Sleep and the Soul
Greg Egan
1
JESSE MOPPED UP the gravy with the last of his bread, gulped down a final mouthful of tea, then took his mug, plate, and utensils into the cooks’ tent.
Henry looked up from the dishwashing tub and nodded to him amiably. “What have they got you on now?”
“Rubble,” Jesse replied. “Just changed me from spikes.”
“As good as a rest,” Henry joked.
Jesse strode away from the tent, past the campfire, across the moonlit ground. Gage, the foreman of the blasting team, spotted him and called out impatiently, “Where have you been, Sloss? Your meal break finished five minutes ago.”
“If the Lord had intended us to work all night, He would have put a second sun up in the sky,” Jesse suggested.
. . .
