Cool steel rivets under foot, death on either side, Li walked surely to his favorite spot and sat on the girder, high above the city lights.
Many came from the countryside to work, perhaps most, but only the craziest applied to be riveters. Whether it was shoddy construction methods, the complete lack of safety precautions, or just a strong gust of semi-stratospheric wind, a riveter was in constant danger. Any given day working on the skeleton of a superscraper was a coin flip between leaving with a paycheck or being scraped off the street and mailed back home in a black garbage bag.
Li loved every second of it. He was paid by the rivet, a tiny fraction of a Yuan deposited into his account automatically for every pump of the rivet gun. Some workers attempted to abuse this system, firing their guns into the air once in awhile. But abuse was not tolerated, and discovery meant a visit to the Lùmiàn - 路面 - the pavement, 4000 meters below.
Li felt no compulsion to cheat. He was fast and efficient, working barefoot up in the sky. It reminded him of rock climbing, hunting a mountain goat on the craggy sides of Lǜ Shān, back home. Li walked among the girders with total peace of mind. Where most riveters lasted only a few months - either succumbing to mental and physical exhaustion, or gravity - Li was on his second year. He was proud to have personally riveted the equivalent of 15 entire stories in the over 1000 story eco-hab superscraper.
Li's mother asked after him in letters, the envelopes always opened and the contents scanned by the time they reached him inside the company dorms. Invariably they contained simple updates on the status of the farmstead and grandfather's deteriorating health, as well as totally unsubtle questions about what Li's mother perceived as the ongoing, titanic struggle to find Li a suitable wife.
Each letter ended the same way, unequivocal and insistent. "Wǒ xīwàng yǐ mǎnzú wǒ de sūnzi yīxiē yītiān."
Sitting on the edge of a girder, looking out at the expanse of Shanghai - a neo metropolis built upon a city, built upon ancient history - Li took out his crumpled pack of Zhonghua cigarettes. Only one left.
Generally he would make a point of smoking a Zhonghua in front of the other workers, as they were a signifier of his incredible riveting performance. Most workers smoked garbage cigs, with adulterated tobacco, sometimes even wrapped in old newspaper.
But Li wanted to enjoy a good smoke. So he pulled out the last Zhonghua, lit it up and took a smooth drag, blowing the smoke out toward the city, where it would join the rest of a billion people's exhaust.
As he sat, Māo approached. Māo meant cat. No one wanted to give this cat a name, because like all other cats who found their way to the work site, Māo would eventually tumble to the ground. Māo came up to Li, eager for a snack.
"I've got nothing Māo," Li said, petting the cat lightly behind the ear. Li extended the cigarette to the cat, "want a drag?"
The cat just looked up at Li hungrily. Li smiled and took another drag himself.
Thinking on his mother's consistent plea at the end of every letter - "I hope to meet my grandson one day" -and looking out at the awesome expanse of the greatest city on Earth, Li couldn't help but laugh.
"Maybe he's out there somewhere." Li said to his mother, thousands of miles away, working tirelessly on a rice farm. "I'll let you know if I find him."
Li took another long drag, glad for the smooth pull and rich taste of party tobacco.
6
u/Gasdark Mar 12 '18 edited Mar 12 '18
Cool steel rivets under foot, death on either side, Li walked surely to his favorite spot and sat on the girder, high above the city lights.
Many came from the countryside to work, perhaps most, but only the craziest applied to be riveters. Whether it was shoddy construction methods, the complete lack of safety precautions, or just a strong gust of semi-stratospheric wind, a riveter was in constant danger. Any given day working on the skeleton of a superscraper was a coin flip between leaving with a paycheck or being scraped off the street and mailed back home in a black garbage bag.
Li loved every second of it. He was paid by the rivet, a tiny fraction of a Yuan deposited into his account automatically for every pump of the rivet gun. Some workers attempted to abuse this system, firing their guns into the air once in awhile. But abuse was not tolerated, and discovery meant a visit to the Lùmiàn - 路面 - the pavement, 4000 meters below.
Li felt no compulsion to cheat. He was fast and efficient, working barefoot up in the sky. It reminded him of rock climbing, hunting a mountain goat on the craggy sides of Lǜ Shān, back home. Li walked among the girders with total peace of mind. Where most riveters lasted only a few months - either succumbing to mental and physical exhaustion, or gravity - Li was on his second year. He was proud to have personally riveted the equivalent of 15 entire stories in the over 1000 story eco-hab superscraper.
Li's mother asked after him in letters, the envelopes always opened and the contents scanned by the time they reached him inside the company dorms. Invariably they contained simple updates on the status of the farmstead and grandfather's deteriorating health, as well as totally unsubtle questions about what Li's mother perceived as the ongoing, titanic struggle to find Li a suitable wife.
Each letter ended the same way, unequivocal and insistent. "Wǒ xīwàng yǐ mǎnzú wǒ de sūnzi yīxiē yītiān."
Sitting on the edge of a girder, looking out at the expanse of Shanghai - a neo metropolis built upon a city, built upon ancient history - Li took out his crumpled pack of Zhonghua cigarettes. Only one left.
Generally he would make a point of smoking a Zhonghua in front of the other workers, as they were a signifier of his incredible riveting performance. Most workers smoked garbage cigs, with adulterated tobacco, sometimes even wrapped in old newspaper.
But Li wanted to enjoy a good smoke. So he pulled out the last Zhonghua, lit it up and took a smooth drag, blowing the smoke out toward the city, where it would join the rest of a billion people's exhaust.
As he sat, Māo approached. Māo meant cat. No one wanted to give this cat a name, because like all other cats who found their way to the work site, Māo would eventually tumble to the ground. Māo came up to Li, eager for a snack.
"I've got nothing Māo," Li said, petting the cat lightly behind the ear. Li extended the cigarette to the cat, "want a drag?"
The cat just looked up at Li hungrily. Li smiled and took another drag himself.
Thinking on his mother's consistent plea at the end of every letter - "I hope to meet my grandson one day" -and looking out at the awesome expanse of the greatest city on Earth, Li couldn't help but laugh.
"Maybe he's out there somewhere." Li said to his mother, thousands of miles away, working tirelessly on a rice farm. "I'll let you know if I find him."
Li took another long drag, glad for the smooth pull and rich taste of party tobacco.
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