CAGED JOHN

Sometimes, when the rain falls hard during a warm August night, the morning emerges
clouded by scattered patches of fog. It was one of those mornings; the Orson Brothers Coal
Mine appeared blurred behind thick, hazy curtains left by rain the night before. The fog loomed
over the iron equipment sheds, the ore storage facilities, and the large main building that
housed both the manager's office and the massive rusted elevator that carried men and boys
in and out of the bowels of the earth. It was early, six 'o clock, and the dawn illuminated much
of the mine yard but left portions of earth and a few small mining carts in dismal shadows.

The mine usually hummed and shook with the bustle of a workday, but for now things
were silent. Sump Stevenson rested on a wooden bench in one of the equipment sheds,
looking up through a small crack in the iron roof, watching the passing fog and the slow
emergence of pale sunlight overhead. His hair was deep brown with touches of dull silver over
each ear. It was matted and ragged, not having been washed for days. As the sun grew
brighter, it slowly lit up the features of his face. It was thin and wiry with muscle. Under a
layer of sandy stubble it was undeniably warm, carrying a smile that could brighten even the
foggiest of mornings. Still peering through the crack, hazel eyes turned upward, Sump thought
about his wife.

She was six months pregnant, and spent the days at home resting or reading. Sump
suspected she was bored, since she had given up her secretarial position during the time. She
loved to work; it made her feel useful, she'd say. But when you're carrying something as
precious as a child, it's better to rest than be wedged in front of a typewriter. It pained Sump
to be away from her during these days. She needed him with her, but money didn't permit a
vacation. He figured that when the time drew nearer for her to give birth, in a month or so,
he'd take time off and devote himself to her. He hated putting his job first, especially when
work couldn't possibly compare to the importance of his wife. She meant the world to him,
but bills poured in day after day that needed paying. In the long run, the early mornings and
endless days of toiling underground would be worth it, he thought. He kept focused on a time
in the future when he wouldn't have to work so hard, picturing it like a beach in the tropics;
warm and inviting.

As he sat gazing up through the hole in the roof, the far-off howl of the morning whistle
penetrated the little shed, seeping in through the cracked boards and sheets of rusted iron
roofing. It was six-thirty, time to get to work.

Sump pushed open the shed door and stepped out into the mine-yard. Silence soon gave
way to the dull sound of miners pouring in through the front gate. They came in one by one,
each carrying a thermos of coffee or lunch in a grease-stained paper bag. They were men and
boys, some as young as eighteen. The boys always looked hopeful, wearing a certain look
about their faces, while the older men knew better. Their faces were hard and cold, rough
from too many years of mining. If you worked at the mine too long, some of the men would
say, you started slowly turning to coal on the inside. It crept into you, they said, infected you.
After a while your heart was as black as the ore you mined.

Sump wouldn't let himself feel that way. He stood as a pillar of hopefulness surrounded
by decay and ruin; positivity was the key to staying right inside, to keep from turning to coal.
Some days were harder than others, sometimes the dark recesses of the subterranean tunnels
invaded the mind, oppressed it. Yet Sump kept an eye on the present, knowing full well it

1
would one day glide into a future of security. He worked at keeping the hopeful look, the one
that young boys wore. He began his walk up the gritty slope to the main building and thought
of his wife and unborn baby. He had to keep hopeful, not letting the coal get into him, for
their sake.

The path to the main building was nothing more than a worn tread in the earth weaving
between equipment sheds and towering piles of coal. The mine yard was vast, encircled by
trees, and overlooking a deep quarry that held broken machinery and a few dilapidated
storage houses. There was a constant plume of thick black smoke rising from the smokestack
of the main building, coal smoke. The machine that powered the elevator relied on coal for
fuel, and each day a few men would be appointed to engine duty, feeding small piles of ore
into a hungry furnace. Usually the boys were stuck with the job, newcomers, since all the
older miners knew better. It was a terrible position that Sump remembered well. The heat of
the massive furnace gobbling up coal and spewing out smoke and power was enough to make
a grown man cringe. You had to be careful, especially when handling your shovel; the metal
absorbed the sweltering heat like a sponge. Sump knew a man who lost the use of his right
hand when another miner accidentally hit it with his spade. It burned the flesh clear off,
leaving only a blistered mess and a heavy stench.

He entered the main building and headed toward the elevator in the rear right corner. Sump's
assignment for the past few weeks was to repair a support beam in one of the southern
tunnels, the deepest section of the mine. The tunnel had gone unused since the beam had
given way that July, taking two men with it. Sump was making progress with the task. A group
of miners had already cleared away the dirt and rock that resulted from the cave-in, and all
that was left was to replace the beam. It was a one-man job, and so he did the work alone
except for the company of a small yellow canary in an old cage.. It was customary, especially
if you were working by yourself, to have a canary near by. The birds could be lifesavers; if
you dug into a vein of dangerous gas and didn't realize it, the canary would let you know,
giving its life as a warning to others. According to some of the miners, the birds died quietly,
leaving only a small puddle of blood at the bottom of the cage. The gas got inside their tiny
bodies, ate away at their organs. It must be a terrible way to go, Sump thought. In a few rare
incidents, the birds didn't perish right away. As a result, the gas invaded the senses of miners,
quietly tugging at their reality, or in extreme cases, driving them into maddening
hallucinations. If you heard the faint echo of a man conversing with himself, all alone in the
dark recesses of the ore tunnels, the canary had failed and gas was seeping through the walls.

He stepped into the elevator with a group of about seven other miners. The chainlink door
was pulled closed and all at once they were enclosed in an iron cube, eight feet by eight feet.
There was nowhere to go but down. One of the men pushed a large round green button and
the iron chamber began to shake, roaring and screeching as the engine fired up. Sump looked
above him at the rusted metal pulley as it slowly started turning. The elevator hopped, then
began its slow descent down the shaft. The noise of the engine faded as they dropped farther
into the earth, like standing underneath a bridge as a locomotive barreled overhead and finally
passed.

Sump stood at the back of the elevator, leaning against the railing and chainlink wall that
separated the men from the layers of bedrock and shale. It got cooler as you went down,
deeper into the ground and out of the sun's reach. To his right, a boy shivered slightly. His
face was pale and smooth, not like the hard faces that surrounded it. He had to be about
seventeen or eighteen, maybe even younger. He was probably from a poor family, maybe had
a single parent, and was forced to go to work in order to keep the bill collectors at bay. Sump
looked at the boy's helmet. It was clean, not dented, sparkling as the light from overhead

2
dwindled. The lantern that was fixed to the front still had a fresh covering of smooth glass.
His boots were clean, no sign of soot or caked mud. Sump looked down at his own boots,
soiled and scuffed around the toes.

"You new?" he said as the boy shivered again.

The other miners remained motionless. Some glanced over at the boy and one leaned in
and spit a wet clump of chewing tobacco through the elevator's chainlink wall. The boy moved
his head slightly, but didn't respond.

"Hey," Sump said, "didn't you hear me?" The elevator shook violently for a moment,
creaking and grating against a narrow segment in the shaft. The chamber slowed, scraped
past, and then regained its pace.

"I said, didn't you hear me?"

The boy turned and looked up at Sump, nervously opening and closing his fist around the
handle of his pickax.

"Yeah," he said, "I heard you. Sorry."

"That's alright," said Sump, looking up to the light at the top of the elevator shaft. It got
smaller and smaller, more distant. The long cables twinged with the weight of the men and
the iron cube. "You new?"

"It's my first day," the boy said, venturing a anxious smile.

Sump smiled back. His face was warm, not flat and expressionless like the other miners. He
had a rough look about him, but an overall sense of gentility that shined through the layer of
stubble and wrinkles of a face that had seen hardship. He was respected by the other men,
mostly because of his optimistic nature; inside bloomed the hope of a child. Looking at the
boy beside him, he remembered his first day.

At sixteen, Sump was a chubby, bashful kid who had been tossed out into the world to
fend for himself. Things were rough at home, his father ran out on his mother with another
woman and she was left with a dingy apartment, one son, and no money. With no other
options, his mother pushed him to take the mile and a half walk through the woods to the
Orson Brothers Coal mine and ask for a job. It was an easy choice for Sump to make; work
or starve.

It was a cool, crisp day in October when he set out through the forest on his way to the
mine. The trees clutched orange and red leaves, which floated down to the ground with each
hint of a breeze. They fell before him as he walked, like rose petals in the path of royalty. He
kept his mind finely tuned, knowing the hard labor which awaited him but pushing the thought
way back into a vacant corner of his mind. Sun shown down from above as he walked, listening
to the sequences of crunches and scrapes his boots made against the dirt and gravel in the
road. The woods were vast, and he walked for some time without any hint of the outside
world. It was peaceful, there was scarcely any noise, save the occasional rustle of leaves or
chirping birds. Soon up ahead, spreading up over the horizon, Sump could see a cloud of thick
black smoke twisting and bouncing in the wind. As he walked on, he saw the source of the
plume; a slender pipe connected to a large iron roof. It was the mine's main building, a sight
he'd soon become familiar with.

3
 He approached a large iron gate and gazed up at the weatherbeaten wooden sign that
hung from a pole by two rusted chains. Orson Brothers Coal Mine, it read. Sump would see
the sign each morning for the rest of his life. Some days it would sway in the breeze, and
some days it would cast off pearly drops of cold autumn rain. On this day, it hung motionless
in the sun, a looming glimpse of his future.

He passed through the gate and made his way between the masses of soot-covered miners
and crooked shanties to the main building. It brooded over the mine yard like a huge dark
parasite, sucking the life out of the earth below.. The manager's office was a small square
room in the left corner of the building. Through the sooty film on the outside of the windows,
Sump saw a thin gray figure, hunched over what looked like a desk. He grasped the cold metal
door handle and pulled. The door came open with a hideous metallic shriek that seemed to
echo through the yard. Small orange flakes of rust fell from the old hinges, mingling with coal
dust in the dirt. The manager looked up, annoyed. He was a small man, fat and greasy, with
a thick gray beard and pale eyes that sank into his skull. He peered through a pair of bifocals
at the boy who appeared in front of him. Sump stood silent for a time, searching for his voice
under a heap of apprehension. He fumbled nervously with the tails of a soiled denim shirt.

"I came for a job." The words were dry and labored.

The manager looked Sump up and down, his pale eyes twitching in the poorly-lit room.
He leaned back in the tattered chair with his hands on the back of his head, raising his
eyebrows.

"Ever work in a mine before?"

Sump shook his head, words didn't come.

"Ever work anywhere before?"

Sump looked down at the dusty linoleum floor and shook his head again. The manager
chuckled, the corners of his thin mouth stretching into a slender grin.

"You afraid?" he said, leaning in and resting his elbows on the edge of the desk.

Sump looked up. He was afraid, but he didn't want to say so. It was better to be brave,
he thought, courageous. The mine was a dangerous place, he had heard stories of terrible
accidents; cave-ins, inhalation of poisonous gas.. He thought about the blinding darkness of
death and stared deep into the manager's vacant eyes.

"No."

The manager chuckled again and sat back in his chair.

"Good," he said, "you've got yourself a job."

He asked Sump's name, scratched it in pencil into a ledger, and told him to get suited up.
He was to start out in one of the northern tunnels; a new vein of ore had been opened and
they were working hard to get it all up to the surface before the deadline. They always worked
under deadlines. Coal was needed to fuel companies and industries in many of the surrounding
counties and towns. Fresh shipments of ore were needed each month, and it was up to the
men to scrape it all out in time.

4
 After leaving the manager's office, Sump found one of the equipment sheds and gathered
supplies: mining boots, gloves, helmet, pickax. Under the manager's instruction, he joined a
group of miners and boarded the iron elevator.. Soon they were swallowed into the earth,
and Sump watched with amazement as the layers of rock and soil glided by. Light faded,
making it hard to distinguish between stone and ore, everything seemed to blend together.
He looked around the chamber at the other miners. They were older than he, some only by a
few years. They leaned up against the sides, their heads bowed, staring down at the iron floor
blanketed in soot. Their faces were smudged with mica and shale, glistening like stardust if
the light caught them just right.

The elevator jolted as they came to a stop at the bottom of the shaft. One of the miners
pushed the door open and they all exited the chamber. Sump looked ahead of him into the
long entry tunnel, lined by rows of lanterns on each wall. He watched the men walk into the
cavern, getting smaller and smaller as the light cast ghastly shadows where they passed. The
air was still and damp, smelling of mold and wet soil. Sump looked in as far as he could,
seeing only shadows and flickering light.

As he stepped out of the elevator, the toe of his boot snagged the iron lip on the floor,
causing him to stumble, arms flailing wildly in an attempt to catch himself. His hands slid down
against the chainlink walls, but couldn't grasp a handhold. Before he knew it, he had slipped
through the gap between the elevator and the tunnel. It was only about a foot and a half,
and as his body careened down the earthen wall, he felt the gritty sting of dirt and stone
scraping against his cheeks, peeling off skin.

It was a good six feet from the bottom of the elevator to the pool of brackish run-off water
below. He squeezed his eyes shut, not knowing how far he would drop, or what he would
land on. In an instant, his body lapped against the water in a great splash. Above, the men in
the tunnel crouched on their knees to peer under the iron cube into the shaft. There was
barely any light, but through the dim flicker sent off by lanterns, the boy's figure could be
seen writhing in the three-foot pool below. They laughed hard. It echoed through the mine,
into the elevator shaft and down to Sump, lying in the pool, stunned. A mixture of water and
ore formed a thick sludge that filled his mouth. It tasted horrible, sharp and gritty. It slid down
the back of his throat without warning. He stood up quickly, rubbing the sludge from his eyes,
gagging and spitting frantically. The men laughed, and at length one of them stretched out a
burly arm to help the boy back up.

Sump was heaved up through the small gap and planted firmly on the tunnel floor. He was
soaked, his skin caked with muck and soot. The men slapped each other on the back and
pointed, tears formed in their eyes from the stress of laughter. The man who helped him
patted his shoulder, smiling.

"You alright?" he said, pressing against Sump's body with his firm hand.

"I think so."

The miner looked around at the other men and let out a hearty chuckle. "You got a name,
son?" he asked.

Sump looked up at the man, wiping the sludge from his forehead.

"Don't tell me what it is," the miner said, "from now on you'll be 'sump'," he gestured
down toward the pool at the bottom of the shaft, "in honor of your first mining experience."

5
 The other men roared, their laughter shook Sump's very frame. He was nervous, but
chuckled lightly. The miner again patted his shoulder and walked away.

From that day on, no one knew him by his true name. At times he was annoyed at the
label; he didn't want to be associated with the dark pool of run-off at the bottom of the
elevator shaft. But as the weeks turned into months, and months into years, it took root. It
was a reminder, a sort of voice that spoke to him from the back of his mind telling him to stay
hopeful, not to let his heart turn into a puddle of grit and mud like the sump. Later, he was
told by the other miners how lucky he'd been. The sump was routinely drained every few
days; if he had fallen just a day before, his body would have crumpled against the stiff, muddy
floor.

The elevator let out a loud metallic moan and slowed to a stop at the bottom of the shaft.
Sump gazed up at the small speck of light that radiated down on him from the surface. It was
so far away now, so distant. He flipped on his helmet lamp and looked down at the boy again.

"Don't worry," he said, "you'll be fine."

The boy smiled, relieved. He looked up at Sump with hopeful eyes. "You got any advice?"

Sump laughed, moving out of the elevator into the tunnel's mouth with the flow of men.
He looked back over his shoulder at the boy. "Yeah", he said, "keep an eye on your canary."

Busy miners poured in and out of tunnels like ants preparing for harsh weather. The lights
from their helmets and the lanterns above created a dismal illumination that hung over the
mass. They looked like shadows rather than men, gray spirits on an unknown quest. Sump
followed the main tunnel deep into the heart of the mine. It wound and shifted until, unless
you had a compass or a map, there was no way of knowing where you were, which way you
were going.

It was damp in the inner tunnels, murky water dripped from the rock ceiling, falling in
small circular pools or seeping into the earthen floor. Tunnels were five or six feet wide, and
about seven feet tall. The walls were damp, jagged in some spots with thick stones or sharp
rock edges. The air was thick and creamy. A musty smell loomed, like fresh rain on a spring
day, only stronger and mixed with a warm sooty scent. Some miners hated the smell, cursed
it violently and rejoiced upon emerging in the afternoon air at the end of a work day. Sump
didn't mind, he had grown rather fond of it. It was somewhat comforting. He felt that way
about the mine in general, or tried to most of the time. It was a dangerous place, but he
found security in its perils. He knew it sucked his life away, kept him trapped from the world
outside, his wife and unborn child. Yet at the same time, it was all he'd known; like an old
blanket or a worn pair of shoes. Eventually, he thought he could beat it and achieve a better
future, a better life. Working extra hours in the mornings and afternoons, he figured in a few
years he'd collect enough money to catch up. After that he'd ease off a bit, allowing the layers
of built up stress and pressure in his mind to slowly peel away.

The beam from his helmet lamp dashed back and forth off crystals of quartz as he ventured
deeper, creating a spectacle of shimmering light against the murky pools. He was alone now.
The others were left behind to do their work in new tunnels, opening up veins of ore or
blasting through solid rock walls. The darkness slowly enveloped Sump as he trekked, and
loneliness crept up behind him, sending a cool chill up the bones of his spine.

6
 His thoughts wandered once more to his wife. He wondered what she was doing in their
dingy three-room apartment in the industrial district. It must have been about ten in the
morning, and Sump pictured her curled up under the red afghan in her favorite easy chair,
napping after breakfast. The radio would be on, caressing her with soft melodies. The window
on the opposite wall stood open, sending in a hush with the warm morning breeze. She would
be glowing, one hand resting on the arm of the chair, the other sprawled across her swollen
stomach. He longed to be there, to trace the contours of her shoulders with a rough sooty
hand. He could almost feel her silky strawberry colored hair as he approached the tunnel
which housed the fallen beam.

The tunnel was much darker than the others. The beam had torn one of the lanterns down
as it fell, extinguishing the yellowish haze that usually bathed the ore covered walls. Sump
followed the path from his head-lamp up to the shambles of broken wood. The floor was
littered with oak splinters and gravel. When the massive beam split, the ceiling caved,
pummeling two men with debris and blocking the rest of the tunnel. It took a week, but a
group of miners cleared the ore and stone away, recovering the two bodies and hauling them
away in mining carts, their rock-pounded faces covered by soiled burlap..

Two posts were left on each side, used as support for the large beam that ran the width
of the ceiling. The shattered beam had been taken away and a new, fresh beam now stood
propped up against the left post. The other side hung down, its end resting on the ground,
forming a sort of oaken "N" in the middle of the tunnel. Beyond this, about ten feet in, the
tunnel ended. Men had been hacking away at a new coal vein when the disaster struck,
preventing them from going any further.

Sump's recent task consisted of chopping away the remaining block of splintered wood
that sat at the top of the right pole; it had to be cleared before the other end of the beam
was hoisted into place. It was a hard job; the cave-in added a load of pressure to the top of
the wood, making it difficult for Sump to dislodge the block.

The only company he had were the pickax, his helmet-lamp, and the small yellow canary
that stood perched in the dust-covered metal cage. The cage hung from a rusted iron spike
driven into the stone wall after the accident. During the time the miners were clearing away
the ore and debris, there was worry that the cave-in may have opened up a vein of poisonous
gas. The canary was brought in from another tunnel just to be safe. There it remained,
spending its days and nights surrounded by the darkness of the surrounding earth; a speck
of pale yellow on a gloomy gray and brown canvas.

The bird's cage was old and beaten. Tarnished vertical bars surrounded the canary under
a dented metal dome. The floor was lined with dirty newspaper and the casings of various
seeds which fell from the small dish attached to the bars. The canary was small and thin, its
delicate feathers touched here and there with splotches of black coal-dust. It rested on a
wooden perch that spanned the width of the cage, looking at Sump through dim spheres. It
never chirped, never made a sound; Sump had been working in the cave for weeks and hadn't
heard its sweet song. It stayed forever perched, its little head darting back and forth with
each move Sump made.

He positioned a small wooden stepladder at the base of the left post and climbed a few
steps until he could reach the area where the thick block was wedged. He worked ceaselessly
until noon, pounding and chopping at the heavy wood. Chunks and sharp splinters exploded
and rained to the ground with each blow. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his strong limbs
swung again and again. The block still remained, yet in a smaller form than when he'd started.
It was gnarled and deformed, jutting out at different angles.

7
Sump grew weary, his arms congealed as he worked, growing heavy and sloppy. It was time
for a break. He dropped his ax on the dirt floor and sat down, resting his back against the
rock wall. He looked at his boots, coated with soot and dust. All was silent except the steady
dripping of water from the ceiling into a small pool in the middle of the tunnel. He watched
as the tiny drops collected and formed a thick transparent orb that hung above. There it
paused, then bobbed for a moment and fell to the ground, sending ripples out from the center
of the pool that pulsed against the edges. Over and over again, the tiny drops made steady
ripples, never-ending.

Sump was still looming over the puddle, studying the movement of the water, when
something happened. All at once the pool shook with mighty force, the earth groaned as
clouds of coal-dust and a storm of pebbles and bits of ore rained down from the ceiling,
ricocheting off Sump's helmet and bouncing on the gravel floor. Sump raised his head in
surprise. In an instant, all was quiet again. Directly across from him, in the dented cage, the
canary stirred. He stared at it, watching. Then he brushed the soot from his sleeves and began
to rise. Again, in a split-second, the earth roared. Sump shut his eyes tight as the fog of dust
and soot invaded his sight, stinging it with dry force. He stumbled lightly, gripping the post
for support. The canary flew around frantically, knocking against the bars and the metal dome
of the cage as it swung back and forth on the iron spike, rhythmically creaking. Sump leaned
up against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, confused. Then it hit him; they were blasting.

There was no time to think, he had to get out. The blasting was too close; they were
unaware of his presence in the tunnel, probably trying to get through a rock slab or a layer of
thick shale. The other miners in the vicinity had been warned or evacuated, but Sump was
too far in. They had forgotten about him, about his task to rebuild the support beam deep
within the labyrinth.

Before he had time to move, the mine growled again, much louder. The force of the
dynamite shook the tunnel with unbelievable power, sending down a hurricane of debris. He
shut his eyes again, grasping the post hard. It happened too quickly, there was no time to
act, to register what was going on; he was stuck in a barrage of disaster. The post howled
under the shaking pressure and began to splinter under the weight of the layers of rock and
ore above. Shards of wood erupted as the oak gave way, shooting across the tunnel with
sharp speed. The sound was deafening, like gunshots going off at Sump's ear. He jumped
back and fell against the tunnel floor, sliding across the gravel as it ripped and tore his clothes
and skin. The helmet soared from his skull, knocking against the opposite wall and spinning
in the air as it splashed into the small pool of sooty water. Surprisingly, the lamp stayed on,
shining up at the swinging metal bird cage. Sump forced his eyes open just enough to watch
as the cage swung away from the iron spike, fell to the ground and bounced toward him. An
avalanche of rock and ore then poured from the ceiling as the great mine purged from above.
The fresh beam was caught in the flow, the right end digging into the soil as it cracked under
the pressure, again sending a storm of splinters into the air. A mighty chunk of black ore came
barreling toward Sump, whose eyes were again shut, colliding with his left shoulder. He was
pummeled back against the floor gripping his shoulder as warm blood seeped out of his flesh
and through his fingers.

Then it was finished, all was silent. The light from his helmet flickered sporadically against
the heap of stone and chunks of wood, then finally went out. Sump was enclosed in darkness;
he lay face up on the gritty mine floor, breathing hard and clasping his shoulder with a bruised
right hand.

8
 He lay motionless, struggling to reason what had happened, how badly he was hurt, and
what, if anything, he could do next. Taking his right hand from the wound, he placed it firmly
on the ground beside him and pushed himself upright. His whole body revolted, sending pulses
of violent pain coursing through his veins He squeezed his teeth together hard, grunting as
tears formed at the base of his eyes.

Now sitting up, he paused to catch his breath. It was completely black in the tunnel, and
difficult to distinguish where he lay in relation to anything. Squinting, he moved his head
slowly back and forth in an attempt to catch and seize any little bit of light, a gleam coming
through the wall, anything. He struggled to his feet, dizzy, and stretched out his right arm,
feeling the darkness for any sign of the wall. His left arm dangled at his side, burning intensely.
He knew if he tried to move it, the pain would only worsen.. It was obviously broken, useless
to him now.

His hand passed through the dusty air in waves, reaching for something to grab on to. He
stepped forward slightly, his fingers brushing up against a jagged piece of stone protruding
from the wall. He followed it slowly to the right, taking small steps and carefully passing his
hands over the dirt and ore. He kicked something suddenly with his boot, a metallic clink
startling him as he paused. His helmet. He bent over and fumbled around with his hand, at
last clasping the dented edges. The light had gone out, but Sump was Hell-bent on getting
illumination back. He lightly tapped the lamp against the rock wall, hoping to jolt the filaments
of the bulb into working again. Nothing. He tapped it again, harder, the sound bouncing off
the walls and back into his ears. Still nothing. Once more he swung the helmet at the wall and
it slammed against the stone with a loud crack. The light flickered rapidly, then reached a
steady, golden glow. Sump's soul rejoiced; light was a step in the right direction, he thought.
Quickly and carefully he placed the grimy helmet on his head and looked around, basking the
tunnel in yellowish rays..

He was trapped. The ceiling had caved in, destroying the beam and blocking the exit. A
dense pile of rubble stood between him and freedom. His spirits sank into the depths of his
stomach, he felt nauseous and weak in the legs and collapsed on the tunnel floor. Leaning his
back up against the wall, he looked up at the gloominess of the ore and rock that made up
the ceiling. Heavy tears formed in his eyes and slowly crept down his face, running over his
cheek and sailing down his neck, moistening his shirt collar.

Emotion poured from his face uncontrollably. He thought of his wife, asleep in her easy
chair listening to the radio, unaware of what had happened. He pictured himself standing over
her, looking down as she lay silent with his unborn baby, the red afghan draped over her
shoulders and hanging down to the floor. He longed to drag his fingers through her hair, the
scent of coconut shampoo drifting past his nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through
his nose, trying to smell her hair, lost in the thought. At first all he smelled was the sooty
murk of the soil and ore, but soon a strikingly different smell invaded his senses. It was faint,
but still distinct; a sickly sweet smell, like rotting melon or rancid pork. At that moment the
canary stirred in the battered cage that lay on the tunnel floor. Sump's stomach turned once
again as his mind ran through possible sources for the smell. The canary stirred. Gas.

Gas was entering the enclosure through an unseen gap in the ceiling. The eruption caused
by the dynamite blasts had opened a vein of poisonous gas that burrowed through the soil
and was leaking into the tunnel. It was a small amount, not yet strong, but Sump knew that
long-term exposure would end in death. Ghastly miners' stories echoed through his
subconscious; terrible hallucinations, violent seizures. He glanced back at the bird, which sat
calmly perched on the edge of its overturned seed dish. He would be alright as long as the
canary stayed alive.

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 Sump closed his eyes again and wallowed in a feeling of being overwhelmed. His mind
raced, thoughts crashed into one another and created a thick cloud of panic. It must be at
least one now, his wife may still be napping, or perhaps she's awake, just sitting in the chair
letting the warm breeze pour over her small nose, through the tiny hairs of her sandy
eyebrows, past her deep gray eyes, and down across her thin red lips. She looks down on the
street from their apartment, eyeing the corner of Vine Street and Crane, wishing it was six
when Sump would come strolling around slowly, his warm smile reaching up to her through
the whiskers and layers of caked soot. What would she do without him, how would she get
by? And the baby and bills, what would become of that? Sump let his head drop between his
knees and sobbed deeply. What would he do without her?

He was sitting quietly in the small earthen room, his chest heaving with sorrow, when he
heard a small sound tugging at his ear. It began as a dim echo, a low moan that seemed to
come from some distance, and soon developed into a wave of something familiar; a voice.

"Sump?"

It was calm, deep, and soothing. It bathed him in a gentle sense of queer relief. Fading
and rising in his mind, it continued.

"Sump, you alright?"

Sump raised his head sluggishly, wiping his eyes. He looked around hoping to discover the
source, but was disappointed when all he saw were three rock walls, the heap of rubble, and
the twisted metal bird cage.

"Who said that?" he said, once again inhaling the sultry scent of gas.

The canary stirred in the cage, drawing Sump's gaze. He stared at the dainty creature,
standing steady on two toothpick legs, its dim eyes gazing out through the rusted bars. Sump's
vision became distorted. The bird's small form grew blurry in the pale lamp-light, until all he
saw was a dusty yellow blob resting behind wavy vertical bars. He wiped his eyes again and
focused.

"Down here, in the cage," the voice filled the sooty cave, "the canary."

Grasping his shoulder with his good limb, Sump dragged himself over to where the cage
lay battered against the dirt and leaned his head down to peer in. The bird remained still,
cocking its head to the side to meet Sump's confused gaze. He grimaced.

"Birds don't talk."

"Believe what you like," the voice returned.

The light from the helmet lamp began to flicker wildly again, casting strange pulses of light
against the tunnel walls. Sump quickly removed it and swung it down against the ground
repeatedly. It flickered slowly and went out, submerging him once again in a pool of darkness.

"The light went out, Sump," the voice said.

He continued to slam it against the floor without success. The rapid clinking of metal on
gravel resonated in the cave.

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 "I know," he said, growing increasingly frustrated. He gave a final swing at the ground.
The flight flickered somewhat, then regained the steady glow.. He placed it back on his head,
matted hair sticking out over his ears. The canary fluttered its wings and changed positions
on the seed dish.

"Who are you?" Sump asked, leaning in to get a better look.

"I don't have a name."

There was a long pause. Sump felt extreme pressure invading his head; it throbbed under
the metal helmet. The sharp smell of gas got thicker, floating up into his nostrils, into his
mind.

"Why don't you give me a name," the voice said at length, cutting the silence.

Sump plunged his soot covered cheeks into his ragged hands and closed his eyes with a
sigh. He winced in pain, trying to collect himself, to ground himself on something firm.

"Johnson," he said, his voice muffled by his great hands.

The name rang in his ears and repeated itself in the back of his head, swirling around with
the throbbing pressure. It was quiet again. Sump sat slouched up against the wall with his
face in his hands, fighting the pain in his head and the flow of gas through his nose.

After a time he opened his eyes, looking down at the canary still rested on the seed dish.
Its motions slowing to sluggish waves; gas was filling its little body. It raised its head and
peered up at the tattered miner.

"Sump?"

"What," replied Sump, leaning his head back, staring up at the ceiling. He was getting
weak; sweat formed in the palm of his hands, making them cold and clammy to the touch.

"Are you afraid?"

Memories rushed back into Sump's consciousness; his first day, the leering manager
chuckling under his breath, the brackish sludge in the sump. The throbbing in his head spread
into his eyes, which streamed tears through his fingers in sooty wet trails. All his life he'd
avoided fear, ignored it. Now, in the face of disaster, he had no choice but to accept it.
Chances were he'd never leave the cave, he knew that. By the time anyone realized he was
down there, it would be too late. There was no telling how thick the rubble was, it might take
weeks for anyone to get to him. The blasting might not be over either. One more quick
explosion and he would be crushed by the immense weight of the earth above. Rocks and
piles of ore would fall from overhead, snapping his bones and pinning him down, helpless.

Sump clutched his head, the pressure and pain driving into his every move.. He thought
of the surface. It would be warm and sunny, a perfect August afternoon. Soon his wife would
station herself next to the window, diligently watching the corner for her returning husband.
He wouldn't come, she'd wait ten minutes before she started worrying. Ten would turn into
twenty, twenty into forty. Her hands would tremble against the chipped paint on the sill and
she'd hurry to the phone to call the mine. They wouldn't know where he was, they'd say, and
the unborn child in her swollen womb would stir.

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 Sump peeled his hands away from his face, placing the right one back on the bleeding
shoulder. Through the slicing sting of shattered bone, he forced his left hand to reach for the
bird cage. Struggling through the pain, he unhooked the latch that held the tiny door shut,
and let it swing back against the rusted bars. The canary paused, looking awkwardly at the
opening, then hopped slowly out of the cage onto the mine floor.

Perching itself on the chunk of black ore that had mangled Sump's shoulder, the canary
stood silent, trembling slightly as its little frame became increasingly filled with poisonous gas.
The light from the helmet beamed down on the little creature, casting a huge distorted shadow
against the opposite wall. The bird's small black eyes glistened in the hazy glow. Sump and
the bird sat motionless, peering into one another's eyes. Suddenly, the room pulsed with
yellow light as the lamp began to give way once more. Sump remained still, watching the
canary's shadow appear and depart rapidly in the light, like a fleeting shade.

The light vanished and the earthen room was dark again. Sump shut his eyes and leaned
his head back against the wall, the dirt and ore loosening in clumps, weaving themselves into
his dry hair. He faced the ceiling, settled on the mine floor listening to the sound of his own
breath growing heavier, labored.

"Sump."

The voice was fading, transforming into a mere echo in his weary state. His breathing
hastened and the pain in his head and shoulder intensified with each passing moment. He
opened his eyes in the darkness, bright white and pink blotches appearing before him with
each throb of pressure. The thick sour-sweet smell of gas draped over him, he could taste it
now, building up on the outside if his teeth, on his dry tongue.

"The light went out, Sump."

"I know."

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2.0 Online Facebook Discussion

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3.0 Discussion Director

Question1:
In your opinion, what is the suitable theme for this short stories (Caged John)

Question 2:

Describe Sump's character that you like most.

Question 3:

State that the situation based on the short stories (Caged John) who made Sump always
worked hard to have a good living.

Question 4:
At the end of Caged John short story, describe the situation among Sump and the canary bird
while they in the tunnel.
Question5:
What is the lessons can we take from the Caged John short story?

4.0 Word Wizard

1.Furnace - An enclosed chamber in which material can be heated to very high temperatures.

2. Barrel - A cylindrical container bulging out in the middle, traditionally made of wooden
staves enclosed by metal hoops. A measure of capacity for oil and beer.

3. Slightly - To small degree, inconsiderably

4. Smudge - Cause something to become messily smeared by rubbing it.

5. Shaft - A long, narrow part or section forming the handle of a tool or club, the body of a
spear or arrow, or a similar implement.

6. Burly - A person large and strong

7. Avalanche - A mass of snow, ice, and rocks falling rapidly down a mountainside.

8. Clasp - Grasp tightly with one’s hand

9. Sobbed - Cry making loud, convulsive gasps.

10. Tugging - Pull something hard or suddenly

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11. Clammy - Unpleasantly damp and sticky or slimy

12. Latch - A spring lock for an outer door, which catches when the door is closed and can
only be opened from the outside with a key.

5.0 Researcher

M.T Bove (born 26 September 1972) is a Zimbabwe-born British author, best known for her
best-online psychological thriller novel. Bove's first novel, My Friends, relates the story of
Victor Baton, a wounded war veteran trying to reestablish his prewar lifestyle but avoid work.
Her second online novel is Caged Johnson, relates The story of Sump Stevenson, an optimist
and coal miner.

6.0 Connector

Sump is a shy person and working in mining manufactory, he was lived with his mom as
sixteen years old, he worked at mining because, his father left them to another girl. Therefore,
they had not option in their life because they almost were starving to die. So, sump chosen
very good option to work in mining even though that works so hard to him. These reasons,
he enforced him to enroll himself to the mining factory. Base for this passage is really touch
our heart because its reality in our life, if we faced any problems in our life, we will change
our habitual life to be responsibility person. Also, remind us more about responsibility for our
parent if one of them would leave as sump.

The mining is very dangerous works because, when we work in mining for long it will
affect for their face too hard or rough, and old. When, sump worked there, his friends influence
him to work deeply in hole of the mining, but sump commitment must stand firm as pillar for
their decay and ruin. These is very important passage, because he was a wise person and
strong man to save his life for the ruin and decay. These passages motivate for us to choose
the decision wisely and separately for which is bad and good.

During he worked in the mine until he left his hand for accident about gas explosions.
But he always put his mind as imaginary he touches her and his baby too. This passage is
really inspiring for us because, even though he was suffered but he really loves for his wife to
keep his mind them, even though he was in the difficult situation. Also, to remain us when
we are going to somewhere else do not forget our parents to love them too much.

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7.0 Summerizer

This short story Caged John is a story that tells the character of a Sump who is a new person
who just started working in a mining company. But when he was working in a deep tunnel, a
gas explosion had occurred. He and the canary birds were working to save themselves from
the tunnel to avoid sniffing the blast gas.

8.0 Feedback

Gabriel:

This story is found from internet and I learn something this story from sump journey of life.
It motives me to be responsible and humble person in a family. Also, from this story I could
improve my reading and understanding in English language and increased more my
vocabulary.

Azhar:

What I understand from the short stories (Caged John) is the independent attitude to continue
to live in hard life. This is because, the main character in the story face a hard situation and
his was an independent person who have to work in early age. From the character I get a
new motivation that we all must do our best. Furthermore, this shot story also have a good
plot of story that easy to understand and this shot story have many motivation and moral
values.

Wani:

In studying this short stories (Caged John) I would like to talk about how I understand this
short story. As a whole, the languange used is easy but the short story plot is rather twist.
The author (M. T. Bove) of this story wise in spinning the plot. So to make a question, I must
understand each one of the sentences so I can get the content out to prepare questions for
discussion with my friends. This is because during the discussion all members of the group
need to discuss five questions based on this short story. Furthermore, through the study for
this story, I gained a new knowledge which based on the story of the canary is a bird that can
help people during difficult times. Although the view is like a myth, but its a little bit true
according to the old society.

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Aisyah:

In this story I have learn that we need to respect each other in life. This is because in this
story Slump was bullied because he was a new employee in his place and the slump also did
not respond to their deeds because of respecting them as senior workers. In this story we
also teach about love because slump is able to work to support their family life. In addition I
have learn more about vocabulary and words that I never use.

Liza:

According to the story books I read, I am very interested in this story book. This is because,
this story book clearly shows a son who is very responsible to his family. Not only that, in this
story book also shows and tells the sacrifice of a son who also has a wife in order to earn a
living for her family. Other than that, this story book also indirectly helps me to be responsible
in my family. In addition, after reading this story book I also motivated myself according to
this story book. It is obvious that the storyline of this book has had a lot of impact on me and
possibly other readers. I hope this story book is also read by others because this storybook
gives a lot of teaching in life.

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