They Will Not Return And when I saw the white blazes raining down covering over the lily fields of Victoria and Ellsburg, when the flaming figures danced with each other and fell down in the grass razor sharp and tall, I knew then that they would not return, "the company men drew us, many others from all over, they promised steady work, but flexible, you could come and go as needed." they will not return those great figures of presentiquity of common homes and common thoughts and common dreams, they will not return to us Amy and Richard and John daughter and son and father, husband the ones who saw another world who believed in kinship beyond oceans and marched in Spanish battalions of spirits and love, who ate brisket and tidied their rooms and swept clean the wooden porch, they will not return and the others are following too Amy pulled on my skirt, said “Mom, hold me,” her fingers were colored grey, her eyes were running, I lifted her up. “Papa is coming,” she said. it was only past noon. John was still working. “Papa is coming? Do you see Papa?” I asked. I peered up the road but no one was there. I stepped off the porch and turned on the hose. “Clean off your hands, baby.” large flies circled around us, the air dense with moisture. “It won’t come off, Mom.” then I heard the gravel shuffling from down the driveway. “John?” the smell of a stagnant pond reached me before he did. "Em, something happened," he said. the local newspaper shut down just when we moved here. people said it used to be pretty good. no one’s come to talk to us before. we started a little group to see about compensation ‘cause all the company did was give towards some people’s funeral costs, and even then it wasn’t everyone. Investigation found: John Macomb, 41 Employed by Beinhardt, subsidiary of the Marshall Valley Auth., 3yrs. One of 26 onsite during incident to survive. “We came over from Kansas after we lost the house. Been here four years now.” worlds turned on impossible axes, what they were digging into they did not know John Macomb, his eyes, hazel and dim, stood weak in the kitchen, shaking and thin, “Someone came knocking at our door actually. Said that there was work to be had in the fields. We were still new to the valley and I hadn’t found a job yet. I have a responsibility for the kids, for Em. I didn’t want what happened in Kansas to happen again. We needed stability.” Report notes: During regular digging, shortly after lunch break, unknown substance incapacitated dozens of workers. The initially exposed could not be resuscitated. Workers who attempted to rescue downed personnel also suffered from acute asphyxiation. Emergency services immediately phoned but first responders did not have required safety gear to access the site. Only those who immediately evacuated survived. Many large sinkholes have opened up in the fields. Foreman on duty was not on site at the time of incident. Company claims that workers did not follow proper safety procedures. From the official testimony – “I saw a man, last name Dean, from the Dakotas, he was standing right next to me and he tripped, and then he just wan’t there anymore. It was that quick.” “Mr. Macomb, have you witnessed any other similar incidents?” “Not so bad as that. People get hurt while digging. Really it’s the odor that’s been making people sick." “Odor?” “Yes, sir.” “What is the odor?” “Well, I don’t know how to call it. But it comes from the ground, from the digging. It’s hanging over the town still. People have been getting headaches. And our water tastes funny.” “You’ve worked in the fields for how long, Mr. Macomb?” “About three years.” “Have you gotten sick?” “I’ve lost weight.” danger close, people say, a crying shame, women gently wept in the public viewing gallery, “That’s a hard thing that he’s doing,” Thomas told me. “I’m glad that John is the one spearheading this effort.” "The field crews have always been paid per foot of ground covered. So there's always been this incentive to work fast. And it's only gotten worse since they've cut back on crew numbers, but they still expect the same amount of progress." the company looms, looms over them like the shadow of god's own mountain, just as enduring and just as capricious “Mr. Macomb, we have a signed letter, or contract, rather, with your name on it, among others, which releases the company, Beinhardt, from the duty to indemnify worker claims not made in a timely manner through the standard, required arbitration process.” “We are looking for –” “And you are now part of a group represented by an outside organization that is attempting to profit by these people’s deaths at the expense of the company.” “The group is trying to –” "Beinhardt has already made payments to the families of those affected that day, correct?" "That's correct." “And the company has shut down excavating at the Marshall site, now operating at a loss as I understand it. A hardship it would be to bleed them out further.” “Sir, we are not –” “Now I move that this committee come to a decision on whether or not to go forward with an inquiry on this today. More witnesses will not be necessary.” “Sir, we need help –” “Mr. Macomb, thank you –” “And that’s what we’re trying to get.” “Thank you –” “People are still dying.” “Thank you for travelling all this way, Mr. Macomb. Thank you for your time today.” does Gates know what is happening under his thumb? have the Carnegie structures finally all succumbed, burned to the ground? the gilded now don’t pretend, sucking on bones, thieves keep thief friends from thieving alone who eats in the garden? who washes with lye? who will care for you dear? John Macomb and most others, they worked in those fields six days a week, breathing. men or women, muscle and blood, it didn’t matter, they’re not coming back, those who were left had a lingering death our house was so close to the site. Richard was always smaller but he took ill and got pale, real skinny. he got sores on his hands and face. who christened the workers hands? who sang them to sleep? they will not return to before the matchbox ran out before the fields opened up devouring them whole, before Kansas was lost and our children cried, why? before I knew you, love, when the warm nights were dreadfully long Richard found this note on John's desk - this letter, love, is late and inadequate, I wanted so to just carry on, to watch over Amy and Richard, but by and by, love, they took our country, they repossessed our home where our children’s feet first walked, they fed us to cannons, made us tear open the fields and blister the valleys as the earth cried and forbade, I knew not what we did, and once we were spent, each of us, no matter the color, were all turned to crystal white ash as the remaining tossed us to the wind. is this the good fight, Em? it was not I who widowed you that day we kissed goodbye in our doorway, it was this whole damned racket, the whole thing. don’t let them tell you different, don’t think different, Em. I’m sorry I ever brought that stench in our house. would you say yes to our marriage again? I wanted so to just take care of us. to build something new from the cards we’d been dealt. I did what I could. we did what we could. they will not return, they will not return, we killed them, said Thomas, we lost them, said Anne, if it wasn’t for Beinhardt, if it wasn’t for the recession, if it wasn’t for the gas that filled up our lungs, that snuck in our homes, our water still tastes of metal and stone maybe ghosts drive home at night bugs on their windshields, maybe the fields will never cough up their secrets no matter how much we dig they will not return, the many millions cast into the breach into the boundless anonymity of time, wrenched from the little fingers of their children, the warming arms of their beloveds, they will not return to the towns of Gary or Madison or Spektor, to gay scenes both real and imagined, to letters fashioned and a noose made tight, to scouting and swimming and eating berries from the vine maybe our next house will last a long time, built with concrete and mud and never financialized I've had dreams of searching for you, John, wondering where you were, I couldn't find you they will not return to us here, today slept on the floor, ironed out and waiting on their clipper ships run ashore, return to me now John, remember you when your hands had not touched that noxious poison our daughter is dancing with Autumn leaves brown and orange from the charnel house of the Marshall Valley blue flowers sprouted and reached up to passing sky vultures, the flaming figures now grass, the earth scarred but closed, Englishmen prettying themselves in halls far away, reddening their cheeks with the blood of Macomb and kin.
Glad to have stumbled across this through Freddie DeBoer's subscriber writing. Loved it.
Thank you thank you!