Mesopotamia by Serhiy Zhadan

Author:Serhiy Zhadan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Yale University Press
Published: 2018-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

THOMAS

Everybody needs a good job, but nobody likes employers. Everybody hates paying taxes, but the first guy who actually suggests evading them gets put in jail. So what can liberate us? Well, maybe faith can liberate us, but that’s about it. More often than not, religion is precisely what brings atheists together. Generally speaking, it’s speculators and socialists who feed off of religion, so all the rest of us can do is pray. And make sure we balance our books. Thomas had those thoughts whenever he was struggling to set up meetings with potential clients, talking to them forever and waiting for them just as long. “What’s the point of setting up a meeting in the first place?” he thought, disgruntled. “What’s the point of checking and rechecking addresses, making sure my watch is accurate, and getting all anxious? Nobody shows up on time, nobody wants to pick up their feet, nobody keeps their word. Business is a crapshoot, you work for money then your money works for you, and we’re all abandoned and lonely in this world—everybody needs love, everybody needs attention, and everybody needs a good job.”

Thomas ran a small chain of mobile coffee stands (those brightly colored gas vans parked outside university campuses all over the country), managed poorly trained employees (students attending those same universities, who parked themselves at the controls of the gas chambers and sold brown poison in little cups), worked hard, and couldn’t stand freeloaders. “There’s so much work to be done in the world,” he would say to his staff. “How can you just not have a job?” He had seriously high turnover. He didn’t even have time to learn his subordinates’ names. Nameless, they disappeared.

This time his clients suggested meeting at a restaurant. Over the phone they said it was nice and cozy, and that it’d be empty in the morning. Thomas knew the place they were talking about; it was two blocks from his apartment. He’d occasionally drive by that shady joint and see the owner walking down the street in his pink kimono and talking on his little girly cellphone. “Well, all right,” he thought. “That place’ll do.” He arrived well in advance and parked, only to find that the restaurant was closed, and it wouldn’t be open for two more hours. Thomas called his clients.

“Oof, is that right, it’s not open yet?” they asked, surprised. “Well, wait for us somewhere around there. We’re running a bit late, but we’ll be there soon.”

Thomas took stock of his surroundings. Empty street. Sunny July. There was a sports bar next door. “Oh, that’s perfect,” he thought. He’d been there a few times, he knew the owners and the bartender. One of the owners was doing some time for first-­degree murder (he ran over his brother-­in-­law, but claimed it was an accident—first he hit him right outside his house, then he supposedly went back to administer first aid and wound up backing over him), so the convict’s wife was struggling to keep the lights on at their business and cover all the legal fees.

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