Some Fourteen Words (Excerpt)

One may live as decent a life as is possible in this largely repulsive world, keeping mostly at bay the desire to annihilate oneself or others, while uttering no more than some thirteen or fourteen words. What these words may be is not the subject of this story, nor is the number itself anything but an estimation designed to placate those who cannot conceive of saying nothing at all.

This belief will serve as part of the defence I intend to muster in order to repel the attacks my manager will make against my character in our meeting later this afternoon. Of course I have no doubt that my point, carefully considered and clearly articulated as it may be, will be quickly dismissed by my manager with a consolatory grin and paternal shaking of his head. We will be seated opposite each other in the small fluorescent room, the frosted glass of which I can see above my computer monitor. The radiators will be searing. Each window will be firmly shut against a thick fog which has lingered since early morning. My heart will be beating aggressively, as it always does when existence gets too close.

"Look," he will say, the bulk of his attention focused on matters occupying a realm of importance far higher than my position within the company. "That just isn't how it works. Let me explain, albeit briefly, the nature of human endeavor..."

What will follow is an argument made with a confidence I will consider myself at that moment to be completely lacking. This argument, accompanied by an ongoing rearrangement of facial features and vocal tone, will serve first to remind me that to exist as a human being is to be granted membership of a group so powerful and advanced that no rival to it is realistically conceivable. Membership of this group, furthermore, has already provided me with countless benefits I could not ("could you?") conceive to live without. Examples he will suggest will be the shared language he and I are speaking, the clothes we wear, the building protecting us at that very moment from the ravages of cold and damp, not to mention the countless industries involved in designing, constructing and furnishing such a building, and the street on which it is positioned, the city in which it is merely one of hundreds of such buildings of relative size and design.

Naturally, he will explain, quite patronizingly (it will seem to me), the benefits to being a human being in such a society are so numerous that it is only reasonable that something is demanded in return for my receiving them, and that some price, on my part, be paid. And if that price be that I overcome my strange disinclination to join in the conversations enjoyed by my colleagues throughout the day, or sacrifice a few additional hours of my week to accompany them to a local bar or attend one of the regular after-hours events organized to encourage good-will between members of staff. To forego such occasions is not only rude, he will assert, but serves as evidence that the forego-er views him or herself as an isolated unit thriving in but contributing to a society - small or large - in which he (I will notice the absence of a potential she here) has volunteered to be a part. The word volunteered will be said with a particular emphasis that I will have no choice but to acknowledge. He will look me in the eye, purse his lips, and remind me that my being there close to him beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, inside the hot airless room, within earshot of my colleagues laughing at some anecdote or joke, is an entire voluntary decision in my part. Having done so he will raise his hand and remind me that there is always...and my eyes will be directed along the arm of his suit, across the hand protruding from it, to the very tip of his outstretched fingers and briefly, very briefly, to the door.

I admit that at this point I will have started to blush (a lifelong habit) and chastise myself (a regular tendency) as I listen to my manager without protest or complaint. I will accuse myself of being everything he implicitly suggests I am, and a self-image more grotesque than his I assume his imagination is capable of producing will be reflected in my own internal mirror. I will apologize. I will communicate my guilt for harboring so many flaws and undesirable traits. The assurance I will give about my desire to continue working for him and my promise to change my ways will seem so genuine that even I will begin to question, later that night, whether I did actually mean it. He will begin to rise from his chair but I will be standing before he is. There will be no further lecture or conversation. The tacit terms of my continued existence here in the fifth-floor office will have been agreed without a handshake or verbal confirmation. I will be one perceived fault away from having my employment terminated which, in this region, believe me, is not a prospect I can afford to entertain.