Javascotia by Benjamin Obler

Author:Benjamin Obler
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141889658
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2009-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

16 A Standard Play

‘How are things at work?’ my mother asked, over steaming chicken and wild rice casserole. Her concern was genuine and her charity Christian, but she seemed to be on a let-down since the excitement of the wedding.

‘Not all I had hoped,’ I confessed, heavily buttering a roll to make up for the healthful insubstantiality of the entrée. ‘It’s a lot of busy work, not so much creative.’ I turned to Mr P., seated at the head of the table in a way his meek demeanor did not befit. The house’s best window view lay over his left shoulder, a field of wheat-like weeds – the ‘Meadow Prairie’ – bordered by a copse of Norway pine, flattened by perspective into an odd remove. I turned to Mrs P., offering her my forced smile. ‘But there’s talk of a big project getting underway,’ I continued, ‘and I may be able to get involved in that.’

Margaret had reacted with something like a depression-era panic the times I’d spoken bitterly of the Nexis position, on suspicion of my quitting, I suppose. She had stressed that it was a good job, I was lucky to have it, and I should make the best of it. For fear of worrying her, I had not spoken again of my bored hours there entering eight-digit photo ID codes into a database and hand-collating mailers. She was belligerently curious now to hear what plans I would confess to my parents that I hadn’t to her. Her expectant face awaited me, the third in the trilogy that circumferenced me at this table and, it seemed, in my life.

‘It’d be more interesting, get me closer access to the pictures.’

This was something of a fabrication. Management, I’d heard, would be selecting a couple people, one or two, to train on a high-speed, high-resolution flatbed scanner for the conversion of prints to digital. Mrs P. cheerfully asked for clarification – ‘A promotion?’ – and I fed her something vague, throwing in technical terms to confuse her. Her attention returned to her meal, agitated by uncertainty. This was what I wanted. I could see her thinking, So can I tell everyone you’re being promoted or not?

I’d spent my teenage years watching TV and doing homework within earshot of the kitchen telephone; the pitch of her enthusiasm was still fresh in my memory, and I imagined her boasting, A promotion already! He just was hired, not three months ago!

‘You didn’t mention any position to me,’ Margaret said.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Sorry. It’s very much up in the air whether they’re gonna hire internally for this conversion thing.’

‘That reminds me,’ Mr P. said. He set his fork down and got up from the table. ‘I read in the paper something about your company. Nexis, right?’ he asked, as he squeezed between my chair and the wall. He knew damn well it was Nexis. There had been endless conversation at Christmas about Nexis. A scientist to the core, he saw things as being comprised of traceable stages, an order of operation, and couldn’t allow for any error.

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