A Compendium For The Broken Hearted
Page 7
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Paul worked in his garage, being helped by Salina as was usual. It was a fortunate twist of fate that their passions were so similar, for it allowed a sort of synergy in their workshop that translated well into their marriage. They had been wed for many a year now, and although they had started off slightly jaded, a relationship had been built with time that was firmly welded and tempered. There was little fire to their love, yet it was firm and honest in its own simple way.
Things could be explained thus, thought the middle aged man: each person in this marriage preferred one another’s company to anything else. Such a marriage carried with it a great deal of maturity, honesty, and solid competence. Due to this, Paul paused midway through grinding a table leg that very same day and said quietly, “Seth Mathews is going to leave the factory and become a singer.”
It took a few minutes to get his wife to calm down enough to put the phone down after that, but somehow he got it done. She looked upset, her big black eyes almost shimmering, but it turned out it was just because she thought Mary would move without telling her. “No, no,” he said soothingly over and over while patting her back, “If she was going to move, and I’m sure she’s NOT, I’m sure you would have been the first to know. You’re sisters after all, aren’t you?” Salina’s pouting face nodded at that, and Paul knew that in a few minutes his lovely was going to be alright.
And she was, but not for long. Barely a few months after Seth signed off the company, another man by the name of Howard Stern left as well, this time uprooting his family in order to join another factory in another town. He said he was offered a job to do with human resources, and would be a fool to reject it.
Paul knew the man only on a superficial level, but Salina was well acquainted with his wife, and so he had to comfort her once more. That time he made her chicken noodle soup in order to make her feel better.
It didn’t stop there, either. That same year saw an unprecedented number of people leaving Mr Willem’s factory. Some left for other towns, others wanted to change jobs and earn more money, while a few others did much like Seth and went off to pursue a higher calling. Each of them stopped by to say goodbye to him or take some precious advice from the older man.
It seemed the country was going through a changing phase of sorts. Everywhere Paul looked, there were magazines urging people to follow their dreams and be productive and try their best to become successful. Of course, there were people who made it big, and then there were some of Paul’s old co-workers who would either keep their same old lifestyle or fail miserably at whatever it was that they tried to do.
Still the magazine articles persisted, moved on to handsomely clad reporters and talk show hosts telling everyone in the country to be more ambitious and try their best to be successful.
One day at work Paul realized that he didn’t know many of his co-workers anymore. Things were slowly changing, becoming more formal and less talkative at the work stations. As newer and younger men replaced those who left, productivity fell. There were simply too many who didn’t know what they were doing. One day, Paul heard Mr Willem talking with one of his managers around a corner. “We have to do it, sir, and soon.” The man said. Paul pressed himself to the wall, hoping to hear more.
Apparently the factory was going to need to change things a bit. The manager wanted to replace some employees with machinery, but Mr Willem wanted to start with a more localized work belt system. No more switching things you were working on. The old man mumbled he hoped to make this change temporary, until his employees got the hang of things better.
Paul made his way back to his workplace, unsure of what to think anymore. If the factory started using machinery, many people would lose their jobs. He hoped it didn’t come to that.
Just then, the horn sounded for lunch, and Paul clapped the shoulder of his latest trainee, a young one called Brian. “Ready for the killing field?” he asked, trying to sound jovial despite the news he had just heard. Brian just gave him a blank look.
“What’s the killing field?” he inquired, and Paul’s smile dropped as surely as if he’d been slapped. He decided to explain on the way to lunch, and used the same words that had once been used on him. They sounded hollow to his ears. Things were falling apart, he realized, and he clutched at straws.
That same day, Phil took him to the side and told him he had been going to comedy clubs in a nearby town for the past few months.
“I’m finally going to make it, man!” he said excitedly, and Paul was happy for him.
“It’s just me and Noisy now, huh?” he asked with almost no bitterness in his smile. Still, Phil was a smart man. You needed to be, if you wanted to be a good comedian. “Hey, don’t look so down buddy. If you aren’t happy here, you can move out too.” Paul just looked at his friend. The proposal seemed almost blasphemous to the old timer.
They were sitting in the smoking room, and Phil pointed towards the window. “Look,” he started. His other hand held a cigarette, which the man took a drag. “Is this where you used to work? It’s different, we can all tell. It used to be a house, and we used to be a family. Not anymore. Now it’s every man for himself.”
Paul wanted to protest, but the familiar sight from the glass panel mixed with unfamiliar, blank faces held his tongue. Phil took the opportunity. “Think about it. You’re good with your hands. If you work from your garage and sell your own handmade things, you can make a lot more money than you ever could here. You need to think big, Paul, be ambitious. Hey, if you don’t do it for yourself, do it for your wife. Think of how much better your lives could be. You owe it to her.”
That conversation stuck with Paul for the rest of the day. It coiled about in his mind, and he struggled with it as much as he could. What kept him in the factory? Loyalty? Past friendships? Fear of change? If it was anything like that, then he might as well have the guts to make the leap forward. He could make more money, provide, maybe even find another place where he belonged.
When Paul got home Salina could tell that something was wrong. She had seen him get more dishevelled as time wore on, and now she put her hands on his shoulders as he sat on their softest sofa, head cradled in his hands. She asked what was wrong and of course he told her about his doubts, as well as everything that had been going on these past few months, and what Phil had told him about making money for his family.
Paul asked her what he should do, torn as he was. He explained everything they’d said, and his wife smiled. “Honey, you’re much simpler than that,” she whispered quietly, and he agreed. Her face was marked with beautiful laughing lines and her hair was cut short for practicality’s sake. “What would make you happy? What do you love to do and where do you love to do it?” Her eyes had a knowing smile hidden within them. Once she put the question like that, all Paul’s doubts fell away like rust. He returned her smile confidently.