Wednesday 15 December 2021

Coffee and a muffin; a Christmas fable

 


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.  

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