- Feb 27, 2003
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Hey All,
I wrote a short story the other day, and anecdote if you will, and am polishing it up for (a fanciful) submission to the Clairion Review. (Where it will no doubt be rejected.)
Nonetheless, hopefully some of you will read it and provide me with suggestions.
It happened not too long ago that I spoke with a peculiar man. My secretary let him in; my last appointment of that particular day. He was a tall lanky fellow who appeared to be around the age of thirty-five, with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, as if he had never seen the sun in his life. He was smartly dressed and his bare left hand revealed him to be a bachelor. As the man sat down across the desk from me, though I had not yet invited him to do so, I could tell he had something to say with conviction. So I spoke first.
"Have you seen this new gadget?" I enquired.
"No, I haven't," he answered, "but I came to discuss "
"Then let me show you," I continued. "This little device is many things in one. It allows you to speak at distances to others, or type to them, if you don't want to speak; it also allows you to store your music and even takes photographs." I snapped a picture of his confused face, in order to drive the point home. It showed his eyes to be red and the flash glared off of his shinny nose, but that didn't really matter, as I knew the next month's model would fix these problems. I decided not to tell him.
"But you already sold me a music device last week," he complained, "a picture taking machine the week before and a speaking device the week before that!" He was missing the point.
I leaned over the desk, "But now you can have them all in a single little piece of technology." Content in my argument, I leaned back, ending, "It's more convenient; trust me."
I could see that the poor man was still unsure. So I decided to help him along, "Take a look at the typing function; it is very popular." Careful to avoid touching his slender white fingers, I slid the contraption across the desk and he picked it up for a closer look.
"I hardly speak to people face to face as it is," he almost laughed, with a vexed look upon his face, "and now I will not even hear their voices?"
I sighed.
"It is more efficient," I explained, "you won't be spending so much time in bothersome conversation." I wished that I could avoid conversation with him, but I didn't let on. "You can get more work done or continue watching your television while using it."
By this point I could see that I was getting through to him. He set down the devise and looked at me with a pained expression. "How will I pay for this? I am still paying you for the other three devices. Not to mention what I owe for the condominium, the motorized vehicle "
"Don't worry;" I tried to calm him, "I'm sure we can work something out. It will just take you a little longer to pay. What's another two years? People live so much longer now anyway." It worked. So I slid the contract over to him. "Don't bother reading it," I told him, "its the same as the others." And so he signed it, with a resigned look on his face.
Trying to be pleasant I asked him, "So how are things at home?" I wasn't really interested.
At that moment a light turned on in his big bloodshot eyes, as if I had just reminded him of something. Jumping up from his seat, he said with a degree of conviction, "That is why I came here today, and I will not leave until we have discussed it!" I knew I made a mistake.
"Please, sit down," I implored him. "Of course we will discuss it. What seems to be the problem?" He sat.
"When I moved there, you told me that life would be better, and I would be happier," he complained.
"Isn't it?" I asked incredulously.
"I am hardly there because I work so much "
"But it is nice when you are there," I pointed out.
Now he was leaning forward and speaking faster. " I live in a building with two hundred other people, but none know my name "
"There is much freedom in such privacy," I interjected, but he was not finished.
" I barely even have enough dirt to grow anything and everything is noisy all the time "
His voice gradually increased in volume. I decided to let him finish.
" I hardly have the time and silence to pray or take interest in my friends or even start a family!"
Again I sighed and leaned back further in my seat. "What is it you propose?"
A smile broke upon his face for the first time and he sat up straight with pride in his idea, and not a little excitement. "I want to leave the city and work with my hands." He stuck them out for me to look, as if it mattered.
"And get dirty and physically weary?" I asked with disgust. "Why in the world would you want that? You should take pride in the career I gave you and the things you now have. You cannot have those things in such a life as you are asking for." His hands sank and smile faded.
"I never see anything completed nor anything grow!" He rebuked me. "The things I have never seem to make me happy for long!"
"The way you do your work allows our society to produce many things," I countered, "and for participating in that you should find much self-worth. Furthermore, with so many things being made, you can acquire a new thing each time the last stops giving you pleasure. Don't I always lend you the money?" His ignorance astonished me.
"I " The words seemed to catch in his throat.
"It doesn't matter anyway," I continued, "Don't you remember? You owe me thirty years, plus two for the new gadget. You cannot just leave."
"What am I, a slave?!" There was panic in his voice.
"No," I reassured him, "you can always pay everything back sooner if you wish. Just work more," I suggested.
"But I work so much already," he cried. Then a hopeful expression passed across his face, "What if I give everything back and you just give me what my grandfather had?"
"I paid for what your grandfather had, and what you now have isn't worth what you owe," I explained. The hopeful expression passed into disappointment. "Don't worry," I continued, "keep working hard and you will have what you want in about thirty-two years." He looked broken.
Without a word he slowly stood up to leave, taking his new gadget from the desktop. There was something I found comical in the way his head hung dejectedly atop that lanky body of his, like an old balloon on a plastic stick. As he was slowly closing the door I had a final thought of encouragement. "Do not forget," I told him, "work hard and long and everything will work out! And if you ever need money or something new, you know where to find me!"
http://pactum-serva.blogspot.com/
I wrote a short story the other day, and anecdote if you will, and am polishing it up for (a fanciful) submission to the Clairion Review. (Where it will no doubt be rejected.)
Nonetheless, hopefully some of you will read it and provide me with suggestions.
_______________________________________________
_______________________
The Usurer
It happened not too long ago that I spoke with a peculiar man. My secretary let him in; my last appointment of that particular day. He was a tall lanky fellow who appeared to be around the age of thirty-five, with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, as if he had never seen the sun in his life. He was smartly dressed and his bare left hand revealed him to be a bachelor. As the man sat down across the desk from me, though I had not yet invited him to do so, I could tell he had something to say with conviction. So I spoke first.
"Have you seen this new gadget?" I enquired.
"No, I haven't," he answered, "but I came to discuss "
"Then let me show you," I continued. "This little device is many things in one. It allows you to speak at distances to others, or type to them, if you don't want to speak; it also allows you to store your music and even takes photographs." I snapped a picture of his confused face, in order to drive the point home. It showed his eyes to be red and the flash glared off of his shinny nose, but that didn't really matter, as I knew the next month's model would fix these problems. I decided not to tell him.
"But you already sold me a music device last week," he complained, "a picture taking machine the week before and a speaking device the week before that!" He was missing the point.
I leaned over the desk, "But now you can have them all in a single little piece of technology." Content in my argument, I leaned back, ending, "It's more convenient; trust me."
I could see that the poor man was still unsure. So I decided to help him along, "Take a look at the typing function; it is very popular." Careful to avoid touching his slender white fingers, I slid the contraption across the desk and he picked it up for a closer look.
"I hardly speak to people face to face as it is," he almost laughed, with a vexed look upon his face, "and now I will not even hear their voices?"
I sighed.
"It is more efficient," I explained, "you won't be spending so much time in bothersome conversation." I wished that I could avoid conversation with him, but I didn't let on. "You can get more work done or continue watching your television while using it."
By this point I could see that I was getting through to him. He set down the devise and looked at me with a pained expression. "How will I pay for this? I am still paying you for the other three devices. Not to mention what I owe for the condominium, the motorized vehicle "
"Don't worry;" I tried to calm him, "I'm sure we can work something out. It will just take you a little longer to pay. What's another two years? People live so much longer now anyway." It worked. So I slid the contract over to him. "Don't bother reading it," I told him, "its the same as the others." And so he signed it, with a resigned look on his face.
Trying to be pleasant I asked him, "So how are things at home?" I wasn't really interested.
At that moment a light turned on in his big bloodshot eyes, as if I had just reminded him of something. Jumping up from his seat, he said with a degree of conviction, "That is why I came here today, and I will not leave until we have discussed it!" I knew I made a mistake.
"Please, sit down," I implored him. "Of course we will discuss it. What seems to be the problem?" He sat.
"When I moved there, you told me that life would be better, and I would be happier," he complained.
"Isn't it?" I asked incredulously.
"I am hardly there because I work so much "
"But it is nice when you are there," I pointed out.
Now he was leaning forward and speaking faster. " I live in a building with two hundred other people, but none know my name "
"There is much freedom in such privacy," I interjected, but he was not finished.
" I barely even have enough dirt to grow anything and everything is noisy all the time "
His voice gradually increased in volume. I decided to let him finish.
" I hardly have the time and silence to pray or take interest in my friends or even start a family!"
Again I sighed and leaned back further in my seat. "What is it you propose?"
A smile broke upon his face for the first time and he sat up straight with pride in his idea, and not a little excitement. "I want to leave the city and work with my hands." He stuck them out for me to look, as if it mattered.
"And get dirty and physically weary?" I asked with disgust. "Why in the world would you want that? You should take pride in the career I gave you and the things you now have. You cannot have those things in such a life as you are asking for." His hands sank and smile faded.
"I never see anything completed nor anything grow!" He rebuked me. "The things I have never seem to make me happy for long!"
"The way you do your work allows our society to produce many things," I countered, "and for participating in that you should find much self-worth. Furthermore, with so many things being made, you can acquire a new thing each time the last stops giving you pleasure. Don't I always lend you the money?" His ignorance astonished me.
"I " The words seemed to catch in his throat.
"It doesn't matter anyway," I continued, "Don't you remember? You owe me thirty years, plus two for the new gadget. You cannot just leave."
"What am I, a slave?!" There was panic in his voice.
"No," I reassured him, "you can always pay everything back sooner if you wish. Just work more," I suggested.
"But I work so much already," he cried. Then a hopeful expression passed across his face, "What if I give everything back and you just give me what my grandfather had?"
"I paid for what your grandfather had, and what you now have isn't worth what you owe," I explained. The hopeful expression passed into disappointment. "Don't worry," I continued, "keep working hard and you will have what you want in about thirty-two years." He looked broken.
Without a word he slowly stood up to leave, taking his new gadget from the desktop. There was something I found comical in the way his head hung dejectedly atop that lanky body of his, like an old balloon on a plastic stick. As he was slowly closing the door I had a final thought of encouragement. "Do not forget," I told him, "work hard and long and everything will work out! And if you ever need money or something new, you know where to find me!"
http://pactum-serva.blogspot.com/
