Stacey Levine - Dra-

Printed tightly together, some of the words on the circular appeared to be whole lines long, describing the many ways contaminants could enter the body, especially through the hands, for covering every human hand, it read, there were ten thousand tiny, spongy, eyelike openings which drank in poison readily, and there was nothing to be done about this fact but accept it grimly.

It was now very late, and as she thought of the Nurse once again, her innards contracted uncomfortably with unwanted, scarcely recognized wishes and her thoughts drifted to a time years before when a frightened, strong-smelling teaching assistant, Glisa, lips tacky with saliva, had made a confession to the class: “I didn’t know him at all. We were talking about hobbies, not much more than that, and the next thing I knew, we were kissing! But that’s how relationships begin, isn’t it — with kissing? How else would they begin?” Dra— did not clearly hear what Glisa said next, though it had to do with blood pressure dangers, for Glisa’s confession had filled her with a repulsion she did not understand, and she went to the class cloakroom to recover. There, she began to revive, breathing slowly and guardedly, for the air in the school had never been good, being full of chalk grains and throat-singeing airplane exhaust.

And now, she rose to leave the worksite, which was littered with the dark crumpled paper and the dozen or so smashed glass bottles she had hurled against the cement floor just because she had wanted to dispose of them and couldn’t manage to do so properly. Passing the supply counter, she glanced at the bearded man, who was now eating from a bowl of mush, then fled the workroom, swearing to find the Nurse and also her Administrator, who surely, despite everything, must be close at hand.

* * *

Much later, walking along a bank of dark, unoccupied offices, she bent to retrieve a dusty handbill from the floor, which bore the names of some lower managers who recently had failed an important project and were being disciplined in a way that was not evident right now, but would be in years to come. Breath coming quickly, she scanned the names but did not see her Administrator’s among them; flipping the page over, she searched, and finally saw it, deep within an article about ammonia and grain. And the very sound of the name and its syllables sent her heart lunging and plummeting; thrilled, clutching the torn paper, she ran wildly through the hall, possibly as excited as she ever had been, emitting a single hoot of excitement before quickly covering her mouth.

Rounding a corner, wishing to find a telephone, she saw instead a metal-green elevator which, as a sign indicated, roamed variously through all of space, seeking to pick up new employees and hurtle them to far-flung worksites. This elevator, she knew, was well known and fast as a train; though it always deposited passengers safely on firm ground and had never yet crashed, the risk of crashing was omnipresent.

Nervously, she steered away from the elevator, hoping for a safer way to reach the pump site. A short distance to her left, she noticed a single narrow doorway at the base of a sheer wall, shrouded in a kind of steam. Moving closer, she made out a faded sign above the door advertising a chiropractic. Peering in, she saw a stout secretary in a chair behind a typewriter, wearing a sleeveless blouse.

Encouraged greatly by this sight, Dra— entered the office and abruptly asked the secretary where the pump site and the new Administrator could be found.

The secretary, turning in her chair, replied evenly, “This entire building is likely vacant. I’m the only one here — that’s fine by me. I like it because I get so much done! Don’t ask me where everyone has gone. Oh, I believe there’s a man upstairs, but beyond that, no one’s here. Would your Administrator be that man? Generally, he carries a poker. Everyone loves him dearly. If that man isn’t your Administrator, I can’t help you.”

“My Administrator is not a man,” she replied with great hostility. The secretary stared, folded her hands, then said, “Let me tell you a story,” and proceeded with a quick fable about a bland young girl who once needed, in no uncertain terms, intimate guidance from an older woman and never received it, though once the needful period had passed, the girl did receive it, albeit in dreadful proportions.

At the story’s end, Dra— wept for a moment then said, “I want to settle everything and begin working! I have to find my Administrator—”

“You haven’t yet worked?” the secretary asked with incredulity; and recalling the film canister task, Dra— glumly realized it had been a rather unofficial job, so she could not count it as part of her work history, despite the frustration it had caused her and the odd sense of dissolution that filled her after its completion.

She sighed briefly. “Once I find my Administrator, all of this will be over. I’m so exhausted my head hurts and I think I may become sick!”

“Of course you’ll get sick,” the secretary quipped, stowing a set of thimbles in a drawer. “Everyone does, from germs that come clamoring out of nowhere to drag us into death!” She scratched her nose. “Aren’t illnesses just a showcase for little creatures who are smarter and more sophisticated than we are, anyway?”

Dra— did not speak, and the secretary, eyeing her, asked again, “You don’t have a job to go to?”

“No.”

“Why not, in the name of living hell?”

By way of replying, Dra— gave a halting, obtuse account of her last brief meeting with the Nurse, which had been years ago and had taken place behind a cabin; then she cried, “I can’t go to work without help; my Administrator will come, won’t she? Otherwise, how will I get along?”

The secretary gave a great honking laugh. “You mean to tell me you can’t go to work without your Administrator taking you there by the hand like a little pet monkey she’s about to cane?”

“I don’t know—” she answered, face blazing, ashamed.

“Don’t tell me, honey,” the woman said, waving her fingers. “This is all very sad. You haven’t yet reported to work? But that’s not good for your health! What have you been doing with your time? Now, I’ll admit there’s a frightening side to administrators, and depending on them is awful and not easy to describe, but still.”

Hoarsely, Dra— managed, “But I failed — I missed our appointment! I wasn’t at the station on time.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t have been there anyway, I promise you that,” the secretary said. “Sit down and take some of this water, dear,” she added with kindness.

The secretary reached into the desk to retrieve a soft metal cup, its side imprinted with the name of a nation long gone, and Dra—, sitting, emitted a shaky sigh.

“Headaches — of course you would have headaches, everyone knows these are caused by the people we know, or once knew.” The secretary handed over the cup, filled with gray water, along with a second, larger cup that contained a familiar, turgid white liquid traditionally meant to encourage a bowel movement, though it was also said to calm the nerves while at the same time increasing thirst agonizingly.

Arms crossed, the secretary watched as Dra— drank everything down. Bringing the second cup to her lips — a moment before squeezing her eyes shut in revulsion and pouring the substance inside her — she noticed a small telephone attached to the wall; and as she finished the drink, gagging, replacing the empty cup on the table as the secretary swiped it away, she again directed her glance to the phone, burning to reach it. With a telephone, she could call not only the Administrator, but the Nurse. And if she was unable to reach either of them, she could just dial an operator who might locate them or give an explanation for their unreachability, or at least explain the strange, swarming thoughts this unreachability seemed to stir within her.