Louse (12 page)

We walk through a long, dim hallway at the end of which is a pair of tall double doors. A narrow slit of light runs through them.
It extends outward in a thin beam that meets the toes of our shoes. We follow the thin line over the slick linoleum.

Pictures of Managers and Middle Managers of the Month with broad smiles cover the walls. Upon every new step, two new pairs of eyes stare at us. Camera lights flash off their pupils and the bold, gilded borders of the frames. The corridor is silent. All I can hear is the clomping of our shoes.

When we reach the doors I take hold of the handles, and, as I pull at them, a wave of boisterous gossip momentarily deafens me. The after-hours staff has convened.

“Please, after you!” I shout at Ms. Lonesome.

“You're very kind, Mr. Louse!”

The Great Hall opens up like the inside of an immense diamond. The ceiling rises one hundred feet if not more. Dozens of long, glass banquet tables and benches extend from the entrance to the opposite end of the room. The ceiling and walls are made of glass and steel. Narrow, empty catwalks and rectangular light fixtures appear to hover in midair. The fixtures light the tables and benches stark white and crackle and buzz with annoying fluorescent flickers. Big screen televisions hang from the ceiling by thick shimmering rods. The screens glow cobalt blue and add a hum to the buzz and flicker of the lights.

We pass Venison and the other supply clerks. We pass the table lined with clerical staff. Everyone stands at attention before steaming trays of beef and potatoes, a cup of soup, a slice of bread. We walk to the very center of the room where we take our places among the domestic personnel. I step over the bench and stand at attention between Mr. Lutherford and Mr. Crane. Ms. Lonesome takes a seat directly across from me next to Ms. Morris. As she steps over the
bench, a screen running the length of the front wall rapidly descends from a long, narrow box. When it has fully unraveled, the lights of the Great Hall slowly dim and we all sit, all except one: Ms. Berger, the lone sales representative whose transgression has brought about this spectacle. The room becomes still. As all traces of conversation dwindle into coughs and a few stray whispers, a spotlight flashes on Ms. Berger. At the exact same moment, her image is projected onto the large screen. She is a petite woman with short blond hair and full lips. Her cheeks are bright red, her green eyes bloodshot and glassy. Within the column of light, every tiny pore and imperfection in her skin is enhanced; I can even see dust particles floating around her hands and waist.

All heads turn toward the televisions hanging from the ceiling.

Ms. Berger's head turns as well.

She, along with everyone else, is ready to watch her correction.

All of a sudden the hundreds of screens throughout the cafeteria turn from blue to black and then display the logo of the Resort Town of G., a skyscraper eclipsing the setting sun. The image lingers for a few moments, filling the Great Hall with a golden glow. As the light shines brightest, the camera's point of view shifts to the back of a limousine, which is parked under an overhang that looks like a luminescent pair of steel wings. The car door opens and we enter the casino, whose staff lavish smiles and upturned thumbs at passersby. A woman hits a jackpot on the slot machine. A man surrounded by toddlers in highchairs piles chips into mounds at a craps table. An usher escorts a couple of bejeweled high rollers through a cheering studio audience. In the distance, a tall, dapper man dressed in top hat and tails walks from behind a red curtain. The camera closes in on him and he announces:

“Welcome to the wonderful world of ‘Beyond Temptation,' brought to you by your proud sponsors at the Resort Town of G., where our motto is ‘There is safety in numbers.' Tonight we are honored to be presenting Ms. Florence Berger, debtor and sales representative. She will be assisting Dr. Barnum in a presentation on defiance, free will, and personal neglect. Ms. Berger is accused of
conspiracy
.”

The studio audience applauds and the man waves his right hand toward the curtain. The curtain opens, presenting Ms. Berger in full color. She is naked, submerged in a glass tank of water. Her feet are shackled to the bottom, her arms to the sides. The water covers her upper lip, which makes it so she must breathe through her nose. When she exhales, the water's surface ripples into the shape of small arrows.

Dr. Barnum smiles a wide, magnanimous smile at the audience. He slowly lifts his arms above his head, gyrating his wrists until his arms are extended upwards in a V. He snaps his fingers and raises his chin.

The audience applauds.

Then Dr. Barnum, as if presenting the farce of all farces, bounds off stage right.

The audience in the video continues applauding. The audience in the Great Hall applauds. The room rumbles with applause. I, given this cue, applaud with the rest.

“A new conceit,” says Mr. Crane to Mr. Lutherford.

“Brilliant,” Mr. Lutherford responds.

“He is true genius,” Ms. Morris beams.

As the applause dies down, the Great Hall continues to murmur in wonder at Dr. Barnum's newest concept.

There is a twenty-four hour clock in the corner of the television screen that shows us the time period over which Ms. Berger's correction took place. As the process begins, we soon learn that Dr. Barnum used a method of time lapse photography to present this to us. After the first hour ticks off, it becomes apparent that for every one of Ms. Berger's hours, a half minute or so passes for us.

A slow and bittersweet sound track of accordion music plays along with the action. Whenever Ms. Berger blinks there is a fluttering of keys and when she begins to slouch, the music swoons. We sit silently, listening. I carefully watch Ms. Berger's muscles, searching for twitches or spasms, any kind of movement. During the first several of our minutes, her hours, she manages to stand erect in the tank. The music remains melancholic and calm. Come her fifth hour, however, she begins to slouch a bit so that her nose inches dangerously close to the water. The music swoons when she does this. And when, in the sixth hour, she begins to squirm, her body undulates a little and leans forward and back until her nose finally touches the surface and slightly goes under. Here, there is a resounding gasp all across the hall as the music jumps across the keyboard and Ms. Berger is zapped with electricity and a garish and magnificent shade of purple explodes in the background. Ms. Berger jumps to an erect position once again. Her eyes open wide in shock. Her nose flares as she pulls in a deep breath.

“Oh my!” Mr. Heinrik nearly cries out as a wide smile forms across his face, followed by a short staccato “Oh-ho-ho-ho.”

A laugh track is introduced. And as we did with the applause, those who aren't already laughing, laugh along. I can see that Ms. Berger, as she sits in the Great Hall, is sweating and wringing her hands; she, according to the rules and regulations, must laugh and
applaud with us. She does this obediently, but obviously not without great distress.

The viewing continues in this way.

Each time she falls close to the water, each time she comes dangerously close to falling asleep, the harsh crackle of electricity resounds and a new vibrant color flashes behind her. The laugh track sounds off. We laugh. She laughs with us. On it goes this way until the sixteenth hour in Ms. Berger's time. In the sixteenth hour Dr. Barnum walks back out onto the stage. We applaud his presence. He makes a slight bow for us, then taps the glass of the tank to get Ms. Berger's attention.

In his hand is a bunch of grapes. He fastens them to a small grappling hook. The doctor raises his hands to the grapes as they are lifted away. We applaud him once again. He bows and then, once again, exits the stage.

When the grapes reach the mouth of the tank, they are lowered to a height just above Ms. Berger's head, just before her eyes. She tries to ignore them at first, but eventually attempts to push her lips above the water. However, she can't. She struggles to move her arms but can't. Her eyes are fixed on the food and—even if she isn't—she looks desperately hungry. No longer able to control the humiliation and frustration she feels, she begins to cry. Tears stream out her eyes, over her cheeks, and drip into the water as her mouth twists in and out of a tragic mask. She then collects herself momentarily and, spontaneously, makes an irrational movement to break free. She thrashes around like a hooked fish. She wiggles her body, jumps against the restraints holding her feet to the bottom of the tank, falls forward and back to the point that she dips her head into the water. The crackle of electricity resounds, the accordion music
builds faster and faster, all the colors that have come before pulsate in the background; and finally, she becomes still again. Her face is haggard, her eyes are swollen, her cheeks drag on her bones.

The curtains swoosh closed.

There is a loud round of applause. We all clap in unison with each other in a celebratory rhythm until Dr. Barnum parts the curtains. We continue clapping as he takes a final bow, steps back, and disappears.

There are applause and whistles; we applaud and whistle, until the lights of the Great Hall burst on.

The televisions fade to black, then blue. The screen in the front recoils into the wall. And poor Ms. Berger sits down beside her colleagues. She sits before her tray, poised with fork and knife in hand. She doesn't move. She doesn't blink.

“A necessary means to an end,” Mr. Heinrik says.

“An appropriate measure by all means,” Ms. Morris comments.

“Conspiracy and treason bring the doctor much inspiration,” says Mr. Crane.

“Revivifying,” says Mr. Lutherford with a smile.

“An unfortunate necessity,” I say.

“Yes, an unfortunate necessity,” Ms. Lonesome agrees.

The others look at us disapprovingly and shake their heads.

We all lift our forks in unison and begin eating. There is more talk around me of Ms. Berger's transgression. The entire room grumbles with it.

“The news is coming close to home these days,” Ms. Morris says, changing the subject.

“Yes, very close,” Mr. Crane agrees.

“That Mr. Slodsky…,” Lutherford conjoins.

“Yes, Slodsky,” Heinrik echoes.

“What is the news?” I ask, looking up from my meal, feeling a great need to know.

“He's been connected to Berger.”

“He's crossed paths with Blank.”

“He's made deliveries to Moorcraft.”

“Wandered into Accounting.”

“His name was in the vault.”

“On the list.”

“Face up in the trunk.”

“They say he shared secret information…”

“That helped launder money away from Paradise.”

“He was promised a personal account.”

“Benefits.”

“Access.”

“They're saying if it weren't for Slodsky, Blank wouldn't have his grip on G.”

“He's prevented progress.”

“Kept us from Paradise.”

“Betrayed the Executive.”

“Betrayed us all!”

“From what I understand, all the conspirators were contacted in the Sex Rooms and were given instructions from there,” Heinrik boasts.

“That's what they're saying,” Ms. Morris continues. “They're saying he went to the Lounge and was given his instructions.”

“Coercive measures.”

“Very much so.”

“But they haven't said who it is who acted as intermediary?”

“No.”

“They must know.”

“Oh, no doubt. But you know they don't disclose everything at once.”

“We should be hearing momentarily then. Don't you think, Mr. Louse?”

“Surely,” I say. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Yes,” Mr. Lutherford agrees. And the others continue their gossip.

My throat suddenly feels tight, my stomach soured. I quickly take my last few bites of meat and potatoes as I think of Mr. Slodsky's fate, of my own. I can no longer listen to this conversation without knowing if my anxiety is not becoming transparent. I swipe my bread across my plate and drink my water.

“Excuse me,” I say to Ms. Lonesome.

“Yes, of course,” she says, obviously a little startled at my abrupt departure.

I look to the others with as much confidence as I can possibly muster.

“Yes, of course,” the rest say.

I step away from the bench and walk down the long corridor back to the tall double doors. I trail behind a small cluster of managerial consultants. We pass Ms. Berger's table. She is still sitting catatonic before her tray. She doesn't flinch when we pass her. She doesn't flinch at the conversation bustling at her own table.

“They say there is nothing to fear,” says the managerial consultant walking in front of me.

“Intelligence is currently locating the Head Engineer.”

“Intelligence is everywhere.”

“They say he is invisible.”

“They will detect him.”

“With the first false move, he will be caught.”

“The reports are very optimistic.”

“They only see it as a slight delay.”

“A temporary set-back.”

“They say these things are bound to happen.”

“Normalcy wouldn't be normalcy without them.”

“When we plan we must expect such interference.”

“It is just this matter of the money,” one continues.

“Yes, money.”

“Intelligence will ferret that out as well.”

“They have found the vault.”

“They have found the trunk.”

“These shameless actions of Blank can't be hidden for long.”

“He may be clever, but he is only one man.”

“His alliances will be severed soon enough.”

“A poor conclusion.”

“No doubt.”

“No doubt.”

When we reach the end of the hall, we stand in a cluster and wait for the elevator. I remove from my jacket pocket the letter Mr. Dulcimer delivered to me in the staff gaming room, and open it.