"THE SOUND OF THE COFFIN NAILS." A SHORT PIECE.
He sat across from me in the staff canteen, out of breath, pale and wheezing.
"Are you okay?" I asked. His eyelids fluttered like grey butterfly wings, almost transparent to my own eyes.
"I'll be okay," he replied. But I wasn't convinced.
I drank some of my coffee, and he slurpped on some water, a little of the usual colour was visible in his lips, but not much.
His name was Collins. He'd only just returned back, two weeks ago, from a nine week lay-off due to a second heart-by-pass. Collins was thirty nine with almost white hair. They'd told him that he needed to lose about two stones in weight, myself and the rest of the staff were still waiting for him to make a start. They'd also advised Collins to maybe find an occupation less demanding, less involved.
Before the ambulance came for him he'd been a man with blazing eyes and an unstoppable mouth, a man to sort problems and call shots, a man eternally excavating for the truth. Returned he was now sluggish and heavy but still insistant that everything was okay, and that he'd be right as rain in no time. But everyone could see, I could see, he needed a change. The doc's were right.
Grady the boss took him back because of a long and loyal shared history, but Grady knew, he had his doubts.
Collins wiped his big head with a big white paper napkin, his eyes bugged and searching. He found a fork and shovelled some of the canteen chow into his mouth, pork something with rice.
"Maybe you shouldn't eat that man," I suggested carefully. "Maybe try the rice dish with salad."
But Collins, just like his former self was having none of it.
"Can't eat that shit man, I can't eat fucking salad, I ain't no bunny rabbit, I'm a meat eater, the way I was intended to be."
He worked at the big fatty lumps of orange coloured pork. I shook my head but he did not see me do this.
They'd trimmed his hours and we all knew why, so did Collins but he didn't dispute it. We thought he might at first but then we soon realised that he simply felt lucky to be back at work, on the job, doing the only thing he knew how to do.
Collins didn't want change, this was obvious. We all knew, even Grady, that if he carried on here he would for sure die. Grady knew this better than any of us that's why he'd trimmed the hours. But every morning at seven Collins showed up, struggled into his uniform and went about the job. Much slower, holding his chest and shaking his head and popping pills constantly, but doing the work with a stubborn grace I and the others couldn't quite comprehend.
I finished my coffee and Collins slid his licked clean plate away from his big front. He popped three pills with some orange juice and held a hand on his heart and winced. I could feel his pain too, his face told me the complete truth.
"Hey collins man why don't you just give it up? There's easier work than this shit man."
When the pain had passed his eyes slowly opened like a sleepy toads.
"Too old, been doing this too long, what else would I do anyway?" he replied with his eyes blazing like the old days. He continued to stare at me, I felt like his eyes were searching my own now for a direction in-which he should go in. But I didn't know where Collins should go, I didn't know what other work he should find, I only was sure he shouldn't be doing the kind of work he was doing.
After a good deal of time he took his gaze off me and got up. As he slowly shuffled off the works end of lunch bell sounded for the return back. I looked down at my fingers, at the dirt and wear and scars, and knew I would not be returning tomorrow, or ever again.
