Turn 166 of 233

Ask Lena about Aleki's first words. Also encourage kimo while maintaining our high quality work

Sina is leaning against the lumber stack and the leaning is the thing she does when her legs are still carrying thirty-four miles and the carrying is the thing her body does while her mouth is working. The morning is warming and the warming is the thing that dries the sweat on her skin and the drying is the thing that leaves salt on the surface and the salt is the thing Lena knows from her own body. Kimo is on the pad crawling between the lumber stack and the plan table and the crawling is the thing he does between walks and the between is the place where the building happens.

"When did Aleki talk?" Lena asks. The asking is the asking of a woman who is holding her son and the holding is the thing she does while she asks because the asking is about the boy who hums like Aleki and the humming is the thing that connects them.

Sina shifts against the lumber and the shifting is the thing she does when the question is about Aleki and the about Aleki is the thing that opens a door and the opening is the thing she allows now because now is different from before.

"Late," Sina says. "Eleven months. First word was mama. Standard. Nothing special about it. He didn't talk much until he was two and then he didn't stop. But the first word was late. Eleven months. Normal range. Nothing like this."

"Nothing like this," Lena says. The echo is the echo they share and the sharing is the thing that is the weight of a boy who has eight words at four months.

"He hummed before he talked," Sina says. The saying is the saying of a woman who is remembering and the remembering is the thing that comes with the name.

"Aleki hummed when he was thinking. When he was calm. The boy hums like his father."

Kimo is on the pad and the humming is the thing Lena hears and the hearing is the thing that is the connection and the connection is Aleki and Aleki is the thing that is in the boy. Lena crouches and the crouching is the crouching she knows — 630 pounds dropping to haunches that could squat 500 and the haunches hold. She sets Kimo on his feet at the far end of the pad and the far end is twenty feet from the plan table.

"Come on, buddy. Walk to the plan table."

Kimo lets go of her knees and the letting go is the thing. One step. Two. Three. The rhythm is the rhythm she knows — slow, deliberate, the wobble smaller every day. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. The crew is working and the working is the thing that continues and the continuing is the thing that doesn't stop because the boy is walking. Marco is on the nail gun and the nail gun is the thing that drives and the driving is the rhythm Kimo's feet find. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. The fourteenth step reaches the plan table and the reaching is the arrival. Kimo's hands hit the plywood and the hitting is the thing that says he made it.

"Fourteen," Walt says from the top of the wall frame. The saying is the saying of a man who is counting and the counting is the thing the crew does.

"He did fifteen on the balcony last night," Lena says. "The concrete here is rougher. Slows him a half step."

Walt nods and the nod is the thing Walt gives. The crew goes back to work and the going back is the thing that is seamless and the seamless is the thing that is this crew — the boy walks and they count and they go back to nails and the going back is not a break. It is the rhythm. Kimo walks four more times across the pad before lunch — twelve, fourteen, eleven, thirteen. The numbers are the numbers and the numbers are growing and the growing is the thing that is always one more and the one more is the structure.

Lena picks up the nail gun from Marco and the picking up is the taking of the shift and the taking is the thing she does when the work needs doing. She drives studs into the top plate and the driving is the thing her body knows — the hip drop, the belly as counterweight, the leverage that comes from 630 pounds of mass behind the tool. The wall goes up and the going up is fast and the fast is the quality and the quality is the thing that is never less. She checks the studs with the square and the checking is the thing she does every time and every time is every time. The wall is plumb. The wall is level. The wall is the thing she built while her son walked on the pad behind her and the behind is the place where the boy is growing and the growing is the thing she hears in the humming and the counting and the words.

Sina is watching from the lumber stack and the watching is the watching of a woman who is seeing Lena work and the seeing is the thing that is new for her — she has run with Lena, she has eaten with Lena, she has been in the bungalow with Lena, but she has not seen Lena work and the work is the thing that is Lena on the site. The nail gun and the hip drop and the belly and the mass. Sina is holding something and the holding is the thing that is not a word yet and the not yet is the thing that is building in her the way the words are building in Kimo — slowly, accurately, in the place where the mouth opens and the sound is right.