What were we doing in the middle of a playground? The
streetlight made their features glow. They were five in number, men and women,
in dark, blue, black and gray suits. Four of them sat on swings pumping their
legs and their bodies as they swung forward and then receded again. The whole
apparatus creaked under their shifting weight. The fifth one leaned against the
monkey bars, sipping on a cigarette. He was an old man with cheeks dressed in
folds of dead skin. The swinging four were mostly middle-aged people, their hair
cut and well-combed. They smiled and smiled and smiled. We stood before
them, Kenneth Kilian and I, two clean-shaven men in sport coats, ties, steam
pressed shirts and slacks. I watched my exhaled breath crystallize before me,
and glanced nervously at Kenneth who was grinning at them and taking sips of the
burgundy colored drink in his hand. My lips parted. “Um, I—”
Immediately one of the swinging four hopped from her place and landed
gracefully in the sand in a kneeling position, despite the constraints of her
skirt and heels. She stood and waved her hand in front of my face, “No, no. It
doesn't matter.” The remaining swingers laughed. She turned her head to smile
at them and kept on smiling as she looked back at me. “You and Mister Kilian
are the remaining applicants. Only a few more trials, gentlemen, and then we're
going decide which one of you is fit to replace Mister Quentin.” The fifth
one, Mister Quentin, glanced at us briefly, tilted his head back, and tucked his
cigarette neatly between his lips for another sip. She took a step back,
and clapped her hands, “Alright, Mister Driscoll? Alright, Mister Kilian?”
“Alright” I said, puffing myself up and rubbing my hands together.
Kenneth swallowed some of his drink. “Oh, yes, yes, of course,” he
said in a charming tone. Kenneth had that false sensation keeping his body warm.
She turned around and unclasped her hands, “Okay everybody, to the car!
Let's go. Let's go.” The swingers slipped out of their seats as they swung
forward in unison and the four of them jogged over to the car. Mister Quentin
dropped his cigarette and kicked some sand over it. Then he took up the rear as
Kenneth and I walked toward the car. By the time we reached the edge of
the sidewalk, they had found their seats in the small, black four-door car. One
door was left ajar. There was one seat left in the back. Mister Quentin slipped
between us, “This one's for me, boys.” he said as he took the seat.
“Should we call a cab?” I suggested. The man sitting in the
passenger seat turned and smiled at us, “No, of course not; you'll ride in the
trunk.” I was waiting for someone to laugh. Nobody laughed. Kenneth
eagerly got into the trunk and took another sip of his drink. “Really? In
there?” I asked, gesturing. Mister Quentin closed his door. I took the
hint and turned toward the rear of the car. I looked at Kenneth. Kenneth looked
back at me with an expression of innocence mixed with nonchalance. Awkwardly, I
climbed in next to him. It smelled like cologne (Kenneth's, I assumed) and wet
dust. He reached over me and drew the trunk door down until it shut. It
was a dark and bumpy ride. Hot too. I was sweating. “This is
strange.” I whispered. “Sure,” said Kenneth as he lifted his head,
hitting our plastic ceiling with a muffled thud. I could hear his drink squish
in his throat. It wasn't worth talking to him. My consciousness had
nearly given in to the heat and the lack of air when the trunk door finally
opened. I rolled out of the car and dropped to the ground. Kenneth sat up,
grasped the side of the car and stepped out over me. I stood up; we were in a
parking lot. Mister Quentin held out a blindfold to each of us. “Put these on,
boys.” Kenneth set his drink down on the black cement and tied his
blindfold firmly behind his head. I took my cloth and hesitantly brought it to
my eyes. I tied it slowly. “This way, gentlemen,” said one of them
cheerfully. We followed the sound of two hundred dollar Italian leather shoes.
Kenneth struck up a conversation with a female voice about his fiancée,
and they began swapping stories about their significant others: this little
annoyance, that little endearing trait, and so on. How could Kenneth be so
at ease walking through the dark? I wanted to know where the hell we were
going. At some point during our blind march we entered a building. I
heard a door creak and guessed that we were being led into a room. They seated
us in chairs and took our blindfolds off. We were sitting at one long table,
Kenneth at one end and myself at the other. The five of them were lined up along
one side of the table. We both had an exam booklet and a pencil in front of us.
The room had purple walls, but was otherwise bare. One of them stepped forward,
laying his hands on the table “Twenty minutes, gentlemen. Ready? Open to the
first page and begin.” Kenneth loosened his tie, flipped to the first
page and slumped back in his chair. The test was a fairly standard set of
financial questions, basic mathematics, and some legal procedures. One of them
called “Time!” and ripped the exams out from under our pencils. Obviously,
we were not meant to finish. Kenneth was still sipping at his drink. How
could anyone drink so slowly? “Blindfolds on again, gentlemen.”
We put our blindfolds back on, and, as I was helped to my feet, I could have
sworn I heard the sound of packets of paper being dumped into a tin trash bin.
The creak of the door signaled our exit. We were walking down a hall, I
imagined. My mind decorated the hall with shaded lights at regular intervals,
medium sized paintings of landscapes, and office doors with the occupant's name
written across their faces. I heard a door opened and I was pushed through. The
door was closed and, from what I could tell by the clicking noises I heard,
locked behind me. It smelled like cat hair in this room. “What?” I
inquired allowed. “Nothing to worry about, I'm sure.” replied
Kenneth. From the echo of our voices I got the sense that this was a very large
room. A low growl emanated from a place ten or fifteen feet in front of me.
“Take off your blindfolds, gentlemen,” said an electrically amplified
voice. I tugged my blindfold off happily and saw that I was in a large empty
room, with a very high ceiling. In the wall in front of me, about fifteen feet
off the ground there was a wide window, behind which stood the five of them. One
of them was holding a microphone. Where had that growl come from?
The one holding the microphone lowered his head to speak, “For the
past three days we have held, in captivity, a female lion, or lioness, without
feeding her. In a moment, a door in the wall before you will automatically slide
open and she will enter the room. Your objective is to kill her before she kills
you. Good luck.” “What?” I said again, this time more distressed
than confused. “Sounds pretty clear to me,” replied Kenneth. He set
his drink down, took off his sport coat and tossed the coat away from him. The
door in the wall unceremoniously slid open and the lioness stepped out. I did
not move. She looked back and forth between us. I started having palpitations. I
could see the drool collect by her lip, and roll down her chin. My eyes began to
water as she paced in an arc, examining us. Kenneth bent at the waist to
pick up his drink. As soon as he moved, a yellow mass rushed towards Kenneth and
leapt at him, paws splayed. A “Whoops!” escaped Kenneth's mouth as he fell
under her weight and momentum. Quickly, I ran for the door. I tugged futilely at
the unmoving handled. I let go and turned to look up at the five of them.
Nothing but blank expressions. Regretfully, I turned to the human-feline mess on
the floor. I reached into the inside pocket of my sport coat and pulled out a
blue ballpoint pen. I sprung forward. In mid air I tore the cap
off with my teeth. I came down on her like a bird of prey and drove the pen's
metallic point through the fur of her neck. Her body tightened beneath mine and
her throat thundered with pain. I drove the pen in farther. She pushed a paw
against the ground, tossed her head back and swung her weight back and forth. I
thrust my knee into her flank; I think I broke one of her ribs. She struggled a
bit more and then yielded and collapsed. I lay on top of her, again unable to
move for the moment, trying to breathe. Kenneth slid out from under us; a
portion of his shoulder was missing. Missing? That is to say, it was now inside
the dead lioness. I hoped she was dead, for her sake. I rolled off of her,
covered in splotches of ink and blood and bits of yellow hair. I think I
swallowed my pen cap. I looked to the window; they were gone. I looked
over at Kenneth who made a lethargic motion with his hand and said, “Yeah,
thanks there.” He took another sip of his drink, which had miraculously not
fallen over in the struggle. The door we came in unlocked and opened and the
five of them walked in. Mister Quentin held a fresh pair of blindfolds. He
stepped forward “Now, boys—” “No! No more blindfolds.” I
muttered and lifted my arm to point at them, “You're not right. No more. I
want out!” “Now don't judge, Mister Driscoll. Different people have
different methods. There's only one more test, anyhow.” Mister Quentin
explained. “I'm game,” said Kenneth. He stood up, still bleeding from
his shoulder. Clenching his teeth, he lifted his sport coat, set down his drink,
put on the sport coat and picked up his drink again. One of them stepped behind
him and tied his blindfold for him, “Why, thank you,” Kenneth said
pleasantly. With trembling hands I took a blindfold from Mister Quentin
and covered my eyes with it. Someone took me by the arm this time, and led me
out of the room, into what I assumed was the hallway again, and then we stopped.
A bell chimed three times, and I heard a door move open. We stepped forward;
there were many bodies around me; the floor began to move upwards. The bell
continued chiming until the floor stopped moving. Then the door moved open
again. We continued walking, I heard another door open and we finally stopped
inside a room. “Gentlemen, you can take your blindfolds off now.” I
took mine off with relief and peered around the room. There was only a desk with
a large, black leather chair, the same five people in their suits, Kenneth, a
tall, thin floor lamp, and a potted plant. Behind the chair was a rectangular
window with a view of the city. Mister Quentin walked behind the desk,
opened a drawer and drew out a postcard. He set the postcard on the desk and
looked up at us, “Step forward, gentlemen, and tell me what you see.”
Kenneth stepped forward, finished the last of his drink and set his glass
down. He looked at the post card, picked it up, turned it over and set it back
down, “Appears to be a postcard, with a painting on it by Vincent van Gogh,
according to the text here, called um, Portrait of Dr. Gachet. There's a man
(presumably Dr. Gachet), some flowers, two books, and a table.” Kenneth smiled
vaguely and stepped back. I sighed and stepped forward. “Well, what I
see is a man, who, by the droop in his eyes and his overall posture (with one
cheek resting on his hand there), looks overwhelmed, tired and melancholy. The
green highlights in his face denote a possible illness, perhaps of the mind
since they only appear on his head. The books on the table show that he is a man
of learning—combined with the flowers, probably a man of science. He's
probably a doctor of some sort of science, medicinal or otherwise. Coming to the
background, the dark waves of blue also hint at some sort of unhappiness, and in
light of the books and flowers, perhaps the unhappiness comes from his job,
whatever that may be.” Pleased with myself, I smiled and stepped back.
Mister Quentin stepped forward and placed a liver-spotted hand on my
shoulder, “Well, Mister Driscoll, that was some of the most well-constructed
bullshit I have heard in a long time. But it was still bullshit. We have no room
for any of that here.” My whole face dropped. He walked passed me to Kenneth.
“Mister Kilian, the job is yours! Welcome to your new office. They'll see you
first thing tomorrow morning.” They shook hands and Mister Kilian grinned
broadly. One of them pulled out a bottle of brandy. Mister Kilian lifted his
glass appreciatively. “Fill me up!” he said. Mister Quentin put a
hand on my back and led me toward the door. “Come on, son, let's go.” The
remaining four swarmed around Mister Kilian and began chattering with him. We
left the office behind and walked to the elevator. I glanced gloomily at Mister
Quentin as he listened to the bell chime, “What about the blindfold? Isn't
this place supposed to be a secret?” I asked. The doors slid open, we
stepped into the elevator, the doors slid close and we began to sink, “Oh, no,
son, nothing really secret. This is just an office building. We were having a
little fun. That's all. No real reason for it.” The elevator stopped, the door
slid open, and we walked out and down the corridor. I was silent until we were
outside. “Now what happens to you?” I asked. “Now, I retire.
Now I go home. I guess I read, maybe watch some television. Wait to die.” He
said this last bit with a smile, as if it pleased him to be so candidly morbid.
“Oh,” I thought for a moment, “Most of this wasn't at all
necessary. It was just for your entertainment, wasn't it?” “That's
about right. Then again, most things amount to being just for your
entertainment. It's all superficial at this point.” He replied blandly.
“I don't think that's true” “Hmmm. You know what, son?
There's nothing here for you, not anymore anyhow. Why don't you try in another
town?” “I guess I'll do that.” “Yeah, you do that. Well,
goodnight.” He waved and turned. “Yeah, goodnight.” I turned and
walked away from him. I walked through the parking lot, and down the sidewalk. I
sat down in a bus shelter and waited for my transport to arrive. |
