They dared one another, urging speed, and every decision was weighed against the unspoken desire to make it whole in defiance of the dissolution affecting the rest of the country. They loaded the cranes with so much beam that the rear stabilizers almost left the ground. One load of beam took an hour to secure and hoist. If they piled on more, they could save days of work.

It wasn’t that they were trying to stay under budget. It was too late for that. They simply felt it, felt it needed to be done. They rushed, pushed the equipment and men to capacity, overloaded the cranes and turned on huge arc lights so the crews could work into the night. They pulled time and a half but drank up most of it as an antidote to the tensions of night work. The bar owners ignored the one o’clock closing law so when the crews checked out they could slip in the back and slump bone-weary and body-heavy in the booths. They were tired beyond anything they’d experienced except in war, but alert, strung as tight as crane cables.

On the building the usual method of communicating by hand signals was of no use at night. So they developed their own version of Morse which they beat out on the beams with their spud wrenches. The crew spoke in a metallic staccato that cut through diesel roar and hydraulic whine, above the rip of torches and grinders.

After work, in the bars, the men still didn’t talk; ordinary speech was too difficult. Instead they carried the principle of code with them. They shouted out names, buildings and dates that carried within them their own stores. Quebec Bridge, 1907! someone would shout and the rest nodded and drank. Chosa! Empire State, 1931! The bar was solemn. Then some joker yelled Lenny White-bird, Sakura Massage Parlor, 1969! They all laughed until it hurt. The list of fallen expanded to include those who got the clap.

They staggered home, or, often as not, slept in the booths until the bartender woke them with eggs and coffee. They walked out to the site again, ready to climb into the sky. One-Two, as one of the oldest, didn’t allow himself much excess after his shifts. His responsibility to his crew lasted until well after they left the rig. He kept them company at the bar for a while and even though high steel was solitary work, he left the bar alone and almost sober so he could walk home by himself. The darkened streets were what he imagined a decompression tank to be like—slowly giving him the ability to take full breaths and move unrestrictedly. He needed this time alone.