This was nothing like shaft mining, no deep tunnels or up-and-down man-trips, only the setting, lifting, pouring, only the rumbling of the relay cart and the light-flash from caps in the relay. In the pace of work, he daydreamed his father lowering him into the cistern: many summers ago he touched the cool tile walls, felt the moist air from the water below, heard the pulley squeak in the circle of blue above. The tin of the well-pail buckled under his tiny feet, and he began to cry. His father hauled him up. "That's the way we do it," he said, laughing, and carried Buddy to the house.
But that came before everything; before they moved from the ridge, before the big mine closed, before welfare. Now, at the far end of the relay, the men were quiet, and Buddy wondered if they thought of stupid things. From where he squatted he could see the gray grin of light at the mouth of the truck mine, the March wind spraying dust into little clouds. The half-ton relay cart was full now, and the last man in the relay shoved it toward the chute at the mine-mouth on two-by-four tracks.
"Take a break" came from the opening, and as he set his shovel aside to rise from where he knelt at the coal face, Buddy saw his cousin Curtis start through the mine-mouth. Curtis was dragging a poplar post behind him as he crawled past the relay cart toward the face. Buddy watched while Curtis worked the post upright from the floor to catch the weight of the ceiling. It was too short, and Curtis hammered wedges in to tighten the fit.
"Got it?" Buddy asked.
"Hell no, but she looks real pretty."
Estep, Buddy's sidekick, grunted a laugh. "Damn seam's gettin' too deep. Ain't nothin' but coal in this here hole. When are we gonna hit gold?"
Buddy felt Estep's cap light on his face and turned toward it. Estep was grinning, a purple fight cut oozing through the dust and sweat on his cheek.
"Chew?" Estep held out his pouch, and Buddy took three fingers before they leaned against each other, back to back, stretching their legs, working their chews.
"Face is a-gettin' pretty tall," Estep said. Buddy could feel the voice in his back.
"The same thing's happenin' up Storm Creek," he said, pulling up his sagging kneepads.
"Curt," Buddy shouted, "when'd they make a core sample on this ridge?"
"Hell's bells, I don't know," Curtis said, trying to work in another wedge.
"Musta been sixty years ago," Estep said. "Recollect yer grandaddy shootin' at 'em. Thought they's Philadelfy law'ers."
"Yeah," Buddy said, laughing as he remembered the tales.
From near the opening, where the rest of the relay gathered for air, came a high-pitched laugh, and Buddy's muscles went tight.
"One a-these day I'm gonna wring that Fuller's neck," Buddy said, spitting out the sweet tobacco juice.
"What he said still eatin' at ya?"
"He ain't been worth a shit since he got that car."
"It's Sally, ain't it?"
"Sally?" Buddy said. "Naw, let'er go. Worthless ..."
The group laughed again, and a voice said, "Ask Buddy."
"Ask 'im what?" Buddy shined his light along the row of dirty faces; only Fuller's was wide with a grin.
"Is Sal goin' back to whorin'?" Fuller said, smiling.
"God damn you," Buddy said, but before he could get up, Estep hooked both his elbows in Buddy's, and Fuller laughed at his struggle. Curtis scrambled back and grabbed Buddy's collar.
"I reckon you all rested 'nough," Curtis shouted, and when they heard coal rattling down from the bin to the truck at the mine-mouth, they picked up their shovels, got into line.
Buddy loosened, giving in to Curtis and Estep. "Tonight at Tiny's," he shouted at Fuller.
Fuller laughed.
"Shut up," Curtis said. "You and Estep work the face."
Estep let go, and they crawled to the coal face and picked up the short-handled spades. The face had already heightened to four feet, and both men could now work on their knees, stretching up to knock sparkling chunks into the pile, pushing it back for the relay.
"Bet this whole damn ridge is a high seam."
"Make it worth more than ten swats a day."
"By God," Buddy said, and as he dug, wondered if the extra money would make Sally stay. Remembering Fuller, he hit the face harder, spraying coal splinters into the air.
Estep stopped digging, and ran a dirty sleeve across one eye. Buddy was coughing in a raspy wheeze, flogging coal to his feet. "Stop killin' snakes—throwin' stuff in my eyes," Estep called out.
Buddy stopped digging. Estep's voice washed over his anger, leaving him small and cold in the glint of the coal face, yet bold and better than Estep or Fuller.
"Sorry, it's just I'm mad," he said between coughs.
"Get yer chance tonight. C'mon, pace off—one-two ..."
Together they added speed and threw the relay back into rhythm. The chink of spades and scrape of shovels slipped into their muscles until only the rumble of the return truck could slow them. The seam continued to rise where it should have faulted, and they could rise to their feet while they dug toward the thin gray line of the ceiling.
"Get some picks," Buddy said, grinning.
"Naw, needs shorin' yet."
Curtis slipped through the relay to the face, his light showing through the dust in up-down streams. When he got down to Buddy and Estep, they leaned against the sidewalls to give him room, and he stuck a pocket level to the ceiling, watching as the bubble rose toward the face.
"Knock off till Monday," he said. "We ain't got the timbers fer this here."
YOU ARE READING
The Hollow
Teen Fiction"Hunched on his knees in front of the three-foot coal seam, Buddy was lost in the back-and-forth rhythm of the truck mine's relay: the glitter of coal and sandstone in his cap light, the setting and lifting and pouring into the cart that carried the...
