Stacey Levine - Dra-

But turning to look, she saw that the Manager sat hunched over the desk, writing with a pen as furiously as if she were preparing a vehement letter of banishment, ignoring Dra— comprehensively.

Staring then at the long, low rows of drawers that lined the nearby room, Dra— spoke on, describing her vigorous enjoyment of errands, and her excitement over certain job privileges she had not yet had the chance to savor, for instance, the stowing away of a cupful of lukewarm water beneath one’s desk at night in advance of thirst, or the maintaining of a day file. All in all, she summarized, it was a delight to be here, so very close to finding the job that would finally allow her to blossom. And finishing these exhortative statements, standing so close to the Manager’s desk, excited well beyond normal bounds, she stopped herself from saying any more, thinking, along with what seemed a thousand other thoughts, that these exceptional circumstances — the availability of jobs, the Manager’s help, being beckoned behind the counter — all had occurred due to luck, a bounty of it, and, perhaps, by the incredible lateness of the hour, for at this hour, she had heard, Managers often became warm and lax.

Indeed, two jobs were open, and the Manager would choose for her. That itself was cause for quiet reflection, and in these moments she eyed the employees working at the dim end of the passage, their arms now hoisting great bundles of wires, then violently slinging these into open crawlspaces beneath the floors. Smiling, she pondered the difficult decision from which the Manager had released her, and leaned her head against the wall, far beyond exhaustion, closing her eyes.

When she opened them, all the employees were gone, and she saw the Manager standing in shadow at the far end of the silent hallway, gesturing to herself. After some moments the woman swept down the hallway, preceded by a rush of air, and fell heavily into the chair opposite Dra—. “Well?” she asked, a breathless, astonished expression on her face. “What is your decision? Which worksite did you choose? Tell me.”

“But I thought you were going to decide for me!” Dra— cried.

“Oh, no, not at all,” the Manager replied, chuckling; “I was just trying to relax you by saying that. Come now, you must have decided, in spite of yourself. What is your decision? Tell me now, or write it down on this tab.” She waved a piece of cardboard in the air.

Thrown into a sudden overwrought state, twisting her sleeve, despairing now at the idea of ever being able to settle into a real job and into life itself, Dra— scanned the empty office and its hallways, then focused hopelessly on the Manager, who, hair mussed, an advanced look of displeasure on her face, suddenly pitched forward and yelled hoarsely, “Now!” plunging her fist onto the desk.

And Dra—, electrified, looked at the Manager, realizing with swirling emotion that she did not want to find a job elsewhere, not at all, but that she wanted to stay here, here and nowhere else but in this office with the Manager, who was, in fact, so certain of all things and lovely besides; she wanted to work for the Manager; and standing there, waiting for the woman’s anger to ebb, Dra— silently mouthed several hopeful words in regard to this, including the Manager’s name, which, even without vocal sound, had a strong ring and was full of a filmy, incipient promise.

The Manager leaned forward, furious, pointing a finger, saying, “I am amazed! This is unheard of. You’re incapable of choosing, am I to believe that? Tell me!”

“Yes, I suppose,” she answered, having scarcely heard the question, instead envisioning a future in which she and the Manager might spend long, calm evenings together, disinfecting hairbrushes and combs.

The Manager folded her hands and thrust them out on the desk with emphasis, saying sternly: “More than anything, I want you to remember that on the last, empty day of your life you will look back in shame over the fact that your existence was ludicrous, a would-be escape, an old flat tire — that is, unless you are able to choose, like everyone else does, right now, this instant.”

But no answer came, and in response to this silence, the Manager stood and said gravely, “I want you to go back through this hallway and into one of the closets beyond. You’ll see the doors in rows back there, each closet containing a neatly made bed — find one and go in. Shut the door behind you please and turn out the light. Then I want you to get into the bed, urinate fully, and wait quietly for me to come in.”

* * *

Much, much later, lying in the bed, breathing evenly and somehow with calm, Dra— heard the intermittent sounds of employees returning for the late shift. She heard the Manager’s footsteps, too, for she had come to recognize these; and loudly, each with a sharp, cracking sound, they moved toward the closet door, which was then flung open.

The Manager entered the dark room along with a stream of light from the hall that caused Dra— to wince and squeeze her eyes; yet it was possible to see that the woman was now dewy and softly scented, as if fresh from a bath; and with damp hair, bending tenderly over Dra—, she delivered a kiss, breathing, “I believe in finding a job as I believe in nothing else in this life. I believe in a mug of water at the work desk, in a clean, uncluttered working surface, and in the thirty-second break. What I want most is for you to begin a new life with no bumps or joyrides — just work, moving along in a great, flowing, never-ending keel. Do you know—” She paused, eyes shifting indecisively, “I can almost be myself with you! Isn’t that funny? I’m saying this only because you have hurt me to the point that I had to die and then come back in order to go on with life. But there it is. ‘Why can’t she choose?’ I asked myself over and over. I ran in circles, seemingly, I pinched myself, I sought the advice of colleagues — why shouldn’t I reveal all of this to you now, since there is virtually nothing left of me? Look at the hour! There’s no later hour than this, and it’s a miracle that we are awake!

“Can it be that you still haven’t made a decision, you still haven’t uttered a word, though I am being as honest and down-to-earth as I can be? It’s no game; don’t you know that choosing is the very basis for life, even at the molecular level? What are you waiting for?” She paused, pursing her mouth. “You’re wondering who I really am, and what is inside my heart — aren’t you? Well, yes, you have a right to know.”

They stared at one another.

“But it’s really impossible for you to know who I am, and I you,” the Manager said downtroddenly. “Oh, I ache for the passage of time! This is all new to me, you see, this business of being open and honest as a dog.” Her energy now seemed depleted; and Dra— observed with a small thrill in her abdomen that this affect was every bit as appealing as the Manager’s more commanding side.

“I’ve never been so lenient with anyone in my life,” the woman half-whispered. “But your feelings are causing funny feelings inside of me, and that’s strange. I don’t like it! You’ve got to choose!” The Manager shredded some tissue between her fingers, then broke from the room, pulling the wooden door shut behind her.

Dra— lay in the darkness for long hours, thinking of nothing, hearing nothing; presently, though, she began to notice the sounds made by hordes of employees arriving to work for the next shift, including soft footsteps, sliding doors, voices bringing forth fearful, hushed, lukewarm greetings — all the dozens of sounds that issue from an office in the earliest morning hours — along with the smeared-sounding whisper of a woman: “Thank Christ for the silence of night!” coupled with the sound of the Manager’s voice screaming brokenly, perhaps over the telephone, “Damn it all to hell!” Dra—, eyes closed, considered that the previous hours may have been so trying for the Manager that she, the Manager, might soon break down entirely, which naturally would be Dra—’s fault. After it was all over, however, the Manager might then relent and assign Dra— a job, any job, without requiring her to choose. If that actually occurred, Dra— thought, then luck would truly be with her; so, hopeful, she half-rose from the deep bed, head spinning from the stuffy room and its scent of medication.