EPTBefore you even step foot in it, Hell deprives you of your senses. Touch, taste, and smell are all halved. I ascended the wobbly ladder with confidence; knowing, at the very least, I wouldn't be falling up.
Your entrance to Hell is never dignified. You enter crouching, grasping for a solid foundation, yet you are never worried because, again, you wouldn't be falling up.
There we were, one late-summer afternoon, maintenance workers of the super-terranean sewage system of Hell. Immediately, you are enveloped by the heat waves. The airless musk clings to you, hoping that, perhaps, since you came in, you can lead it out.
It was hot, dark and I could barely stand. I was reduced to walking around like a toddler, clinging to wooden foundations, as if, with one false step, the ground itself would swallow me whole. Up there, you are deprived of one of the only things that makes you human; the ability to stand upright. You are forced into a perpetual state of limbo between slouching and crouching. Perhaps this is how Neanderthal felt.
The work was worse. We would sand copper pipes and coat them with some plumbing cement before we took to the task of fusing them together with fire and lead. The stench of raw, sanded copper is terrible. The feeling is similar to being punched in the nose; it's not so much a pain as it is a sensation. The calm, blue flame washes over the pipe causing the cement to bubble and enticing the lead to liquefy. If God were to die, his veins would bleed copper and his bowels would evacuate lead.
I sat there, holding one end of the pipe as the other is being bonded. Smoke begins to pour out of my end. In its virtually windless environment, the noxious smoke dances enchantingly through the air. Unlike the goofy, puffy clouds we are used to, up there, smoke is an elegant orchestration of weightless strings.
Hours pass and I am literally soaking wet from sweat. It is sticky, mucky and all over. We kept going; it had to be done. We watch the sweat drip off our brows by the light of the flame.
The fatigue is unrelenting. After a while, even the flame, which is usually a tranquil, translucent blue, spits a furious orange which snaps the air with its frustration. Even Hell's natives cannot endure.
