Ah, the Lewee-bird. Like many story elements, this scene was not planned from the outset, but arose during the writing. Well, in this case, during some pre-writing research. When I was reading a report that investigated the causes of one particular explosion, a curious phrase caught my eye. The report referred to “the man-lift belt”. It did not explain the term, as it was no doubt well known to all the industry insiders who were the target audience for the report.
The thing that immediately came to mind was an archaic elevator system in a Rome hospital in the 1976 film “The Omen”. The system was like a cross between an elevator and an escalator. A continuous series of panels moved vertically through the height of the entire building. Every seven or eight feet was a narrow ledge, running its four or five foot width. The entire assembly had no doors, but was at all times open to the hallways of each floor. When an unoccupied ledge would arise into view, one would simply step onto the ledge to begin the ride up. Although it might seem a bit scary, in practice it is really no more threatening than stepping onto an escalator. When stepping on, you simultaneously turn around so you are facing outward. When you reach your desired floor, you simply step off the continuously rising ride, into the hallway of your floor. These facilities are in pairs, one running up; the other, down.
When I saw the phrase “man-lift belt”, I immediately imagine such as system. Instead of a series of interlocking articulated panels, a rather stiff four foot wide belt would provide the attachment points for the ledges.
I knew the prudent thing to do was to investigate the term to see if my assumption was right, before composing a whole scene with the risk that I might have to scrap it all if I were wrong. However, the image was so powerful to me that I had to go ahead and write it. I was delighted to eventually find that my guess had been correct.
What I further assumed, and never bothered to check as it seemed to be a more minor point, was in the case of this fictional Emery man-lift belt the rider would ascend (or descend) mostly in darkness, with points of light leaking in transforming the setting into a magical sort of fantasy experience. If in fact no man-lift belts are designed this way, I would rather never find that out.
In addition to the sheer fun of writing Lewee’s ascent, the scene gives us a chance to see some of the upper level equipment that plays a part later on, as well as the train tracks that will help build the eventual disaster into a catastrophe beyond imagining. It was during this scene, and the scenes later in the afternoon and evening, that Lewee began to become real for me. It kind of crept up on me, unexpectedly. I suppose the best relationships develop that way.
The chapter has a few other tidbits. One is a glance into Lewee’s poetic yearnings—a literary aspiration where I’m letting a bit more of myself peek out from under the comforting guise that is Lewee Jorgesson. The other, a hint that Mother might not be as crazy as Lewee has always assumed.