Stacey Levine - Dra-

And do you know, the next day that boy died?” And puzzling, uncomfortable over this recollection, she also remembered the time, years before that, when she had stood silently beside the school fountain — a poor excuse for a fountain, really, since it had consisted only of a pitiful stream of ink dripping into a makeshift pan, and since the fountain, also known as “The Song,” was always broken in numerous, complicated ways detailed on a nearby plaque — how on that day, she gagged after catching a bit of the fountain’s warm, fetid odor, which perhaps was the smell of the school itself, with its clamoring, upset students, long mottoes, and teachers grown so furious that they vanished; and that day, she began, for no reason that she could discern, to spit into the fountain again and again with a vehemence which puzzled her, until a guard shambled over to her, leaning his hands on his knees, cocking his head and remarking to another guard, “Look at that anger, will you?” then leading her away to the cool apartment of rooms where the principal lived.

But now, continuing to walk through these long hallways, she shook off such memories, smoothing the length of her iron-colored skirt, concentrating instead upon the Employment Office, where she was now headed, with its enormous waiting area and rows of backless chairs nailed to the floor in sprawling semicircles, and upon her upcoming interview with the Manager there, and how she must, despite all defeating odds, procure a job.

She would have to settle on what type of job she wanted, of course, and articulate this clearly to the Employment Manager. But that would be easy; it was easy to think about jobs, of course: what was really difficult was to think about anything else.

But the most trying thing would be to restrain herself in front of the Employment Manager and not to behave cloyingly just because a job might be close at hand, or just because she would be sitting close to the Manager, necessarily an important, exciting woman; but instead, head level, to hold out for the right job, the best job, or at the very least, a simple, solid, generous job, a straightforward one, upward-facing and flexible: for all in all, that would be the way to a broader life and overall release.

But she must not expect the perfect job right away, she cautioned herself then, quickening her step; instead, she should merely focus on finding a job, any job, nothing more, because a perfect job, one that fit the employee’s needs and character in every way, was not something to expect now, but far in the future, one of the pleasures of older age and long experience.

And so she walked, feeling something nearly like hope inside her, and thrust out her chest sharply once, as if waiting for self-possession to arrive and fill out her flesh, though when it did not, she sighed. She recalled a letter she had received a few months before, scribbled on a thin gray length of stationery that for some time had been stuffed into the bottom of her purse, a letter which had welcomed her to the ranks of job-seekers — she recently had come of age — yet strangely, the letter had been written by an official of enormous importance, of rank so stupefyingly high — judicial, most likely — that it seemed inappropriate, though the letter only wished her the best of luck for as long a life of work as would be reasonable to expect.

The letter, she recalled, with its greasy, cramped characters, first congratulated her for her desire to be employed, also stating that, though this letter was no guarantee, she might, with time and luck, land a good job, nothing promised, but that a decade hence she would surely look back at this frustrating period with a smile, at that point being deeply acquainted with the satisfactions of steady employment; so right now, she should not worry, for worry was a destroyer. Besides, there were plenty of employees with far worse problems than she, the letter explained; for instance, those with diseases so disturbing, so out of the realm of the imagination, that they could not be described in a short letter; and she should not think about disease in any case, the letter remarked, because, though it was not a certainty, a fulfilling job might soon arrive for her, like a fantasy, overnight.

So the letter had been kind, she had thought at first, but later, considering it further, she began to see that the letter was rather blithe and suspicious too; and now, moving onward, looking back over the past weeks in deep retrospect, a hunted feeling scudding through her stomach, she saw how cruel the letter actually had been: for it promised nothing and counted for nothing, in terms of leading to a real job. Besides, it attempted to conceal the fact that finding such a job was as uncertain as would be the manner of her death; and in a way, she felt the letter tried to prefigure her entire existence as nothing but a series of spiraling downfalls and general embarrassments.

Yet she had been unable to discard the letter, instead saving it fondly for some time in her purse, deriving pleasure from the fact that she had received a piece of correspondence at all. Over those weeks she imagined, with enjoyment, that the letter had not been cruel, but instead wonderful, overflowing with rollicking news and repartee, that it had made an outright guarantee of full-time work, and also that its writer was a stern authority to whom, she especially liked to imagine, she was quite close.

But beyond sinking into these imaginings, there was nothing else to do right now except continue to look hard, hard as anyone who looked diligently for a job in this world, because jobs brought with them a new stage of life; it was a good job that everyone most hoped for, in any event, since jobs brought relief, allowing an individual to shine as never before.

So with pride she realized that she had many important things to do — finding a job being one of them, but also, protocol demanded she write a thank-you note to the author of the letter.

For some reason, however, she was unable to bring herself to compose the reply. Instead, she carried the letter with her for weeks, the task evading her constantly, until finally one night, sleepless, chewing through the skin of her fingers, upset by the burden of the entire month during which, she realized, she had accomplished virtually nothing and had not spoken a word, she abruptly returned the letter to the sender. And the brilliance of this act struck her: it was probably the most succinct message the man had ever received in his life, and later, who knew, he might seek her out and reward her for her cleverness, she considered, and grew warm.

Returning the letter had been virtually the only act she had been able to complete lately. So it surprised her that she was actually able to move ahead with the job search, and that she was now walking, almost breezily besides, toward the Employment Office; yet, who wouldn’t do the same? she considered, for there was really nothing else to do.

Moving along in this way, feeling the dull, heavy sensation in her bowels that came from the habit of holding everything back, she tried to tell herself that despite the strange feelings the letter had given her, she would eventually find a job and be settled. Some positions required oral recommendation; some required exhaustive tests: the letter could not help her in either of these areas, she thought bitterly. Letters counted for so little, in any case, often being supercilious or forged; and with a sudden sense of contracting finality, she realized how utterly, profoundly worthless the letter had been, that beyond being cruel, it was sheer mockery. It probably had been a form letter, anyway, despite its smeared, scratchy characters. It was a laughable letter, she finally decided, and perceived that in this business of looking for a job, there was nothing, ever, to grasp onto, aside from one’s own spasmodic habits of striking blindly ahead — and so in this way and no other, she would simply continue to search, as shamelessly as instinct is shameless, traveling steadily and without issue, just as she was doing now, toward the Employment Office. There, she would simply beg for a job.

Читать дальше