by Teddy Wayne
I still didn’t fall asleep for several hours, and I woke up when Irma knocked on my door and told me it was time for brunch.
Everyone was waiting for me at the dining room table, and I apologized. Wilson and Jeromy both looked more fatigued than I was, so I didn’t feel as guilty.
“How late did you stay up?” Mrs. Schrub asked.
Mr. Schrub quickly looked at me, then looked down, and Wilson also did. It was as if I knew all their secrets but couldn’t say anything, even though I was the one with the real secret. “I stayed up late to read The Grapes of Wrath in my room,” I said.
Mr. Schrub and Mrs. Schrub had drinks of tomato juice with vodka. Mr. Schrub was in a positive mood and made many jokes which even I understood.
Wilson and Jeromy said good-bye after brunch. I shook their hands and they avoided my eyes. Mrs. Schrub told me the car to return to New York could leave as soon as I was ready. My opportunity to get the voice recorder was the opposite of golden. I packed my luggage slowly, because I was hoping Mr. Schrub might leave the house before I did. But I went downstairs and his office was still closed. When I was a few feet past the office, the door opened and Mr. Schrub asked to borrow me for a minute.
I again became panicked that he had discovered me. But he said, “I apologize for the scene last night, and for my sons’ behavior.” I said he didn’t need to apologize, and it was almost as if I could hear the voice recorder a few feet behind me.
Then he said, “Well, in better news, I have a proposal for you. My business people emailed it over this morning.” He showed me two stacks of several papers. “I don’t fully understand it, but apparently they want you to de-encrypt Kapitoil and allow our programmers access to the code, so they can make modifications to the algorithms, too. You’ll still be the point man on all this, and you’ll get a corresponding bump in salary.” He pointed to the number. It was double my current salary. “As far as I can tell, it’s a win-win for everyone.”
He gave me one of the stacks, as they were duplicates. It looked normal to me, and the money would be hard to reject. But more than that, this was my chance to compensate for what I had done last night. “I will sign it,” I said.
Mr. Schrub smiled and said he had a special pen for contracts, and he retrieved a Mont-Blanc pen from a holder on his desk. “Careful, it leaks easily,” he said.
As I was about to write my name, I noticed in the right corner of the front page the date and time it had originally been printed: November 12 at 9:16 a.m., which was Friday morning. Mr. Schrub said they had emailed it to him this morning. Sometimes computers have incorrect dates, but it made me pause.
Then I had an idea. In fact it was a double idea, but I didn’t have time to visualize the stars at night.
I started to sign my name, and I pressed very hard with the pen when writing the K. A large quantity of ink spilled and made the area for my signature a black puddle.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“No harm, no foul,” said Mr. Schrub. “I’ll print you up a fresh back page.”
Mr. Schrub worked on his computer. I walked back to the bookshelves to give him privacy. But I moved to Democracy Through Prosperity on the bookshelf.
Mr. Schrub was still clicking on the computer and the contract wasn’t on the monitor yet. I reached behind the book for the voice recorder. But I didn’t feel it.
The computer monitor now displayed the document.
I moved my fingers behind the books. Maybe he had already discovered it.
The printer began making feeding sounds like a car engine powering on. Then I felt something hard. I tried to pick up the voice recorder, but it was difficult because I had to reach over the line of books. It was similar to those machine games in which the user controls a device that retrieves stuffed animals with its metal talons. Zahira always wanted to play those when we were younger, and I had to tell her that they were designed to make the customer almost always lose money.
“Looking for something?” Mr. Schrub asked. His face was turned over his shoulder at me.
I moved my hand to the top of the book. “This book sounds interesting,” I said.
“It’s a free country, take a look,” Mr. Schrub said. He observed me for several seconds, as if he were deciphering a complex problem. I couldn’t remove it or he might see the voice recorder.
Then the printer beeped, and Mr. Schrub said, “Lousy printer,” and it was a paper jam and he had to remove the malfunctioning sheet and restart the job.
I took down Democracy Through Prosperity with my left hand and with my right hand I reached for the voice recorder and pocketed it and my heart accelerated as much as if I were playing racquetball. The printer respooled. I returned to his desk and he handed me the complete contract again.
The new page had the current date and time.
I looked at it for several seconds. Mr. Schrub asked, “Something wrong?”
“Possibly I should review this further on my own,” I said.
“Take your time,” he said. “Just get back to George whenever you’re ready.”
Mr. Schrub said he had enjoyed my company, and I thanked him and his family for hosting me. He removed a business card from his wallet and said, “In case you ever need to contact me,” although I knew I would be too afraid to contact him directly and would reach him only through his secretary.
During the car ride back to New York I couldn’t listen to the voice recorder of course, because Mr. Schrub’s driver, Patrick, was there. When we were static in traffic, Patrick called Mr. Schrub and told him he would be late returning to the house. After he disconnected, I asked how many days a week he had to work for Mr. Schrub.
“Just a few,” he said. “Mr. Schrub’s very generous with time off.”
I considered deleting everything on the voice recorder at that moment. It wasn’t my business and it was illegal. But sometimes even when you know the correct action, you can’t force yourself to do it.
In addition I felt bad about distrusting Mr. Schrub. It was an obsolete printer, and possibly it or the computer merely malfunctioned and displayed the incorrect date, and Mr. Schrub was telling the truth that he had received it that morning.
Still, I tried to read the contract more thoroughly in the car. It is long and the language is difficult for me to interpret, however, so it will take some time.
When I got into my apartment I immediately listened to the voice recorder, as if it were a present I couldn’t wait to open. I had to rewind through some sounds in the night the voice recorder had powered on for, and then I heard our conversation from last night.
The remainder of the recording was just our conversation in the morning. I don’t know what I was expecting to discover, but I was relieved it was nothing. I still saved our two conversations on the voice recorder. It was rare to have both a personal dialogue and a business conversation with Mr. Schrub within a few hours, and I always want to remember them.
acclimate = adjust to
at your earliest convenience = polite way of requesting a response ASAP
birding = observing birds
borrow a person = have that person’s attention briefly
bowl a person over = significantly impress that person
call dibs = claim ownership
DUI = charge for Driving Under the Influence (of alcohol)
full clearance = 100% permission
heliport = airport for helicopters
Johnny Bench = baseball player known for having large hands
made my bitch = defeated = conquered = subjugated = dominated = enslaved
no harm, no foul = no serious damage has been inflicted
notes = variations of flavor in wine
POV = point of view
retire = hit the hay = go to sleep
talons = a bird’s feet that are used for containing a smaller animal
we’re not in Kansas anymore = revised line from The Wizard of Oz that indicates being in a new environment that is different a
nd frightening
JOURNAL DATE RECORDED: NOVEMBER 21
I bought a quality card with plant and bird designs and thanked Mr. and Mrs. Schrub for their hospitality, and mailed it to their home address in New York. I didn’t receive a response, so on Thursday I emailed his secretary to thank him again, and added:
Please also pass on my wishes for a happy Thanksgiving next week for the Schrubs. It is a holiday I do not know well, but I know that Americans use it to give thanks for what they have, and I am thankful for the opportunity Mr. Schrub has provided me.
The office would be closed next Thursday, and although the stock market was open on Friday, Schrub was giving the day off to most employees, including me. Everyone else was stimulated about having four days off from work, but I was anxious. I didn’t have anything to do or anywhere to go. I hadn’t needed to do much work on Kapitoil lately, because it was mostly self-running, and for the first time my work was slightly boring to me. Even the Y2K project required more problem-solving skills. Mr. Ray had told me I could use the time to work on new programs, but ever since I started finessing Kapitoil I wasn’t having any original ideas that stimulated me. So I hoped Mr. Schrub would possibly invite me back to Connecticut for Thanksgiving.
I saw Rebecca in the coffee room and asked about her Thanksgiving plans.
“I’m not really doing Thanksgiving this year,” she said. “It’s hard to justify flying to my mother’s just for a few days.”
I asked, “Where does your father live?” and then I remembered I shouldn’t ask about him because she didn’t mention him previously.
“New Jersey.” She poured herself more coffee even though her cup was almost full, and we discussed the Y2K project briefly before we divided.
On Friday Mr. Ray visited me in my office. “Just wanted to let you know we’re still thrilled with Kapitoil’s results,” he said. “Are you working on anything new?”
“I am continuously updating the algorithms,” I said.
“I meant any new programs.”
I said, “No, I have not innovated anything.” I should have said, e.g., “I am batting around some ideas,” as I heard Jefferson say to a supervisor one time, which is strategic because it is undefined and the listener will probably not ask for more details. But I am unskilled at that class of speaking.
Mr. Ray said, “Ah. Well, let me know if you’re struck by lightning with anything.” At the door he added, “And Mr. Schrub mentioned something about a contract?”
I had been attempting to read it over the week, but I couldn’t decipher most of its contents, and I couldn’t ask Jefferson or Dan or even Rebecca for help. So I said, “I am still reviewing it.” He said that was fine and he would recheck with me later.
I went to a bookstore on Saturday and bought another novel by John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men. I read it all in one day, and I liked it even more than The Grapes of Wrath, because it made a similar economic argument and had equal emotional power in a more efficient length. I emailed Zahira and recommended that she read it after her winter exams were over.
That night there was news of a small bombing in Pakistan on an oil refinery. Five people died as well. It would make the markets volatile and Kapitoil would profit on the vacillations. It was the class of event that happened infrequently, but when it did I tried to reroute my brain.
So I thought about Zahira some more, and wondered if she would pursue biology and possibly become a doctor, and if so if she would be a doctor who did clinical research to boot and attempted to cure diseases or simply a doctor who treated diseases. If I were a doctor I would prefer to do clinical work, as it’s more beneficial to prevent diseases before they develop than merely treat them after they have made an impact, and I would also be less valuable as a regular doctor because my interpersonal skills are weak.
Then I was struck by lightning.
What if I could apply the idea of using news reports, and an updated version of Kapitoil’s algorithm, to predict the spread of disease? The stock market functions like other systems of controlled chaos, such as viruses and epidemiology. Some diseases, e.g., cancer, are not possible to predict, because they occur independently of world events, but possibly I could anticipate how the flu virus or malaria spreads, or other diseases that relate to variables like poverty and sanitation and also political unrest that are discussed in the news.
But I will test out my hypothesis and create a prototype program to certify it has merit before I propose it to Mr. Ray or Mr. Schrub.
do a holiday = observe a holiday 100% by spending it with family
struck by lightning = innovate a major idea
JOURNAL DATE RECORDED: NOVEMBER 26
On Monday I received an email reply from Mr. Schrub’s secretary:
Mr. Schrub was pleased to have you as his guest, and he wishes you a happy Thanksgiving as well.
That was all. I was foolish to think he would invite me to Connecticut. He had his own family and other friends and business acquaintances. I was not an integral part of his life. “Pleased” was a word with such minimal weight. And possibly Mr. Ray told him I didn’t have any new ideas and therefore didn’t merit an invitation. I almost wrote to the secretary that I had a new idea about Kapitoil, but of course Kapitoil was still highly privileged information, and I had not even started testing out my new idea yet.
On Wednesday I went into my former pod and said good-bye to Rebecca. She was still working, and it was rare for me to exit work before she did. She had dark shadows under her eyes. I said, “Possibly you should not work so hard.”
Her mouth turned up slightly and she told me to have a good Thanksgiving. I asked if she was celebrating it with her roommate, but she said Jessica had gone home to California the previous day.
That night I watched television without truly selecting a program, which I don’t like doing. I considered finally calling one of the people in New York our family friends knew, the Bashar family. I opened my cellular and scrolled through the few numbers I had inputted so far, but stopped before I reached them.
“Hello?” Barron said.
“Hello, Mr. Wright. This is Karim Issar. I am the Schrub Equities employee you have previously driven from JFK Airport to my apartment, from the Schrub office to game four of the World Series between the Yankees and the Atlanta Braves, and from—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said. “What time and where?”
“I do not require transportation,” I said. “I would merely like to give thanks to you for the previous rides.”
He paused for a few seconds, then laughed. “You’re welcome. It’s my job.”
“Also, I would like to wish you and your family a happy Thanksgiving.” He reciprocated, and I asked, “Are you having a large Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Just having a few friends and relatives over, nothing too fancy,” he said.
“That sounds enjoyable.”
There was another pause, and he said, “You?”
“I do not have any current plans,” I said.
I could hear Barron intake his breath, and then he said, “Well, shit, like I said, it’s nothing fancy, but you’re welcome to come over here.”
“I could not infringe on your hospitality.”
“I wouldn’t have invited you if it was an infringement,” he said.
“Then I accept your offer, and I will bring some food with me as well.” He gave me his contact information. “Mr. Wright, may I infringe on your hospitality and invite someone else?”
He laughed again. Barron created high pressure when he didn’t speak, but when he laughed he depressurized the environment. He said why the hell not as long as I called him Barron and not Mr. Wright.
I called Rebecca, who picked up on the second ring. When I invited her to Barron’s, she said, “You don’t have to do that just because you feel sorry for me.”
“It is all right,” I said. “I was invited just because he felt sorry for me.”
She laughed and accepted, and I hy
pothesized that she and Barron would partner well because they were the only two people in the U.S. who thought I had a sense of humor.
On Thanksgiving I cooked hareis. It is my preferred meal to cook because it is like writing a complex program: It takes a long time to produce such fragile meat, you can innovate with trial-and-error experiments with different spices (e.g., I use more cinnamon than most cooks do), and removing the bones at the end is even parallel to debugging. Then you have a full meal made from several ingredients that would not be independently edible, minus the lamb and rice, just as a program combines several functions that have less value when solitary.
I also blended a complex juice of bananas, strawberries, peaches, and kiwis, which are independently edible but preferable in collaboration.
Rebecca and I planned to meet at Barron’s home in Jackson Heights, which I read was the most diverse area in the world. The subway was above the ground in Queens, and I tried counting the number of Spanish and Indian restaurants, but even I couldn’t do it. I also saw very few stores with names I recognized. Before I came to New York I expected to see this class of neighborhood more, but I haven’t found it in Manhattan.
Although I found this neighborhood intriguing, all the garbage on the streets suddenly made me wish I was in Connecticut with Mr. Schrub and his family and around trees and lawns and spacious houses.
I found a small brick house in a row of similar houses and rang the front door. A female with short black hair answered. She was Japanese.
I reviewed the number above the door. “I apologize,” I said. “I think I have the incorrect home.”