“It’s too heavy, sir,” he replied.
“No, you’re just too light, son,” Purdue sighed. “Wait, I’m coming up there with you.”
Purdue climbed up the thick iron poles and their solid wooden cross beams until he reached the young man on the top platform. They were trying to erect an antique cross pillar of granite and mortar, with copper inlays forming various symbols, medals, and lettering. It was a marvelous replica of the famed First World War monument, the War of Independence Victory Column, a prominent Estonian memorial. Purdue had procured it through a private seller, Jari Koivusaari, from Finland, who claimed to have known the sculptor who made the replica and inherited it when the artist passed away.
Standing at 25 yards, it was no idle feat to transport it through Edinburgh the day before, which was why Purdue had chosen a Sunday evening for this effort. Apart from hiring a driver for a huge Oshkosh specialty truck on loan from a professor friend at the British Museum, Purdue also supervised the delivery to the precise spot on his property where he wanted the impressive cross. But being a man who did not waste a moment waiting for anything, Purdue soon felt compelled to erect the thing, regardless of the hazard factor. And this was how poor Franz came to be his unremitting boss’ unfortunate manservant.
“I don’t think we will be able to lift an inch of this thing, sir,” Franz admitted. His brow was glistening in the afternoon sun and the perspiration arrested the jagged bits of hair that reached from his hairline toward his eyebrows. Purdue was equally knackered, and he did not bother to reply. The young man was right. This object was as heavy as a mountain and they would have to get professional construction people to get the bottom 10 yards into the designated hole dug specially to serve as base.
“Well,” Purdue said finally, “we can leave it right here until tomorrow. It’s not as if anyone could steal the bloody thing. I’ll get some people out here to do the lifting for me. Thank you, Franz.”
The following morning was rainy and tempestuous, but it was not even a factor for Purdue. Before 2pm he had contacted Calder Con, a construction company from Kirknewton on the country outskirts of Edinburgh. The crew showed up with no less than fifteen men to get Purdue’s precious relic into its prestigious position. Through the initial drizzle they toiled to get the brace chains to hold on the wet granite, until they could use their hydraulics to hoist the massive cross to its thick foot.
From the mound of daffodils and ferns under the tall fir and yew guardians, Purdue and Franz watched the whole affair from afar. Purdue could not stop smiling, unfazed by the gaining downpour that threatened to drench him. Franz was prepared, wearing his boots and raincoat, but he was a nervous wreck.
“What’s wrong?” Purdue asked his gardener. “Would you rather it be you and me over there?”
“No, sir, of course not,” Franz sniggered anxiously. “It’s just that I am worried that someone might get hurt, that’s all. I mean, look at the possibilities for injury over there. Their chains are okay, but those chains are connected to the arms of the hydraulic system by them flimsy straps, sir. That don’t sit well with me nerves.”
“You worry for nothing, Franz,” Purdue said, amused. “These men are professionals. They do this all the time and have specific materials for these jobs.”
“Still, in this rain? Everything has the devil in it and the rain is just lubricating those dangers, I think. But I do hope it is uneventful and I surely can’t wait to see how grand it’s going to look once it is towering outside the manor,” he smiled at Purdue, who beamed with pride.
Gradually the crew maneuvered the tall column into the hole while the drizzle worked through the soil and turned the cobblestone driveway into a death chute for any uneven tread. Franz stood with his hand over his mouth, just waiting for something to go wrong.
“Relax. They are Scottish, Franz. These lads can make a fire in a blizzard. Rain will not mar their efficiency,” Purdue smirked.
“Shit happens, Mr. Purdue,” Franz sniffed, evoking a fit of laughter from his boss.
“It certainly does,” he remarked, as his chuckle died down.
The drizzle continued unabated and the workers cried out orders and suggestions, directions and all of it came at the same time. How they understood each other well enough to operate proficiently was above Purdue, but this company had an excellent reputation and that was good enough for him. It was quite amusing to listen to every man separately and hear what they shouted, whether it was profuse cussing, encouragement, or skillful suggestion. Purdue could not help but smile.
Finally, the cross on top of the tall column lifted up over the base and the pulley they used nudged it ever so slightly, bit by bit, until the perfectly perpendicular cross with the circle in the center aligned accurately above the hole and the granite base.
“There! Stop! Stop! Just like that. Hold it, lads, hold it!” the foreman shouted from under his hard hat, silvery raindrops falling over the brim like a glittery curtain. It was starting to pour, but they were so close that it would be crazy to abandon the incredible effort now. From there they started to stabilize the monolithic and imposing artifact to fill up the base area and ultimately the considerably deep hole.
Victorious, they cheered when it was finally done.
“Mr. Purdue,” the soaked foreman plodded toward the owner, “we have fixed those rods and steel cords, umm, you know, steel cables around the piece to keep it sturdy until the concrete sets under it and of course, umm, until the umm… sand, soil has settled a bit more, ’kay?”
Ignoring the man’s awkward way of speaking, Purdue nodded. He wondered if the foreman was aware of just how unsettling his odd eloquence was, its tone of uncertainty implying that he was unsure of his accomplishments. But Purdue reckoned that the team’s untarnished safety record spoke volumes nonetheless. Everything went swimmingly, but once Purdue had signed off on the work order and the construction team drove into the wet evening, Franz looked upset.
“What is it now?” Purdue asked, approaching the ashen-faced gardener who stood frozen, looking utterly shocked and staring in the direction of the new property adornment. Mute, frowning, Franz shook his head in despair. “Hey, Mr. Misery, what is the matter? No one died,” Purdue said, shoving the young man lightly.
“Dead! Crushed and dead! Mr. Purdue,” Franz mumbled. “Look what that heavy cross did to my perfectly trimmed lawn!”
After the rainstorm of the night showed no relent, the morning introduced a rapidly rising water level. Newscasters on the radio mentioned that the entire area reaching northward beyond the coast line at Queensferry right to the boundaries of Duns and south to Selkirk had to keep alert for the possibility of a mild flood predicted by the Weather Service. Purdue poured himself a mug of black coffee. He had overslept from a whisky binge and only dragged himself out of bed just before 11am.
“Good thing I have no engagements this week,” he sighed, as he slouched to his window, dressed in slippers, pajama pants, and a scarf. The antique relic embellished the already striking Crown Bullion window glass of his second-story office. It was a satisfying view to say the least, especially from this particular office that was decorated in the late 19th-century style. Bookshelves, a rosewood desk, and old crystal Czech decanters for his liquor occupied the cozy space. Even his landline was running through an artesian telephone, reminiscent of the early 1890s, and so the sight of the massive stone and copper cross atop the granite column was magnificent.