"Think now," Deno muttered to himself, "I get ten dollars as wages, out of which five go for food. Then the cost of living. Oh, now, where will any money be left for wine?"
Deno was filling the clinker in the silo. He had somehow protected most of his body from the cement dust, but a thick crust had formed on his hair and mustache. He was too untidy to clean his nose to remove the cement scum that had hardened inside his nostrils. But the cement mixer was preparing and filling ten consignments every minute, and he had no scope to delay his action but to keep going.
Deno’s workday was eight hours, and during that time, he didn’t even get any time to clean his nose, not even once. When he was hungry and got a short break in the afternoon, he used to swallow his food in a hurry. He had hoped that he would get a chance to rest for a while in the third quarter, but when his time came, he found that the cement mixer had to be opened and fixed. By afternoon, he felt that his whole nose felt like a tube filled with cement or made of cement.
The work for the day was ending. His arms were in pain from fatigue, and he had to push hard to carry the bags. Suddenly, while picking up a bag, he saw a small wooden box covered in cement.
"What could it be?" He was curious, but the pace of work did not allow him to quell his curiosity. In a hurry, he filled the clinker in the trolley and put it in the mixing groove. Lifting the belt, he again started carrying the raw clinker. He picked up that box and put it in the pocket of his jacket.
"Hey, forget it. There is no weight in the box, so even if there was money in it, it would not be much. " Deno laughed. Even if he took a short break, he was still lagging in his work, and now he had to haul the clinker twice as fast and put it in the machine. Like a self-propelled machine, he emptied another load and started filling the material in the new slot of the silo.
In the end, the speed of the machine slowed down a bit and then stopped. It was time for Demo’s day off. He picked up the rubber hose attached to the machine and attempted to wash his face. Then he hung his breakfast box around his neck and headed toward his closet. One thought lingered in his mind, but he needed to eat first and drink some wine.
He passed in front of the powerhouse building. Its construction work was almost completed, and now they will soon get electricity from this new powerhouse. In the twilight on the distant horizon, the snow on the mountain shone brightly. Then a shiver suddenly ran through Deno’s body, and now he shivered from the cold. He looked at the river flowing along the side of the path he was walking on. A wheezing sound from under the milky foam was a sign of its speed.
Deno thought, "That’s the limit, that’s the limit! That woman is going to have a baby again!"
His attention was drawn to the six children who were wailing in his small flat. He thought at the end of the winter, the seventh child would be born in his family. He thought, why is she giving birth one after the other? Then a deep sadness spread across his face.
Then he remembered the box in his pocket. Taking out the box, he cleaned the cement by rubbing it on the back of his trousers. He saw nothing written on the box, but it was carefully sealed.
"Why would anyone want to seal such a box? Whatever it is, he seems to be fond of smoldering. "
The lid of the box did not open, even after slamming it on the roadside stone. In a fit of rage, Deno threw it on the road and began to crush it with his foot. Finally, the box broke. Seeing a piece of paper wrapped in a cloth rag, Deno picked it up and read it.
"I am Leena. I work as a laborer for this cement company. My job is to sew cement bags. I was engaged to a young man who also worked for the same company. His job was to load the stones into the grinding machine. On the morning of October last year, when he was trying to put a big load into the machine, his foot slipped in the dust and he fell into the machine along with the load.
"His coworkers tried to pull him out, but to no avail. Like a drowning man, he sank along with the stone. Along with the stones, his body also got crushed in the machine and came out the other side through a pipe that emits the crushed powder. The pink powder came out of it; this powder also reached the fine grinding mill with the help of a carrying chain and went under its steel plates. I felt as if they were reciting a prayer, even during the grinding. From there, the powder was put into the furnace. It arrived, fully ready in the form of cement.
"His bones, his flesh and blood, and his mind were all crushed to powder. Yes, my would-be husband was reduced to cement. All that was left of him was a rag made from his clothes. I carried those rags throughout the day today. I have been sitting in the area where the cement for that consignment will be filled.
I am writing this letter the very next day, after he turned into cement. When I finish it, I will put it in a bag with this consignment.
Please respond if you are a laborer.Where is the cement in this bag being used? I want to know. "
"How much cement in total was made from his body, and did they use all of it in the same place or differently? Are you a laborer or a mason?
I don’t want him to become part of the corridor of a theatre or the wall of a large building. But what can I do to prevent this from happening? If you are a laborer, don’t put this cement in such a place.
But then again, I wonder what difference it will make! Put this cement wherever you want. Wherever it is applied, it will do its job diligently. I know he was noble and honest and completed his work wherever his fate would take him.
"He had a soft heart, but at the same time, he was strong and courageous, still very young. He was just 25 years old. I didn’t even get a chance to know how much he loved me and now I am shrouded in him. What a shroud. He is now a bag of cement. Instead of being cremated, he was thrown into the furnace. But how will I get to his grave to say goodbye? Because how can I know where he will be buried?
East or west, far or near? That’s why I want you to answer this letter. If you are a laborer, then you will answer, won’t you? And in return, I give you a piece of the cloth from his dress. Yes, of course. This is the piece around which the letter is wrapped. The slag of his flash, the sweat of his body-all is in this cloth. Oh, how tight his collar was! Is that collar still there in this cloth? What is left now?
Will you do this favor for me? I know I am putting a lot of burden on you, but I request that you tell me on which day this cement was used, where it was used, and its exact address. And write your name and address too. And now you, too, remain careful and take care of yourself, won’t you?"
Beno once again felt the noise of children following him. Once again, he read the name and address at the end of the letter, and in one gulp, he emptied the cup of wine he had just bought.
"I’ll get drunk!"
His wife said, "So you have the convenience of getting drunk? And what about the children? "
Deno looked at his wife’s belly and thought about his soon-to-be-born child.