Jane entered the
office quietly and calmly. She’d known for some time this was about to happen and
had been struggling to do something about it but the publishing industry had
changed since the last time she looked for a job. A lot of things had changed
since the last time she looked for a job. She’d been working here for a very
long time.
Bob,
who sat behind the desk, was the company’s new CEO. Put in place by the large
corporation who bought the press he would have been equally content running a
company that made shoes. In the six months since the sale was finalized, she’d
gotten to know this man fairly well. She didn’t hate him but he wasn’t a book
man. He was a salesman.
“Please
sit Jane this will take a minute.”
Jane
sat. Feeling increasingly angry she smiled. The smile caught him just a little
off guard showing exactly how uncomfortable he was. That was good. She did not
feel like making this any easier.
“You
don’t look happy,” she said.
“I’m
not. You were with John Franklin when he started this press weren’t you?” Bob
said.
Giving
the man points for honesty Jane leaned back in her chair. This wasn’t a dragon
she was facing just a young man who thought he knew more than he really did.
“Not
quite but close. He ran it on pennies in the beginning. It was six months
before he was able to give me more than bus fair and lunch money. I was still
living at home when he took me on or I would never have managed. That was, god,
one failed marriage and two kids ago for me. I’m the only one left of the
original team. I like to think we built something worthwhile,” she said.
Jane
though back and smiled faintly. In spite of all the pitfalls, this one
included, hers had been a good life. She was an English major who actually got
a job in her chosen field, a minor miracle by anyone’s standards. Now she would
have to try and do it again. The odds weren’t good for success.
“You
did that all right you wouldn’t believe what he got for this place when he sold
last year,” Bob said.
“I
know exactly what he got,” Jane said.
This
statement shocked the man across from her in a subdued and satisfied way.
Mentally Jane downgraded him from young overconfident salesman to corporate
lackey. At least salesmen had value. You couldn’t sell books without them.
“Pardon?”
he asked.
“Bob
you come from a corporate world. It’s natural for you to put distance between
yourself and your employer or employees or even coworkers that might represent
competition. This is publishing. Publishers and editors don’t simply work with
artists we think of ourselves as artists,” Jane explained.
Still
lost his next comment was more of a question than observation.
“And
so you communicate,” he said.
“I
worked for and with John Franklin since I finished school. I knew he wasn’t
well and needed to get out of the rat race. I knew he found a buyer even before
his wife did. Before he walked out of here the last time, he explained very
clearly what was probably going to happen and he apologised. He said he wished
he could afford to sell the thing to me. I even looked into financing options
but we were too damn successful and he needed to get his full value,” Jane
explained.
“I
don’t know if you’ll believe me but I did fight them on this. We need a
managing editor that understands writing not just a business major,” Bob said.
Jane
studied the man in front of him and knew he was lying. It was an attempt at a
kind lie but it was still a lie.
“They
bought themselves a brand and don’t understand it takes work to maintain that brand,”
Jane said, not really referring to the corporation who now owned this press.
Bob’s
confidence cracked just a little. Jane knew why. He didn’t understand the
strength he was facing. He was young and had probably never failed at anything
that mattered. Unless he got smart very fast, he was going to fail at this and
Jane’s only regret was she would not be here to witness the fall.
“Why
the hell aren’t you yelling at me? You’re over fifty you’ll probably never work
in publishing again. Why the hell aren’t you angry?” he asked.
“I’m
angry all right but I have two or three things going for me,” Jane said.
“And
they are?” Bob asked.
“I
have my own writing. I publish with a very respectable small press; you
wouldn’t know it. Publishing here would have been a conflict of interest and I
don’t write what we publish anyway. I don’t make much money but it has always
been a source of immense satisfaction,” Jane began.
“That’s
one,” Bob said.
“I’ve
always lived simply and have a modest amount put aside from which I derive a
small income. It’s not enough to live on but if I combine it with an ordinary
job I will manage,” Jane said, hoping at the same time the confidence she put
into these words was warranted.
“That’s
two,” Bob said.
“You
didn’t ask me what I write,” Jane said.
This
last factor had Bob completely lost.
“Pardon?”
he asked.
“You
do this very well, calm, caring even sympathetic but you didn’t ask me what I
write. That says a lot about you. You really are just a business major with
fancy ideas. You’ve been here all of six months and now you think you can run a
press without knowing and loving books. You think you can fill this office with
English majors straight out of school, pay them pennies and run a successful press,”
Jane said.
This
statement had the man behind the desk bristling with indignation, showing Jane
how accurate her guesses were.
“You’re
telling me I can’t?” he asked.
“I
looked you up Bob. The last position you held for the new owners was running a call
center. It was a large one of course and the job probably wasn’t easy but the
only book involved was the employee’s manual. You don’t even read, do you? Not
for recreation. As for the press, nothing’s impossible I suppose. You might
luck out but I’ll tell you this, none of those kids will be able to terrify you
the way I can,” Jane said.
As
she said this Bob’s polite salesman veneer slowly faded. What was left was all
strength, all arrogance, all confidence. His mouth fell open in a kind of
sneering amazement.
“You’re
a horror writer? You?” he exclaimed.
Jane
stood and looks down at the man who had just changed her future.
“I
can destroy you with six words. It’ll be a slow-motion destruction. In the end,
it will leave you doubting your every action,” she said.
He
looked away, first at the phone then at his computer. He wasn’t thinking about
her anymore. He was thinking about his next interview.
“Try
me,” he said when she didn’t move.
Jane
leaned on the desk with one arm and bent over to whisper in his ear.
“Some
day, you’ll be old too.”
*
* *
It
was a glorious exit. They didn’t exactly stand on their desks and yell “captain
my captain” but they did the real-world equivalent. Knowing this was going to
happen soon she didn’t need the banker’s box the waiting security guard had
ready for her. All work in the office slowly stopped as she collected her
spring coat and got out her purse and a reusable shopping bag. Into the latter
went her name plate, three awards plaques and a small assortment of odds and
ends she’d forgotten were hers. Ready to go she faced the crowd, most of whom
she’d hired. Then they began to clap.
Appreciating a
dramatic moment Jane slowly walked through the office hugging friends and
enemies alike. They hadn’t all been close but this was the arts, talent and
survival were more important than whether you liked someone enough to work with
them. The security guard following was more like an honor guard than someone
there to make sure she left the building.
Standing
in front of the building where she’d spent so many late nights in Jane looked
up to find Bob in her old friend and employer’s office looking down. He didn’t
understand and probably never would. Not even when he got fired for running
this well established and profitable press into the ground. She walked away and
considered it a victory to not simply get out of sight but reach a shady
private bench in a nearby park before the tears came.
*
* *
It was a
conversation a week later that forced Jane to face the realities of her new
life. She was sitting on her couch talking on the phone to Larry Tate a long-time
friend and business associate.
“Anyway,
I eventually had to go in and ask them how to apply for unemployment. The web site
confused the hell out of me,” she said.
“You’re
a writer. You’ve worked in the arts your whole life and you’ve never been on unemployment?”
he asked.
“Don’t
start. Yes, I really have never applied for unemployment. Larry, I started with
the press when I was twenty- six that’s about twenty-five years ago,” Jane
said, feeling mildly indignant.
“Lucky
you. I got your message about that reader position. This thing is entry level piece
work Jane. You were a managing editor,” Larry said, bringing the conversation
around to the real reason she called.
“Were,
being the operative word, if it helps try and sell them some bull shit about me
being semi-retired and needing pin money. Tell them I can do accounting too if
they’re short of staff,” Jane said.
“Speaking
of money,” Larry said.
“I’ll
get about a year’s worth of unemployment. If I can’t get a real job before
that’s done, I’ll have to take whatever I can get.”
*
* *
The reading
position was freelance and not very regular but it helped. What it involved was
reading books submitted to a press and writing a report on their possible
marketability. In six months worth of reading she found only one per week that
was worth a second look. The rest were a combination that ran from good but not
suitable to the press and the literary version of unreadable slop.
She was six months
into her year off and had begun to peruse the conventional want ads. It felt
like giving in but whenever she told herself that, she also tried to remind
herself that most of her friends had either given up on the literary life or
spent that life jumping from mundane day job to writer job to freelance
position. She’d been spoiled and it was way past time to admit the fact.
Sitting in the
corner of the library with the paper in her hand being Jane she drops the paper
on the table.
“Reception
desk here I come,” she muttered.
A
picture book sitting in the center of the table caught her eye. She moved the
paper to look at the cover. The book was a picture book of the old Russian folk
spirit the Baba Yaga. The cover of the book showed a very old woman in a ragged
dress wearing many colorful shawls. The eyes of the old woman seemed to stare
out of the picture broadcasting great power.
“Baba
Yaga: mysterious helper to some, dangerous monster to others. The different face
you see generally the result of the pureness of your heart,” Jane muttered.
The
muted sounds of the busy library grew distant and for a moment it felt like
even the dust that danced in the light from the windows was listening.
“Baba
Yaga, Baba Yaga, I don’t know if my heart is pure but it is growing old and I
am afraid. Help me?”
“I
forgot my book in here,” the loud energetic girl’s voice felt like a splash of
cold water.
A
ten-year old girl ran into the news and magazine section. Her mother followed
her in as far as the entrance.
“We weren’t in
here,” the mother began.
“There it is,” the
girl announced.
The girl had to
half climb half jump to reach the center of the big table. Grabbing the book,
she walked back the way she came.
“How did it get
there?” asked the mother.
“Don’t know. Don’t
care,” the girl said simply.
In the quiet after
they were gone Jane found herself transfixed by what the removal of the book
uncovered. It was a publishing trade journal, so far unhelpful. The problem
being she could not afford a subscription. They didn’t sell them individually
anywhere that she could find and the library only got them when the job ads
were far too old to do her any good.
“You’re
new. Oh my god you’re new!”
She
almost dove for the journal and turned to the back. Two phone calls later she
had a good reason to buy a box of hair dye on the way home.
They
published text books and how to books. It was a mid- sized press that recently
changed ownership with vague plans to expand into other areas. She had a two
day wait for her first interview which happened over the phone. There was a
three day wait for her second interview which happened in person. There was a
week to wait before she learned the entire exercise was not a waste of hope. It
was an entry level position paying roughly half of what she was used to but she
was employed.
Her
first Monday arrived. Feeling eager and at the same time terrified, Jane rode
the bus down town then hurried along the block past an old man sitting on a
plastic milk carton at the corner of a building. It was downtown and that sort
of thing was routine but somehow the picture didn’t look nearly as distant from
her reality as it once might have been. It was late fall, the beginning of the
Christmas season. This job had come just in time.
The
man who hired her met her at the door.
“There
you are. I’m so glad you’re early. Welcome to your first day in hell. I hope
you’re used to a steep learning curve we’re swamped,” he began.
“So
you said,” she replied.
He
handed her a flash drive and walked her to a desk.
“Here’s
job one it’s a history text, grade ten level. The author turned the book in a
month late and the boss wants it proofed. Remember the rules, no taking work
out of the office. Don’t be shy about calling the author for clarification. The
guys a genius but he can get lost in the details and he has a terrible time
remembering he’s writing for teens. I handled his last book myself. It would
have confused a university student and it was supposed to be grade nine
American history.”
Sitting
at the desk she powered up her computer and found a spot for her purse in a
drawer.
“Any
questions?” he asked.
“I’m
sure I have dozens but right now I think my brain is still a bit too over
whelmed. I’ll catch up with you when they start to surface,” she admitted.
He
stared at her for a moment as if waiting for her to explain.
“I’m
fine for now,” she said.
“Lovely.
The system will ask you to make a password. Just follow the prompts and all
will be well. I’ll be at my desk if there’s a problem.”
There
was a problem of course but the problem rested more in the systems inability to
recognise her new employee number than her inability to follow directions.
After a day punctuated by similar problems, Jane locked the flash drive away in
her desk and went home. The next day was similar and the next. Every morning
she walked past the old man on his box. She gave him a thin smile and a nod
hello. He nodded back. Two total strangers of probably similar ages
acknowledging the fact that the other existed. Curiously his expression by the
time Friday morning came was not simply dispassionate but vaguely concerned.
Pausing
on his corner on the way home she got her bus pass out she fumbled with the
small plastic rectangle and it dropped to the ground.
“Damn,
damn, damn!”
“First
week at a new job?” he asked.
Jane
picked up the pass then turns to face him. His voice was raspy and sounded
tired. Beyond that he seemed quietly understanding.
“Shows
does it? First new job in a long time. I guess I’m feeling my age. I’ve been
editing manuscripts and a whole lot of other things since the owner of the company
was in grade school but every office has different rules. I really thought I
was more flexible than this,” she admitted, looking back on her week.
“You
are,” he said.
“I
am, am I?” she asked.
“Anybody
who’s worked at something for years has been through changes. You probably
don’t even remember them. They were just part of life. You gotta remember how
you handled it the last time,” he said.
This
notion sank in slowly and Jane found herself smiling. He wasn’t just being
blindly supportive. He made complete sense.
“That’s
the spirit. I’ll tell you something else. Trying to do it all at once ain’t
healthy. You think they’d have got the same quality of work out of some kid straight
out of school? Nope, not the first week at least,” he said.
A
weight lifted off Jane’s shoulders. She didn’t feel any less tired but the
worry faded away.
“You are totally
and completely right,” she said.
“Do
something for yourself and remember old age ain’t for sissies. Most of those
kids can’t handle half the shit we’ve seen,” he said.
Jane
wanted to correct him and tell him other than her failed marriage she honestly
hadn’t seem that much disaster in her life. At the same time correcting him
didn’t seem right. The joy he clearly felt from helping her was far too easy to
see.
“You
have a point but I’m not all that old. Not yet at least. I just feel it. Thanks
though,” she said.
Jane
looked around and spotted a coffee shop. She had so far only walked past. It looked
right, nice enough to feel like a treat, cheap enough not to bite into her
budget to badly.
“Maybe
a sandwich made by someone else for a change,” she said.
Looking
out the coffee shop window as she ate her sandwich and drank her tea she
spotted the old man leaning against the wall. His eyes looked out at the world
focused on nothing at all and a smile lit the shadow that was his face. Someone
dropped a coin in his cup and he didn’t even notice. The scrap of a poem she
could not name drifted through her mind.
“And
the light of the world got a little brighter.”
Rested and fed Jane
returned to the corner. The old man was back on his seat and almost asleep
where he sat. He woke in time to watch her set a cardboard tray down next to
him holding a small coffee and a little paper bag.
“I
got you a muffin too. Hope you like brain that’s all they had left. I’ve been
feeling alone for a long time and a good word really helps,” she said.
The
weekend was full of domestic chores like laundry and other things she was no
longer going to be able to do during the week. Then Monday came and things were
better. She suddenly realized the stress she was feeling was the same old
stress in a new form with new faces. She looked for the old man to tell him how
right he was but he wasn’t there.
The milk crate seat
sat empty for weeks until one Friday there was an old woman sitting on the
corner. She wore a long thick wool dress and shapeless leather boots and
instead of a coat she was draped all around with a dozen different types of
shawl. Standing at the corner waiting to cross Jane smiled at the glow of the
Christmas lights in a nearby store window. It wasn’t going to be a rich
Christmas but it was one that held the best present she could imagen. She had
her life back.
Slowly Jane began
to feel the old woman’s dark eyes study her. They were different eyes, eyes
that had a fire impossible to describe.
“Good
begets good,” the old woman said.
“Pardon?”
Jane said
“Good
begets good. It’s an old saying,” the woman repeated.
Jane
considered what the old woman has said.
“Makes
sense I guess,” Jane said.
“Makes
miracles,” said the old woman.
“Miracles?”
Jane asked.
“Not
long ago an old dying man invisible his whole life was reminded he was a man
and his advice was valued. The next day a child got away from its mother and
ran out into the street. The old man ran after him and died a hero. No longer
invisible,” said the old woman.
Jane
thought about this and realised she was sadder than she had any logical reason
for being.
“I
looked for him. When he was gone, I assumed he’d moved to another corner. I'm
sorry,” she said.
Old
Woman shrugged expressively.
“The
truck robbed him of a month at most. He will now be buried with a name not a
number and a citation is to hang in city hall. He really was dying you see. Now
he will live for as long as these records last,” she said.
Jane stared openly at
the old woman. In her mind she heard a desperate prayer whispered in a not to
quiet library.
“Baba Yaga I don’t know if my heart is pure
but it is growing old and I am afraid. Help me?”
Increasingly
uncomfortable and even a little afraid Jane looked around at the normal city
life around them with its Christmas hustle then back at the old woman.
“Anyone
ever tell you that you remind them of someone from a story book?” she asked.
The
old woman began to laugh and for a moment became not simply a character from a
fable but an elemental power granting hope and blessings with one hand,
punishing with the other.
“A
lost soul is a hero and a child is alive. Good story. You’re part of it. Needs
a moral,” she said.
Grasping
for the constrains of everyday reality Jane muttered, “I have to go now.”
Jane
turned to go but the old woman’s voice froze her in her tracks.
“He who saves one
life saves the world entire.”
Jane
answered her without looking back.
“I
didn’t save anyone,” she said.
“Didn’t
you?”
Jane turned back to face the old woman.
She wasn’t walking away down either street. The late afternoon snow showed no
footprints leading away from the spot. She was simply gone.
Jane glanced toward
the light and found it was in her favor. Crossing the street, she got on a bus
and rode home, thinking about Christmas gifts and how many different sorts
there must be.
