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Show 73 textured surface. Other times the glow would be there but it would be dim and yellow and the figure would be too grainy to make out, and one terrible time he saw only a pair of wild eyes staring back at him from the smooth polished lambent stones. * * * Lorin looked up from a fit of coughing and saw a little old man with white hair gliding behind a lathe in a distant corner of the shop, keeping to the shadows. He dropped his broom and went over to see who it was, because only employees were allowed there, and at that time of the night-it was after twelve-the only people he normally saw were draftsmen from the front office who sometimes worked late and now and then came out to verify specifications on a part. He found the man crouching on the floor behind the lathe. "Can I help you?" Lorin said. "That's an ugly cough you got there," the man said. "What?" "I been listening to you. You got a nasty cough." The man stood up, and Lorin stepped back a few paces. They were standing between the lathe and a forklift tractor whose tines were thrust into a wood pallet on which were loaded crates containing electric motors. Lorin enjoyed starting up the tractor and moving heavy objects around each night in order to sweep under them. The man stood fumbling with the ends of a string tie that pulled his red flannel shirt together at his throat like the mouth of a purse. He didn't, Lorin thought, look like a draftsman. "Are you from the front office?" he asked, uncertainly. "I'm the night custodian," he added. |
