17 feet by 12 inches
Why cannot giraffes fall?
I am a male, just turned 35 this summer, in good health, hardworking, obedient to management, disciplined, adaptable to overtime, and have no bad habits such as gambling or excessive drinking, fully meeting the requirements of a construction site worker. I don't know when I started meeting these requirements, but I have been doing this job for nine years.
In early October, the contractor in this area took on a new project: repairing a 40-story luxury residential building. A real estate company he worked for had discovered cracks in its load-bearing walls. Initially, fine cracks appeared near the ceiling on the 40th floor's walls, soon extending to the floor. Within two days, residents on the 39th and 38th floors reported similar issues. Our task was to identify the issue and develop a repair plan. Oddly, cracks usually start at the lower level...
During this time, I noticed something peculiar - a girl who lived in this building often watched us work. In early November, while smoking outside the building, I spoke with her for the first time. She offered me a job carrying concrete outside my regular hours, at a building across the street. It was an easier task, taking at most an hour each time and bypassing the contractor's fees. She said she would pay me 60 CNY at one time, and I agreed without hesitation. After all, who wouldn't want a job that is easy to earn and pays well? Sixty yuan can buy roasted duck for my child four times. She mentioned needing five more workers like me.
We began on November 10th. She led us to a modern, 40-story building that looked like an elite office space. The lights in the building were bright, the floor tiles were polished and shiny, and I subconsciously flicked off the dust from my cotton jacket at the doorway. We entered the first-floor space, walked about 16 feet, turned left, went down the stairs, turned left again, and continued going down. After reaching B1, we turned right, then left, walked straight for another 16 feet, turned left again for about 8 feet, and arrived at Room 017. With its dim lighting, exposed ventilation ducts, and walls showing aged white amidst grey, this room seemed out of place, like a forgotten corner. It was 10.6 meters long, 3.7 meters wide, and 2.6 meters high, with three redundant doors on one side. In the center lay a long, narrow, thin concrete slab - strangely familiar and out of place. Why was it here, and in this shape? The surface was shiny and flawless and seemed made in the assembly line. However, the edges show some traces of cement overflow during the demolding process, and they have not been processed. It is not ready to circulate into the building materials market.
Our task was to lift the slab without damaging it, with further instructions to come later.
After a brief discussion, we assumed our positions. I was standing at the first one, closest to the door, with the others lined up sequentially. We faced the door, right hand on the slab's side, left hand on top. At the count of "1, 2, 3, lift!" we applied diagonal upward force with our right palms, attempting to stand the slab upright. Our heavy breathing drowned out the subtle cracking sound of the slab. It broke into six pieces. Before we could react, she dismissed us for the day, instructing us to return in five days. Confused and guilty, we put the slab down and left Room 017.
The crack in the residential building continues to extend downwards. In just five days, the crack has reached the 30th floor. The anxious residents pressed for an emergent solution.
On November 16th, we returned to the basement as scheduled. The room was still dim and oppressing, with a new concrete slab in the middle. We had to ensure its integrity and lift it again. I wondered, was the slab made here? But why make such a slab here? I couldn't figure out its purpose. It is too thin for a sidewalk, impractical, and wrongly constructed for a building wall. What was it? We took the same positions as before but were wary of last time's breakage. "1, 2, 3, lift!" The cracking sound was clearer this time. It still broke into six pieces. My face immediately turned red – my left ring finger was trapped under the heaviest piece of cement. I didn't cry out or ask for help; I just froze; it evoked a haunting memory. Four years ago, his leg was under that fell wall. The slab, though barely 15 kg, felt like it was compressing my entire being.
As expected, the cracks in the residential building continue to extend downwards, astonishingly reaching the 18th floor uncontrollably. We speculated on causes, suspecting the recent abnormal snowfall and temperature fluctuations.
Another five days passed, and the six of us gathered again. This time, we miraculously managed to stand the slab upright. She then instructed us to move it out of the room. Carrying it under our arms, we navigated towards the door. The first five workers exited smoothly, but the slab jammed at the doorway with the last person. It could get through the first turn if it were 12 inches shorter. She said to cut off the stuck part, by any means. Why, then, is there a concern about keeping it intact before? It made no sense. Without tools and doubting we could lift it again if set down, we wedged the slab's end between the door frame and door, then shut the door from the inside. The part broke off, and we continued moving the remaining slab outside. She asked us to keep going until we were out of the building. Then we turned right at the corner ahead and went up the stairs. We got stuck at the stairs again. We spread out on either side of the stairwell corner, two on the left, the rest on the right, using the slab to hit the concrete right angle of the corner. We reduced the slab's length enough to reach the platform, which was actually shorter than the platform's length due to the randomness of the breakage. We successfully made it to the first floor. Now, just one person could carry it. We finally moved the slab outside.
The sudden wind whipped up cement dust from the slab's cross-section, blinding me. As I closed my eyes, another crack resounded—this one was much deeper, slower, yet immense. It was so loud that it seemed as if, in the end, I couldn't hear anything at all, only a deafening silence remained.