Flight of Brothers

by Jonathan Baumbach

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” I said. “You know I have trouble standing up for myself.”

  “Well, that’s what you’re here for, to learn to speak up for yourself. I know the feelings of guilt you talk about stand in the way, but you have to try to override them and not make excuses for yourself.”

  “I did show some passion with Eva when she questioned me about the missing opium.”

  “Good, but Eva’s your friend. She hasn’t informed the world that you are a thief and maybe even an addict.”

  “I once at a party tasted opium and it made me sick,” I said. “I threw up afterward. If it hadn’t made me sick, I might have become a user and one thing would have led to another.”

  “We’re not talking about might have,” he said. “We’re talking about what is in the real world. We all might have done things we haven’t done, but if we haven’t done them, we haven’t done them.”

  I replayed his comment in my head but I refused to acknowledge the justice of it. “I lied about tasting opium,” I said, “but it might have happened. I’ve smoked marijuana on occasion.”

  “Marijuana is not the same as opium,” he said.

  “That’s not the way the law looks at it,” I said.

  “Sometimes the law makes mistakes,” he said. “Anyway it seems to me we’re going around in circles. There is a difference between thought and deed, as you know. And the issue here is not letting someone blame you for something you didn’t do without giving him hell in return. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I muttered as if the acknowledgment had been dragged out of me.

  As usual, I felt worse, more of a failure, when I left Klotzman than when I came in.

  I raised my fist inside my own apartment and looking in the mirror, fantasized ways of getting back at “the hateful son of a bitch.” But it was my face not the Head of Security’s that stared back helplessly from the mirror. I had no weapons at hand. The only thing I could think of was getting a car, though I hadn’t driven in almost a year, and running down the bastard when he was leaving work. I could wait for him in the car, wearing dark glasses, parked inconspicuously across the street from the exit then trail him until the opportunity presented itself. I didn’t have to kill him. Just maim the bastard, break something before slipping away. The thing was to get my hands on a nondescript car and clip him when there were no witnesses. Hard to find an empty street at that time. Be patient. Wait for the ideal moment. Then bam, take him down. Hit him in such a way as to leave no blood on the car. I could do that, I thought, talking up my courage, doubting it all the time, knowing I lacked whatever it was to follow through.

  Why did I give back the gun they gave me when I left the job? It might be easier to wait in a doorway and shoot him when he went by, slipping away in the dark, dropping the weapon in the river. What river was I thinking of? If only I had conveniently forgotten about returning the gun. I wouldn’t know where to get another one. I had never owned a gun.

  Possibly I could lure him some place where there was a cliff and sneak up behind and push the hateful bastard off, watching him scream as I hurried away.

  I worked out in strenuous detail even more impossible plans then, tired, lay down on the couch in a guilty sweat, feeling I had in some way gotten back at him. I saw him in my dreams a broken man, smashed up bleeding profusely, begging for help that would not come.

  The thought sufficed for the deed only for awhile. Reality, that uninvited guest, would at some point intrude. If only wishes could kill. For days I thought of schemes for getting him and some of the time I allowed myself to think I had. The power of the powerless lies in fantasy.

  And then, walking with Eva, she told me that Warren, the Head of Security, had been let go.

  It seemed so right I might have dreamed it. “What did he do?” I asked.

  “No one will say,” she said. “There are rumors, but I suspect it’s all guess work.”

  I was hungry for information. “What are the rumors you heard.”

  “I shouldn’t spread rumors,” she said. “I thought you would be glad to hear that he had been fired.”

  I couldn’t tell her how glad I was. “Tell me about the rumors,” I said.

  “The usual things,” she said, “that he had been drinking on the job, that he had taken some drugs from one of the cabinets, stuff like that. Someone said she had heard he had raped one of the staff.”

  “What do you think?” I asked, unwilling to let the subject die.

  “I barely knew him,” she said. “Most of what I knew of him is what you told me. He was certainly cruel to you.”

  If he was cruel to me, he likely was cruel to others as well.

  “When they hired him, they wanted someone who was tough, she said. “I remember someone saying that Warren would take no prisoners, as if that were a virtue.”

  As we walked I feasted on the news of Warren’s comedown while trying to keep it to myself, my pleasure tainted with shame. I felt deep down that I had done it and was almost sorry. He probably needed the job, I thought.

  “You seem lost in thought,” she said. “Your enemy’s comeuppance doesn’t seem to have made you any happier. I thought you’d be overjoyed at the news, Mel.”

  “I don’t think we should take pleasure in other peoples misfortunes, even if deserved,” I said sententiously.

  She squeezed my hand again. “I agree,” she said. “It pleases me that you’re not vindictive, though sometimes I think that you don’t stand up for yourself enough. If Warren stole drugs then it couldn’t have been you.”

  I had thought of that. “Isn’t it all rumor?” I said.

  “Some rumors are true,” she said. “If you like, I’ll talk to them about hiring you to replace him. It’s a long shot, of course. Would you like me to talk to them for you.”

  “What does a Head of Security do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “For one, he hires people like you to police the premises at night.”

  “I suppose he also checks the credentials of your staff,” I said. “I could do that, though I have no experience in that line of work.”

  “I’ll find out what the job description is,” she said, “and show it to you. How much experience do you need to do a job like that? What you need is a certain amount of intelligence, which you have, and a certain amount of integrity.”

  I didn’t know that I wanted the job, though my replacing Warren seemed fitting in its way. “There are procedures I know nothing about.”

  The more reticence I showed, the more determined she was in getting me the job.

  “At least let me talk to the woman doing the hiring about you,” she said. “If by any chance they offer you the job, you can always decline it then. Okay?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  I told Klotzman about Eva recommending me for the Head of Security job and he responded with a blank look. “Is that the kind of job you really want?” he asked.

  “I could do it,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll get it.”

  “I have to say,” he said in his know-it-all way, “I’d be greatly surprised if you got it. But say you did, would you take it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “I might. Why not?”

  He held up his hands as if someone were attacking him. “It just seems to me a strange job for someone who has problems with feelings of guilt.”

  I didn’t disagree. “Everything is hard if you have constant feelings of guilt. What does a Head of Security do?”

  “I don’t even know.”

  He shook his head. “You had better find out if you’re going to interview for the job. Don’t you think, Mel?”

  I admitted that made sense. Still, I was taken aback by his negative attitude.

  “You once told me, Dr. Klotzman, that I could do most things if I set my mind to it.”

  “That was your mother that told you that. What I said is that you’re capable of more things than you know.”

 
; “Well, maybe I could do this job, if I set my mind to it,” I said. His negativity was making me sound more positive than I felt.

  “Maybe you could,” he allowed, “but first I should think you would have to know what the job entailed.”

  More unfelt bravado. “I like the idea of replacing the man who disgraced me.”

  “I see,” he said. “A little while back you wanted to be a therapist. This job might require some of the same skills.”

  “I thought of that,” I said. “This may all be academic if I don’t get an interview.”

  “As long as you don’t have excessive expectations,” he said.

  As it turned out, I did get an interview, which surprised me and didn’t. Eva must have really sung my praises, though she told me her friend, Margaret, who did the hiring, seemed receptive to what she said.

  For the interview I wore the only suit I had, a grey-striped thing years out of style, ironing it myself to make it look less ragged.

  Margaret made me feel at ease as much as I ever did. I showed her my career resume, which was embarrassingly flimsy. She studied it, then put it aside. “It’s not a hard job,” she said, “but you haven’t done much in this line.”

  I admitted that was the case. “It represents a challenge,” I said, afraid she might laugh at the remark.

  “You like challenges?” she asked.

  I couldn’t very well say I didn’t, which was nearer to the truth. “I would be a kinder, gentler Head of Security than the last one.”

  That made her laugh. “And you do have computer skills?”

  I said I did, another overstatement.

  “Are you good at judging character?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I said, another overstatement. I was acting the role Eva had written for me.

  The rest of the interview was more of the same with Margaret making the assumptions and me modestly not denying them. She apologized after the interview was concluded at Warren’s mistreatment of me. We shook hands before I left but I felt a kiss might not be out of the question.

  The next day Eva told me I had made a favorable impression, though Margaret wasn’t going to make a decision until after a few more interviews. “Congratulations,” she said.

  So Eva was happy with me and for the moment I was happy with myself.

  The next day Eva told me I had a strong competitor, someone who had a number of security jobs in his resume. “That’s all right,” I said. “I have no expectations. After all, I’m not qualified.”

  A few days later, I got a call from Empire Medical Supplies offering me the job. They wanted, I was told, someone with a fresh approach.

  I went into work the next day and was given a much larger office than previously, one on the top floor. It had a sign on the door: Head of Security. I wore my old suit, my only suit, but I thought a job like this deserved a replacement. My first day on the job, I fiddled with the computer on my desk, made an effort at looking busy in case anyone came around. I played solitaire on the computer and lost several games before I won one. No one looked in on me, though I got a few interoffice calls asking how I was doing. I had the same answer for each. “Swimmingly.” I said. I left my desk twice to go to the bathroom. They had a very congenial Men’s Room on my floor.

  The next day was more of the same, but I was beginning to get bored. There was a file cabinet in the room with files on each of the employees. Mostly just resumes. There were a few letters of commendation—Eva had two—and in one a complaint from one employee of another. Reading through the files filled part of the day, though I have to say there was not much of interest. Toward closing Eva came in to ask how I was getting along. “Swimmingly,” I said.

  My pre-planned remark seemed to please her. “Don’t let me down,” she said. “I went out on a limb for you.”

  Could I tell her that I had no idea what was expected of me? I said I’d do my best to be worthy of her recommendation, and in fact I was doing my best.

  At the end of the first week, I conducted a series of interviews for the night watchman position I had once filled.

  The job title was Auxiliary Security Person. Each of the four people I talked to seemed competent to fill the post and, which was always my problem, I couldn’t choose among them, which was always my problem. They all seemed honest enough. After the interviews were concluded, I shuffled through the resumes looking for the clearly best possibility, but each had something to recommend him. One of the candidates was an older man with frightened eyes who looked like he needed the job more than the others. He seemed to have gone from one hapless job to another, doing anything that required no experience that would pay the bills. In the interview there was a kind of desperation in his voice. He said, repeatedly so, that he was prepared to do whatever the situation required. He reminded me of myself, an older frailer version of me and I leaned toward choosing him. Still, a younger, stronger-looking man might be more of what was needed. One of the candidates had been a bouncer for ten years and looked big enough to handle anything that got in his way. On the downside, he didn’t seem very bright, but maybe a dullard was best for that job.

  I went home without making a decision, though Margaret came in and seemed eager to hear my choice. I said I would give her my choice tomorrow morning and she consented, though I could tell she wanted me to choose on the spot.

  When I got home, I worried over the choice and I had one of my lineup dreams. In my dream were the four job candidates each wearing a grey smock that looked like a prison uniform and in the fifth spot my old red couch, looking worse than ever. I was there in a police uniform giving orders, instructing the candidates in turn to do a dance step as if someone were shooting at their feet. And then I began shooting at their feet to help them along. The older man lost his balance and fell to his knees while the others jumped up and down, dodging my bullets. I called out: “Will somebody please pick up that man that fell to his knees? Everyone ought to be standing.” And then I woke. I had to choose the older man, whether he was the best for the job or not. His falling in the dream was the sign.

  I went in to Margaret’s office and when I told her who I wanted for the job she seemed surprised. but shrugged and said, “It’s your call, Mel. I’ll inform him that he starts tonight. I’m curious: what about this man made you pick him over the others?”

  I had no good reason to offer. “Instinct,” I said.

  “Well, we’ll see how he works out,” she said.

  I could tell by the way she said what she did that if the old guy messed up in some way, it would be a black mark on my record.

  That I didn’t hear anything for a week seemed a good omen. I left the office from time to time to look around, to check that everything was all right. Isn’t that what security does, check on things.

  There were more interviews for jobs but not competitions as before. I approved everyone that came before me. There was never any reason not to.

  I asked Eva on one of our walks what the perception was about me. She said she didn’t know but that she had heard no complaints. How did I feel it was going? “I have no idea,” I said. “Sometimes I think I’m swimming in space.”

  “Whatever that means,” she said.

  “It means,” I said, “that I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m making up the job as I go along.”

  “No one will know that unless you tell them.” She said.

  “I’m thinking of giving it up,” I said. “I promised you one more week. It’s been three more weeks.”

  “You can’t keep quitting jobs,” she said.

  “Why not?” I said.

  “You’ll get a reputation for being irresponsible,” she said.

  “Would my reputation be better if they fired me?”

  “No one is going to fire you,” she said. “If they were dissatisfied, Margaret would have said something to me.”

  So I continued on in my gray suit, pretending to know what I was doing. I began to think maybe that’s what mo
st people do. Pretend to be living the life they’ve been assigned.

  I asked Klotzman if he ever felt he was a fraud and he gave me this insulted look. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked.

  “I was thinking about myself,” I said. “I know I’m a fraud.”

  “Mel, you tend to think you’re faking it even when you’re not,.” he said. “Isn’t that so?”

  “Whatever. In any event, I’m faking this job.”

  “So you’ve said. Maybe what you’re doing or not doing is the nature of the job.”

  “I’ve thought about that,” I’ve said.

  “And?”

  “It could be true, but that doesn’t make me any less of a fraud.”

  “If they’re satisfied with the job you’re doing, don’t let it bother you. No one has complained or said anything, have they?”

  “They could be humoring me as a favor to Eva,” I said. I had just thought of that.

  “I suppose that’s a remote possibility,” he said, “but it isn’t very likely in my opinion.”

  We went around in circles, neither convincing the other.

  “Did I tell you,” I said. “I sleep with Eva these days on a regular basis.”

  “You hadn’t,” he said. “You only mentioned that there was this one time. That seems like progress.”

  “Eva and I sleep together every Thursday,” I said.

  “Every Thursday,” he repeated, as if fastening on to the idea. “That seems somewhat rigid. Never on Wednesday or Sunday?”

  “You know,” I said, “I like things to be set in a certain way. It lowers the anxiety threshold.”

  “How long has this been going on?” he asked.

  “Two weeks now,” I said.

  “That’s not quite long enough to seem an established routine.”

  “We take walks together on Thursdays,” I explained, “and when we come back, we go into her apartment and have sex.”