Text by Joseph Pleass

In China there is a factory that produces a piano every five minutes. On assembly the strings are calibrated by hand and on leaving the factory they have been played the most beautifully they will ever be played. Each movement down the production line is so perfectly choreographed that the line-managers overhead habitually weep. 

From the factory, the pianos float down the Pearl River Delta on the backs of large ships; over half a kilometre long and many crates high. Dock workers drag their knuckles across container walls, arpeggiating choruses whilst they move toward horizons.

Workers play with cards and smoke cigarettes, flick them off the edge of walkways. They talk of containers crushing without warning. They talk of the sound of a falling pianos, they talk of the sound of falling wine glasses.

At night they eat together and tell stories of their homes. They’ve been lying to one another for a while now. The lie is better than the truth; they all agree. They’ve all slept with beautiful women, and they all have beautiful children. One boy, with a large birthmark on his face, explains he has no children and he has no woman waiting for him at home. The others explain that he does and that every man on the ship has a woman waiting for them. The boy laughs and he remembers her for them.

One night the ocean furls up and waves blanket the containers, there is nothing that can be done. Nothing is lost, but the painted names of companies are beaten back into the rust. The sea retreats leaving behind salt and plastic. A large fish violently contorts its self across the floor, it whips itself torsional against edges of plastic and metal, blood and salt water flow through the ships drainage, it’s eyes are red with broken capillaries; a sunrise against an eclipse. The men gather round and one kicks the head whilst another takes a knife to subdue and gut it.

They must check the containers for damage, it takes all day and they know it is pointless. They travel in pairs and inspect the crates they can reach. They know it is pointless because there are so many they cannot reach. They open a crate from the  _Pearl River Piano Co_  and water exhales into their ankles. The legs of the piano are damp, one argues this is the purpose of the legs, the other, the boy with the birthmark, argues it is not. They stand at the piano and one says he cannot play, the boy with the birthmark says that he can. The other leaves the container in search of a chair and returns with a plastic barrel that he places sideways. The boy at the piano takes a seat and rests his feet on the wet pedals. He learnt to play for his grandmother he explains, she gave him money if he played. 

In Rotterdam, the man explains to the others that the boy with the birthmark plays very well and that he didn’t have to work on the ship. He disagrees, but they are now curious. He won’t play for them though, instead he smokes a cigarette and they agree to go to a bar. They spend the night walking and drinking and at every piano they pass they try to convince him to play. They do this for many hours until they fall asleep or become too drunk to care. 

The boy with the birthmark and the man from the crate are now both unable to stand. He asks why he won’t play and the boy with the birthmark explains he is not a musician and that he is a dock worker. The other doesn’t understand, he argues a man can be anything. The boy with the birthmark asks the man from the crate why he would choose to be a dock worker if he could be anything. The man answers that he can only be a dock worker because he was born from a great lineage of dock workers. The boy with the birthmark explains that this goes against his earlier logic: that a man can be anything he chooses. The man from the crate says nothing; instead they smoke and watch young Europeans fall through the streets. 

The ship’s cargo is unloaded and replaced with large amounts of Ethylene and Ethylbenzene. The men have to be careful when they smoke, so they smoke in their cabins or at the end of the ship with the gulls. The boy with the birthmark thinks of his grandmother; he remembers the piano and the smell of the wet leaves that blew in through the window, her face is distorted and when she opens her mouth there is nothing, all that remains are the nameless songs that only his hands can remember.