Sunday, February 6, 2011

Puppy Birthday Sayings

Factory in my last novel


With Mario, close to retirement complicit in the one lavoro di imballaggio da svolgere in coppia. Non esiste, in fabbrica, tra tutta la varietà di mansioni, una peggiore di questa. Si tratta di pezzi da assemblare a caldo, non appena la scocca viene espulsa dallo stampo, cosa che accade ogni diciannove secondi. Se il pezzo madre si fredda, i pezzi complementari non s’incastrano più e va buttato via tutto. Il feeling nella coppia è indispensabile: uno degli operai recupera la scocca dalla buca, la pulisce dalle sbavature, ci applica i componenti; l’altro insacchetta l’oggetto compiuto, una pattumiera, ci mette il bollo della garanzia e l’adesivo con l’ISBN, ogni tre sacchi chiude una scatola e la ripone sul bancale di legno, ogni sedici scatole porta via il bancale and extends another, the dealer supplies of components, raw material of the caissons of the press pad color to the hopper.
We are working for seven hours in this vortex. It still lacks. We exchange data three times, once every two hours, so now would be to Mario, to the end of the round, breaking his hand and swear to fit those pieces before mom to cool.
is exhausted. It was off the gloves, it helps with pliers, sweats es'affanna to keep pace with the car, but do not take it anymore. He has experience on his side and some tricks earned on the field, he has against age, the lungs, forearms that are no longer those of the past, the fingers anesthetized who no longer know what they touch. Her eyes shining with anger and do not know what it is less offensive, yet propose a change or let us try to the last drop.
continue my spiel pretending not to notice his discomfort. There is an air weighs between us, friendship and hatred. Then Mario does everything by itself. I think that age knows how to teach, too. Lay down the tongs and stop the press, so that seems random, but is instead in the one useful step to avoid compromising the cycle. For forty seconds could be like this, to open jaws, fuming, with nothing is not damaged and no one noticing, not even studying the numbers at the end of production. They look at me, he and the press, and I do not know which of the two appears to be less depressing. I am about to take his place, beyond the bar of steel and wood inlaid with women and football challenges, political zero. Mario takes me by the wrist and tightens. His hands are still strong, rough sounding almost comforting.
"If you do not, ask the leaders," he says. "It is unfair that you sacrifice for me."
not tell him, if not shaking in my turn his wrist orangutan, with his left hand, to ensure that the right to free me and let me hang up the job. Extension in place, I press the red button that makes restart the dance. I put on my gloves.

(from Humanity , Elliot, 2010)

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