The Fall of Chance

by McGowan, Terry

  They were out and among the Square now. Unt was familiar with the Hall of Clerks: as you left Fate Hall it stood off at a forty-five degree angle to the left. It was the second-largest building in town; almost as large as Fate Hall itself.

  It was fronted by a covered walkway which was held up by stone columns. The columns might have been placed with some intention of decorating them but in the end, they’d been left plain and smooth. The face of the building was lined with many double doors but they all led into a single massive chamber. There were so many doors so as to allow the heavy flow of traffic that came in and out all day. Society might embrace a kind of chaos but it still relied and thrived upon bureaucracy and that was what the Clerks provided.

  Pearson led him through the closest set of doors into an open hall as broad as the building’s entire front. A dozen yards in, across a polished marble floor, one great wooden desk ran almost to the side walls at either end. The Clerks had many functions and every function had many queues. Unt had spent a lot of his life in queues like those, registering for this and that - and that was just as a child. A lot of adults seemed to spend their lives here, queuing.

  “This is what you wanted to show me?” asked Unt.

  “Not here. This way.” Pearson took him round the left of the desk, through a closed door and into a smaller hallway where another counter stood. Pearson went straight over and leaned against it.

  “Unt,” he said, “I’d like you to meet the lovely Necta, font of all knowledge and the most beautiful girl in town.”

  The lady in question was a woman, not a girl. She had to be ten years older than Pearson - way too old for Unt, but he had to admit, he could see the attraction.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, young pup,” said Necta, smiling.

  “Not in my experience,” grinned Pearson, “And besides, how can it be flattery when it’s true?”

  “’The most beautiful girl in town’, indeed. What would your wife say?” Necta leaned on the counter, her nose was just inches from Pearson’s.

  “I’m sure she’d agree with me. There’s nothing wrong with her eyes - I don’t need to tell you how sharp they are.”

  “Naughty boy,” Necta dangled a pen over Pearson’s fingers. She had very neat nails.

  “I do try,” Pearson raised a slow finger and coiled it around the pen.

  “And you can keep trying,” Necta flipped the pen out of his reach and clipped it to her blouse. Unt was feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

  “So who’s this handsome young man?” asked Necta with a smile. Unt had never been on the receiving end of such a smile in his life.

  “This is Unt,” said Pearson. “He’s going to be taking over from me.”

  “You mean you’re leaving me?” Necta pouted.

  “Under great protest and heartache,” said Pearson, “Duty drags me from my heart’s desire.”

  “And my duty drags me away from smooth-talking rogues,” said Necta.

  “I don’t see you moving.”

  “I will. Unless you have any business pressing?” She arched a neat black eyebrow.

  “Oh, you’re just too cruel,” said Pearson, “I come to give my tearful farewells and you abuse me. I love and adore you and you torment me, you wench.”

  “Which is your way of saying you have no business,” said Necta. “Some of us have work to be getting on with, so I’ll say goodbye to you Pearson. Unt, I look forward to seeing more of you.”

  With that she turned and walked away – ‘wriggled’ would be a better word.

  Pearson clapped an arm over Unt’s shoulder and wheeled him away. “There, what did I tell you?” he said.

  “Nice,” said Unt.

  “Nice?” scoffed Pearson. “You’re a monster of understatement. That, Unt, is all woman”.

  That was the youngest Unt had felt all day. He’d gone into the adult workplace and not been intimidated too much - even by Lasper - but that encounter was beyond him. He felt more like a child than he had in a long time.

  Unt looked around and noticed they weren’t going back to Fate Hall. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “Unt,” said Pearson, “There is one last, great, worldly wonder that you have yet to experience and that, my friend, is the pub. What do you say to a spot of lunch before reporting back?”

  Unt felt he should say no but didn’t feel like he could. Besides, his stomach argued, he realised he’d not given a thought to food all day. So, with Unt’s consent, Pearson led them off down a side alley.

  “You know,” said Pearson, dropping his voice even though they were outside, “If you think Necta’s too old for you right now, you could always try Orla.”

  “Orla?”

  “She pulls the other half of desk duty there and I’m sure you’ll like her. Blonde, doe-eyed, got it all going on everywhere,” he traced an outline with his hands, “And just a few years older than you.”

  Unt didn’t know what to say so he said something that had been playing on his mind. “Didn’t Necta say you were married?”

  “Of course,” said Pearson, “Isn’t everyone?”

  “Don’t you feel bad, talking to other women like that?”

  “It makes me feel good,” Pearson replied. “We all marry who we’re told to but that doesn’t make us dead. There’s nothing wrong with a little playful fun.”

  They had reached a cream-fronted pub called the Pickled Bear. The sign above depicted a bear in a pickling jar and its chipped paintwork matched that of the building. Colour had peeled in some places and elsewhere, lumps of render had fallen off entirely but the Bear was apparently so pickled, it didn’t care about its appearance.

  They stepped past a man by the front door who was lighting a monstrous black pipe. He looked like he was a regular and Pearson acted like he was too but the two men didn’t exchange looks, never mind words.

  This was Unt’s first time in a pub. He’d had glimpses of the inside of some and his imagination had filled in the blanks but the Bear was a distorted view of those visions. The dingy interior was lit by a mix of candles and gas lamps whose greasy light struggled against the dark wood of the floors, tables and seats. The small space was divided into cubicles that were packed close and divided by coloured panes of bubble-effect glass. Those panes were a barrier to what light there was and what did pass through was so warped that Unt felt drunk just looking at it.

  He was surprised at how busy the place was for the middle of the day. Lunchtime might be looming but it looked like these patrons had been here since opening. All eyes turned to the new arrivals with instinctive hostility. Chief among them was the landlord who filled the narrow-fronted bar, dead ahead.

  Pearson led Unt straight up there. Unt eyed the mysterious coloured bottles that hung upside-down at the back. They and the brass fittings of the pump were strangely welcoming - the only welcoming things in the pub.

  “New meat, Pearson?” growled the landlord. His nose might have been set in a sneer or it might just have been badly set after a break.

  “A new patron, Boomer,” said Pearson, sidling up to the bar, “and sure to be a good one, if you can treat him a little nicer.”

  The man called Boomer scowled. “All are welcome here,” he said. “So what’s it to be?”

  “Two ales please, Boomer,” said Pearson.

  “Coming up,” said the landlord and began to draw two tankards of frothing ale. “On the tab is it?” he asked as his strong arm worked the pump.

  “As ever,” smiled Pearson.

  “As ever,” grumbled Boomer.

  When he’d done and they both had a tankard, Pearson led Unt to an empty booth. The patrons seemed to have assessed Unt, dismissed him and gone back to their important solitary work.

  “We’re not ordering food yet?” asked Unt, concerned.

  “Second visit to the bar.” Pearson waved a dismissive hand.

  He drank deep from the tankard and Unt swallowed as much as he dared. The taste and texture were bot
h pleasant and unpleasant at once.

  Pearson smacked his lips dramatically. “Ah, that’s better. You were asking about my marriage?”

  Unt was taken aback. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried”, he said.

  “Don’t worry, ask away. I’m here to show you the ropes in whatever way I can.”

  Unt was unsure. “All right,” he said at last, “I was wondering whether you felt guilty for your wife when you were talking like you were before.”

  “Why should I?” said Pearson, “It’s only natural. I’ve been married for almost as long as you’ve been alive and the mind does wander.”

  He thought for a moment. “Unt, I know this is hard for you to understand. With that pretty little wife you’ve picked up you think you’ll never be tempted to stray but mark my words: the time will come when you want to try the sugar from another pot.

  “In a few years’ time, the sublime will have become normal and all that’s left for the rest of your life is the stuff you could have had. So yeah, a bit of wanderlust sets in. You see a few shiny fires, glistening all over, and you want to play with them. It’s fine to touch from time to time, so long as you don’t play too long or too often and end up getting burnt.”

  Unt was doubtful but didn’t want to put a divide up between them. “Have you been burnt, then?” he ventured.

  “Nah,” said Pearson. “My golden rule is, I never take anything home to my wife and kids. That way, no-one’s ever the wiser and no-one gets hurt.”

  Unt was even more surprised at the mention of kids but held his tongue.

  With a final gulp, Pearson finished off his pint. “So, do you think Orla might take your fancy?”

  “I don’t think I need that right now.”

  “Maybe,” said Pearson, “But one day you’ll want to and then it helps to be a Councillor. Women, Unt, are drawn to power like flies on shit and whether or not we admit it, we Councillors have power. Another one?”

  It took Unt a second to realise Pearson was talking about drinks. He was barely halfway though his current one but Pearson took his second’s pause as agreement and was already on his way to the bar.

  That drink turned out to be the second of many. The pub filled with the lunchtime crowd, then emptied again but somehow, Unt and Pearson never got around to ordering food. Instead, they had drink after drink as they chatted through the afternoon.

  Pearson did most of the talking. Sometimes he talked about work, sometimes he brought up Lasper, but mostly he talked about women. Unt just listened and got steadily more drunk. When they rose to leave after more than three hours, Unt was feeling very unsteady.

  6. Union

  Unt’s first working week passed and the pending wedding loomed large. Thankfully, on that first day, when Unt and Pearson had rolled back in, Brooker hadn’t been harsh on them. He hadn’t made a fuss: he’d been merciful.

  Without alluding to Unt’s obvious drunkenness, Brooker had suggested that perhaps he’d learnt enough for one day. He rolled his dice and whatever the result, declared it was enough to send him home. Brooker had Pearson drop him at his doorstep and when he turned up at work the next day, no mention was made of it.

  Pearson didn’t get off so lightly. He’d had to see out the rest of the day in the office with a growing headache. It didn’t stop him from taking Unt to the Pickled Bear every lunch time but from then on in it was just one drink and the Bear’s questionable food to go with it.

  The work itself was varied and interesting and well within Unt’s abilities. Pearson was gradually showing him the ropes and Unt was taking on his duties by inches. Brooker was a kind man to work under and Unt was enjoying himself. The hours were longer than what he’d been used to and he went home tired and content.

  He didn’t really have much time or energy to devote to thinking about the wedding but it was coming and the first reminder was a letter that he found on the mat one day when he came in from work. It was confirmation of the time and location of the ceremony, who he would be marrying and where they would be living.

  That gave him cause to consider the house and its furnishings. It was a blend of what his parents had left him and the growing mark that a developing boy had made on it. There was nothing feminine about the place and nothing stylish either. It was clean but not polished, like himself.

  He wondered whether a girl like Crystal would be happy moving in. She’d want to make changes, that was for sure, but if he couldn’t know what they would be, was there any point trying to change things in advance?

  He decided not. In the end, he thought that aside from giving the spot a fresh clean, he was best off letting things happen as they would. He was happy to admit to himself that a big part of his reasoning was that after work, he just couldn’t be bothered.

  His life had become such a cycle of work and sleep that he hadn’t seen Bulton once since Orientation. It was a pleasant surprise then when, on the rest-day before the ceremony, his old friend turned up on his doorstep, bottle of spirits in hand.

  “Hey buddy, how you doing?” said Bull, letting himself in.

  “Not bad,” said Unt, going back to his couch and leaving Bull to do what he would.

  “No fruit?” asked Bull, hovering near an empty bowl.

  “Haven’t had time to go get anything,” said Unt.

  “Tell me about it,” said Bulton. “I’ve been thrown into night-shifts. All I want to do during the day is sleep.”

  “That’s all you ever want to do,” said Unt.

  Bull smiled slyly, “Not at all,” he said. “I’ve put in time to get to know Min. I’m looking forward to this wedding.”

  “You’re looking forward to after the wedding,” Unt corrected.

  “There’s a difference?” said Bull, now opening cupboard doors in a vain quest for food. “How about you? Have you seen much of Crystal?”

  “No,” said Unt.

  “Seriously?” Bull was surprised. “Well, I suppose she’s probably busy too. We Medics work long hours.”

  Just then, there was a knock on the door. Unt answered to find a woman standing there with a folded cloth package. A man stood behind her with a handcart filled with similar bundles.

  “Unt?” she asked, reading from a label on the bundle.

  “Yes?”

  “Your suit,” she said and handed him the package.

  He’d been expecting this. It was a communal wedding and everyone involved would be wearing the same clothes. Boys wore suits, the girls wore dresses but the organising committee kept both under wraps until the last minute. Some people thought the mystery added a magical element. Unt just found the delay inconvenient.

  “Is there one there for Bulton?” Bull shouted over,

  “It’s already been left at your family home,” said the woman, who didn’t seem to find anything magical about it either. She bid them good day and left.

  Unt closed the door but Bull was already there, “I’d best get back and get suited up then,” he said.

  “It’s not till tomorrow,” Unt protested.

  “Yeah but it might need taken in or something,” said Bull.

  Unt was astonished. Could a change come over someone so quickly? A fortnight ago, Bull would have dressed at the last minute or dressed straight away and then slobbed around in his suit. Min was some girl if she’d brought about a transformation this soon.

  A minute later, Bull was gone and Unt was left alone. He sat down on the couch facing the walnut clock, opened the package and laid out his suit. It was charcoal grey with a wine-red shirt, heavy like a thundercloud in the morning. Unt could only guess at the material but it looked as fine as the community could make. It was better than anything Unt had made during his spell at the clothes mill, that was for sure.

  The charcoal material had a metallic quality, like gunmetal, while the shirt had the silky lustre of full-ripened fruit. Someone had lavished a lot of attention on this but to Unt it was wasted effort. He supposed there were other people who enjoyed this ki
nd of thing and that interest would have fed into the dice rolls that determined the cut, material and colours that had finally been selected.

  Well, let them have it, he thought. So long as it fit, he was happy. The important thing was the girl he was going to marry. He noticed Bull had left the bottle of spirits. With nothing better to do, he thought he might as well sit back and enjoy it.

  It was funny how he hadn’t thought about Crystal half as much as he’d thought he would or half as much as he used to. She was gorgeous, she was his and yet, she hadn’t distracted him from his job or even been predominant in the hours when he wasn’t working.

  He was excited, no mistake, but his excitement was stored in blocks of hours and half-hours: time when he’d sit in this place and imagine their futures together. He pictured phantom children. Sometimes there were two or three but rarely were there more. Their genders varied from moment to moment. Whatever hobbies and professions he imagined for these prospective Untlings, always behind them was the calm, stable pairing of himself and Crystal.

  He was growing more and more sure that she would come around. It was too much to expect her to throw off Rob instantly - he’d be worried if she was capable of that - but he and Crystal were equals in intellect and both were good people. On that foundation, affection would surely follow.

  And it wasn’t just the relationship that was at the forefront of his thinking. Just as much, his mind pulled to the physical side of things. Lips, eyes, skin, hair: his focus would race erratically between each detail, an enthralling banquet of features.

  His imaginings of their future were pure fantasy but these agents of enticement, they would soon be his and in the very near future too. It wasn’t a vague and hopeful promise or even a certain thing working to an uncertain timetable. It would happen tomorrow.

  The wedding was communal to make one thing clear: a marriage was for the good of all. Marriage benefited society and the main way it did that was by adding to its numbers. As far as the town was concerned, each couple was a factory for making children and if a factory was ready, why wait to start production? Every marriage would be consummated this evening, Unt and Crystal included.