Father worked, father toiled, but father never seemed happy.

And now, my father has passed, and has passed his burdens and his labors to me.

I don't know why my father began working as an engineer. He was a simple farmer. Where he developed his obsession, I do not know, for he never told me, and Grandfather never took an interest in these sorts of things. He always told me, "Joachim, keep those damned foolish ideas out of your hand. Work the land, the land will always be there for you."

Of course, father had other plans. He'd made me help him on every one of his new engines. He sold the farm and bought a house in Rothon, where he worked as an engineer for the mining companies. He'd made me help him falsify documentation and certification. I don't know why they accepted it. Perhaps they didn't care.

He learned on the job, and he made me come to work with him. I don't even know the first thing about farming. Grandfather would be displeased. Mother was displeased, kept talking about how the soot and grime made its way into everything, even our beds.

Father had me sent to a school in Arles. Not the Eisenkastell, it was too expensive. He sent me to a Lu'um school. A free one. They taught me how to do these things properly. How to draft and design. Even taught me some chemistry, and basic electrical theory.

When I came back, father had already broken a dozen engines. He couldn't understand it. He thought he had the timing down. He made a hot plate from a chunk of igneus. He'd been compressing the whale oil alright.

I kept helping him. Mother kept telling me not to, that father had gone mad, but I kept helping father. I don't know why.

All father talked about in those years were air-fuel mixtures and dissertations he had stolen from the company. He never talked about mother, or sister. Even on Birthdays. Or Holidays. When he wasn't working at work, he was working at the engine. He slept only five hours a day towards the end. Only ate bread and jerky. I don't think he noticed when Mother was gone.

I remember winter of 925. He couldn't get up off his mat to get to work. He started crying then, and made me come to him. He told me to carry on his work. He told me where he kept his designs. He already knew. He told me to finish the engine. Then he died.

I didn't feel sad when he passed. I don't know why.

[M]: Part 1 of my two-part Diesel Engine thing. It's still about as depressing as usual.