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weekends were a genre of a work stream

of interruptions, and a necessary two day Sabbathto tolerate weighing against a slack of manpowerperformance through the week. I endured aseeming working day vacation, at leaving a crewbehind idling on a construction site, while I droveoff. I headed toward the east rand, en route

admiring the countryside while my guts churned up meeting during office hours these peoplein ties and suits and mere other species. the greater Johannesburg straggled its northernoutskirts when from the countryside veld the lonesome glass tower grew in the blue skyline. Ikept sight on the pivot point while zigzagging my approached through the suburban street,pulling up into a stall on the wide expanse of tarmac. entered Roberts Constructions' local

office building and stepping through the entrance lobby feeling claustrophobic at the thoughtof elevator. Alongside I treaded and rose through angle sharp coiling stairway. somehalf-dozen floors of landings higher, I emerged from the lobby stepping through the swingingback leaf of a pair of glass doors. sought my way through an open plan offices scattered withpapers piled desks. No sooner did I sign a subcontract brickwork agreement on the corner ofa desk, that I was off again, tracking my way back and finding my lackadaisical crew.

By Friday after a jump of construction sites, to the proper site and, with pay time onthe menu for laborers living from hand to mouth. I headed off irritated by the foreseeingdoubling up of time away from site. I stepped in my earlier tracks at the beginning of theweek to the main contractor's offices. at speaking distance and sparing an introduction at thewoman seated low behind the counter, I said; "I'm here to collect a check." in slow motion,

escaping with a turn away from her docile attitude, I swept a glance across the office floor.through the glazed curtain wall, thoughtless, and seeking distraction in the panoramic view, I

i k d t i th f di t t b b th l t i t ti b th hit k f t li h

omechanicsffricklaying

stration:

The type and style of architecture opposite to theaining wall and contract to built, for which I was geared

up like a bricklaying machine.

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spot where a few days earlier I completed my contract but, rather a conscious taking aboutan economic no-sense of my work. I stepped a away and back to the counter, when a whiteman bearing a beer belly approached and breaking an intuitive moment; 'Not under theseconditions.' the stranger in his stride with devouring eyes on me, saw his wild unfamiliarreflection. He took no count, with an anxious need at greeting, befriending me hiscontractible handshake sensing his emotions weren't reciprocal. Instead, he exulted in a

fan's voice, saying; "We watched you, and for the whole day!"the subcontractor painter shook me. He revived a figure perched high and plumbabove me leaning on the balcony. in utter dismay he gradually turned, hesitant, steppedaround, and moved on. I watched the beaten figure leaving, his emotion left me in the lurchby his trailing words, saying; "...the painters from the seventh floor?" I followed the man bysight, confused as he headed straight for the far distant double doors glazed door, where Ientered earlier. He disappear in the moment I was distracted by a right side call of a ferventfigure storming from the daylight upon me.

A ghosting figuredressed in a brown suit, tieand shirt, treaded in the steps

of the painter before him.Gradually, I acquainted theman emerging from thedaylight with the signing ofmy subcontract agreement.With long strides he seemedto cut a way through themounts of paperwork thatcluttered the office desks,eyes popping anddarting me. in his

approach, I read theman's mind, saying inother words what thepainter told me earlier;'...T he constructionmanager arrived on sitein dismay that a fourteenwheeler horse and trailerof bricks vanished hequestioned us on thephenomenon we lifted ourshoulder, pointing over the balconyto the driveway; the bricks are well andgone into the retaining wall?' but, I hadsight on my check held back in the site manager's hand,teasing me with the man's mental question; 'How did youget that right?' while I saw that long queue on a Fridayafternoon at the Standard bank cashing in checks. Withlittle to say, in view that it was my job to lay bricks andthat I was organized by with a deep sense of beingpartisan of the least effort. I virtually swipe my check from

the man's grip, and turned away to step in the tracks ofthe ghosting painter for the exit, when it dawned on methat I must have done something titanic to deserve all that

Illustration:

1. there is a part of guessing, at quan

the bricks, these are the know

elements; the trucks used by Bri

the time, giving a fairly good estim

the bricks delivery to site.

2. The manual handling of bricks, hbeen a fascination, and represen

a combination of cat leaps and du

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a few days earlier, I stepped out the house in a morning atmosphere as the whitesky came creeping over my shoulders to reflected the spanking new white pickup from anovernight of a midweek shift of construction sites. At contrast with weathered and usedequipment loaded the previous evening brick profiles lie along the scaffold plankscantilevered front and rear the body, tied together with trestles on top of the carrier.upside-down wheelbarrows shy with small tools and equipment were boxed on the loading

bed. I stepped in the cabin, assured that the hitched industrial-yellow concrete mixers wasto follow wherever I set to head off for and drove away, mapping my way across the openHighveld country toward the distant PUTCO bus terminal at the outskirt of theJohannesburg.

I approached the concrete overpass to find the bunch of figures standing along thecurb. Slowing down, I entered the night air moving up to the creepy daylight at the otherextreme of the bridge. There, the native men's white eyeballs were turned in my directionwith a lackadaisical expression that read; 'What will be will be,' and came off from sortingthrough a trickle of traffic that panoramic windshield to fetch theme. Frozen in their posture,I pulled up by the bunch's sweeping eyesight coming down from the windshield, to brushalong the passenger door into the rear without a movement until the coming to a halt of the

side panel. The men flocked to the rear. by the sound of the metallic stampede, I twisted inmy seat, glanced through the rear window, and watched the climbing figures in the forefrontof the concrete mixer until the last of hand grip on the carrier's steel pole and movementwith a spider crawl from the rear bumper over the tailgate. As the calm returned and thefigures were seated amongst a bricklayer's equipment on the bed and in a shade ofoverhead load, my body uncoiled and I pulled off.

I followed a course eastward fetching a mental map which in part orientating methrough the countryside after leaving behind the township. I travel along while the cityoutskirts straggled off into the distance hill brow. At a spectral farsighted cloverleaf of a thenunimaginable freeways breaking the pivot of the lonely glass tower from the facingBedfordview suburb approaching from the opposite quarter, the country road curved around

a futuristic picnic resort, of woods leading me toward Johannesburg and merging with theinternational airport thoroughfare at the other side of the hill brow. I checked my memorizeddirective received from the construction manager, and eased off left by a road pointer toweave a way deep into the suburb with ease for a moment of reflection.

the air through the vents warmed up, and drew me to glance over the street, with aneight o'clock sun at rest over the green flocculent in-leaf swells that treaded the horizon mybiological clock. I wonder whether a late start was going to lead a workforce to see apremature sunset, when I sensed entrapped with a loss of direction. I shifted eyes seekingand found no issue, than continued. emerge from the trap, re-orientated by circling a mountto square up to the thoroughfare which I left moments earlier. when over the ridge a pointingstraightedge toward the leading blacktop surface, stepped up the penthouse deep glazedstrip of apartments confronted with a glazed balcony railing across the concrete floor slab.Step by step while approaching the roll over street, the concrete slabs mounted the buildingto its dominant position. The downhill exposed the cowering garden swell looming whiteshards of shy private properties through the knuckly landscape.

With the street leveling out, I shunted across the right lane and pull up in part on thedriveway apron a short distance up to a mass of stacked bricks. The other side of thepickup facing the tail end of a ghosting eighteen wheeler horse's trailer. With figures in aline of sight, in an activity of bending over and picking from a kiln hot load with a slap ofblack rubber flapa bricks. by a sweep of joined hands, the coiling figures let go behind themthe bricks in unison take flight through the air. On the sidewalk, a series of figures were

catching the flying bricks. while stack piling the bricks at their feet they rose from the groundto level up with the trailer bed. At the last brick, the figures brought out brooms, brush downthe crumbs and dust prior to the experiences vanishing from my mind.

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I squinted and through the shaded driveway hollowing out along the foot of theelevated facade. In the depth of the apartment block and opposing midway up an hillside cutback. at the base lies the sleek white shine of a green-concrete strip as a remedy to thebulky and uncivilized tease. On halt while assuring my place of work, the sign rippled tomen, a feet cascade of hits against the metallic panel, interrupted with thumps to theground. When I stepped out and came around to break into the little group alongside the

pickup. in Afrikaans introduced the team to their tasks. I moved on leaving behind ascattering crew. I arrived at my place of work by the lash of shifting eyes to the source ofactivity. a figure walked from the swan-neck faucet a thick black snaking construction hoseto the top of the stack of bricks to lie with a fountain pour, soaking the kiln thirsty bricksimperative for a productive output. figures gathered by the yellow concrete mixer, unhitched,swiveled, and wheeled the machine up the driveway toward the dumper heaps of pit sand torest. While in the forefront figures break into smaller teams, in the background perched ontop of the pickup carrier, another group untied the equipment and were slipping down longgreen thick angle irons along with tinner counterpart legs to men on the ground. Momentslater while I hunkered on the concrete base, these shadows in motion over me, in the midstof which I rose to my feet. My head where the arms of iron came together, the thicker iron

erect on the crisscrossing pencil lines, while bleached palms were at grips with bolts andnuts and introduced the supports. The activity about me split up, moved with theirequipment toward the other extreme of the concrete strip. in the vicinity,a few hands fetched weights and packed bricks on the steel shoes,while I was aiming to center a water bubble in the spirit level for plumb.

In the distance the little whining engine called my attention, afterI hooked the corner-block entwined with the line to the profile lining upthe fish the pencil mark for the underground course. I stepped offleaving behind the gateway to the covered parking, and glancedacross my way, at the driving figures turning the mixer'swheel. I watched an elephant mortar

dung texture fall from the hollow of the revolving drumsplashing into the wheelbarrow. moved up slipping thefishing line taut through my fingers, and came by the streetfront profile. There I slipped the line through the slit of acorner-block, and with a few merciless jerksadjusted the block to the spring.entwined the line, and hook the blockassured without slack. Adjusted theheight for the course, and ready tostart off, went spotting the figuresacross the mixer, warmed up in theirroutine by the sidewalk stack piled ofbrick. waking from sleep each brickswith alternating metamorphosingfoursome hands and a finger gripgiving legs and a tail to the brick, theblack hand blending a patchy red peltto a cat leap monster jumping from thepile to the elbow, onto the hip, knee todisappear inside the wheelbarrow.

overhead the sun appeared on

a tread in the sky prior to nine o'clock,while reflecting a golden shine acrossthe lengthy and height alternating

Illustration: (not to sca

Corner profile, with the p

stays, and the green in

representative of the wo

line block.

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surfaces, peering a glow down that dissolve its regard in the gearing up mechanism of thedriveway shade. There, double folded squeezing my organs into a position unknown sinceevolving form an animal poise, while figures wheeled in a to and fro confusionwheelbarrows in my line of sight. In alternance this figure coming by my side, with anenergetic shovel inside the wheelbarrows mixed the mortar that vibrated in transport and inthe mortar board from drying a crust, keeping a creamy and consistent texture, aimed at

production output.I ghosted in a wild boar's crawl through undergrowth, feet stepping backward, myright hand on the grip of the trowel, swiping a heap of mortar off the board, bringing thescoop across and spread the concrete surface. Left handled picked a brick from the smallstack breaks alternated by mortar board along the footway. on all fours, embedding on thickmortar on-edge headers till the run of mortar ran dry. I exerted patience, continued withstretchers and with alternant steps leveling off the base course. I returned to the start, liningup bricks to sleep in a bed of mortar. In a comings-and-goings walked from end to start mytorso bears over the growing previous course, begun back packing the one brick thick wallalternating a stretcher course with headers to finish with a grout wash. As the wall grew infront of me, my spine unfolding, to a straight human posture and ease working erect, short

lived as the semi-face courses outgrew my shoulders and slacked my output draggingalong the whole team with their equipment.

Sharp as a sword with a swing I behead a brick, light as a leaf I swipeb mortar off theboard, and with a toothpaste nurdle precision my trowel serves half-dozen brick long mortarbed. a point as fine as a clay sharper for a fine calligraphic draw across thehorizontal and perpendicular joint collecting a little of the excedent of mortarafter the brick lies to sleep in a bed of mortar with a pillow pressed at thefoot of the precedent brick.

With a sun's curiosity fading away from the well geared upbiomechanical motion, I stepped away and left the half-height wall behind asa sign. In a moment movement of chaos spread clearing my working

space till crumbs of bricks amongst outlined mortar boards spillspreparedtheground. Thelabor folly quietenedwith men bringing up steeltrestles from the pickup in the streetand unfold the legs along the wall. A chainof scaffolding planks followed and came to lieacross the supports. As a trafficable cat walk cameto order, I crawled with two of on-hand helpers, tostand and momentary turned away from a top viewon a wall shrunk to the toes of my cementbleached shoes. Seeing over the edge figuressteering from the driveway wheelbarrows to wheelits load to disappear below the extreme edge fromview. in sight, the driving figures changing tasks in amoment of hesitation, hands metamorphosed blackfingers with the red brick blending a patchy monster tolife, which cat leaps from the blind wheelbarrow to theelbow, onto the hip, up the shoulder to rest on the edge

of the scaffold and accumulating in small stacks. Alongside, by the shovel, pelts of mortarfly through the air to land along the brick stakes. Seeing the mechanism rolling, I turned myback to face the starting profile, moved over, bending down,and double folded stepping

Illustration:

An artisan's tools is not any tool, acomparable to any artist work.

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I kept focused on the unending mortar nurdle behind the taut line while up front,black hands sprightly and sweeping were morphing those cat leaps fledging feathers. inflight through a man's fingers ducky wings fluttered a comfortable and agile course throughthe airs, to line-up to the nurdle of a landing strip. spreading wing for me to grab thesomewhat three kilograms of clay with a mere clay sharper engraving pinch inscribing aletter in the wet surface. With a change of hands to a ducky water landing that slips palms

up the breaking bow across the mortar nurdle. By the momentum of dead weight collectingat the head of the slowing down brick a buffer of mortar pressing up the rear of the previousbrick and auto buttered the 'Perpc.' however unconventionald a method the bricks in chain,stringing up the phrase of a thought on the wall on improving my output. I gave the mutehelpers a break after rolling off each course at catching up. I moved to the starting point andwith a sliding to-and-fro motion pressured the Long Jointer along setting mortar. I returnedto raise the Perp's tool and made a similar passage with an additional pinch at the previouscourse blending the indentation in a unified smooth grid.

I was bent over and moving backward raising brick courses, when an inadvertentcalling parsec-raye burned in the back of my neck. From the middle of my head, the beaconof eyesight, too abstract at piercing my conscious, engaged a pursuit. Unwittingly, my eyes

rolled aside and cranked my head on course, jumping the emptiness of a ground floorwithout resonance for anchor. Instead, moved up to hang onto an invisible panoramicelevator rising along the facade. The invisible cable-way cabin stopped by a few shadedfigures underneath a roof wide sunlight wings across the slab. meeting of eyes, I found themysterious source, and questioned the man by sight featuring in a painter's overall andcomfortable at bearing his beer belly. In the limelight of the resting figure, propped on bothbent arms and leaning over the translucent yellow balcony railings. Indifferent about beingleft alone, while behind him two sets of eye shifting departing figures went into hiding inside,as before them the sun eclipsed over the building. But, the patio glazed doors lost thatmorning daylight reflection to a transparent interior of vacant apartments. Theircomportment read in contradiction, to their leader who showed a sincere exaggerated

curiosity glued to that spot, a shying away from soiling their pride.Such as the anticipated evening current of air announced by a cooling atmosphere, I

chilled a painter's feelings, while in the grip of impatience I focused on my scheduledperformance returning an indifferent gaze and moving on laying bricks and rolling offcourses. I jumped down from the scaffold to the ground. Escaped the monster of a wall, withits spirit grabbing my shoulders, fearing that physical demand at feeding another brick. mystep preceded me. Behind, I left the little teams gather. refuted another glance back, until, Isaw in the driveway pool of water the reflection of a concrete mixer reduced to silence. Until,I crossed a battle field of used cement bags, across the circles tracings on the ground theheaps of sand which had vanished. Until, in my field of sight the pickup faced home,gleamed against the exposure across the street through the green knuckles the distant city.feeling I crossed that finishing line, I glanced over my shoulder at the figures. At handcrumpled into sponges the thick brown paper torn from cement bags, and buffing down thewall. After them, the scaffolding came down by a dramatic exhaustion of muscles. thebottom of the wall came under the buffers, while men at loss of their morning sprightlymovements, dragged in inverse motion to hitched the concrete mixer, uploading tools,crawling after the dismantled equipment to perch against a pastel blue sky tying down thegear. behind the men, with an added gleam of a moist terra cotta freshness the drivewayappeared refined. the men climbed the rear of the pickup, and seated, I pulled off. the day'severy body bend and twist, the limb of every man coordinating their tools, rehearsed in mindthe results of a successful machine. In time haunted by the idea of mechanization,

imagining each figure as an organ of an ideal bricklaying machine, which by theins-and-outs, the ups-and-downs around tight corners, the heavy industrial motorized steelof my imagination was unlike to accomplish. But, one thing remained, which I repeated to

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... a /... hand shaped cutout of an inner tire tubes with slit for a wrist likes elastic band hold

... b /... Quality of a trade's man's tool

... c /... In the trade language the perpendicular joint

... d /... One learns a technique, and like a signature this gets adapted to one's style of working. Some technicaldata;

a 14 wheeler horse and trailer between some 8000 bricks,a 7 men laborer crew1 man uploading cement and sand to the concrete mixer, mixing mortar, and tilting the mortar into the

wheelbarrows,2 men wheeling to fetch by the tilting mixer the mortar and upload the mortar board.2 men packing bricks,2 men, one behind spreading mortar on the wall, the other in front passing bricks at hand... e /... Elsewhere details on the phenomenon of the eyesight.