The Map
The week this all happened, before I knew anything really, though I had my reservations about my new clearance level and the strange way everyone acted around the machine, the office newsletter had a map on the last page.There was no explanation. I just figured it was decoration. "People are probably going to some exotic island to find wives," Benveniste said. This was the last time I saw him before he came sneaking into my cubicle with those horrible bruises. "This bunch of nerds hasn't seen the turf side of a bikini line since their poor mothers grunted them into the world." I shushed him, trying not to smile as Sarra poked her head in. "What are you guys talking about?" she asked. "What were we talking about?" Benveniste asked me, grinning. "You still going to do that thing with me after work?" Sarra asked. "Of course," Benveniste said. "No problem." "Boss alert," Sarra said, and went racing off. I stood up to watch her over the walls of my cubicle. "She's a good one," Benveniste said. I nodded, not looking at him, not wanting him to see me wondering what that "thing" was. Was Ben really the family man I thought. I had seen him with his kids, tossing little Ellen up in the air, the kid squealing with delight. "Again daddy," she kept saying, until he chuckled and held his back, nodding at me to continue the child throwing. Ellen was unsure at first, my kid-throwing practice minimal, but then she was flying again. God, I thought, is it really happening, am I really thinking of doing this?
But wasn't I jumping the gun. I hadn't even kissed Sarra, let alone seen her outside the office. All she seemed to do was work and then go home. Strange for such a fun, beautiful girl. But now there was this "thing" with Benveniste, and he had seen me ask with my eyes and he had said nothing. He had pretended to look busily at the calendar on my cubicle wall, rubbing his chin, no actor Benveniste. Were they having an affair? Would he do that? Would she? But then, wasn't the whole "good father" thing attractive to women? Was he throwing his beautiful daughter up in the air one second and lying down naked with Sarra the next? And who was I, just the new guy who has only been here a month and already gotten his clearance. She probably hates me. He probably hates me. Is that the silence around here, everyone angling to get in first, undermining each other? it doesn't seem like that kind of silence. It's just seems dead, people with blank faces.
"Sarra really is the grundtext" Ben said. "What's the grundtext?" I asked, Benveniste probably the only person I know smart enough that I feel okay feeling stupid around him. "You know Nietzsche's grundtext," he said, without a hint of sarcasm, as if working at MENTRA somehow also entailed reading philosophy. "It's the original--the blank page upon which all meaning is written." "You really were a philosophy professor once," I said, still wondering why anyone like him would end up here. "I guess I was," he said, wistfully. "And?" I asked. "Well, it doesn't pay does it," he said. "Got to keep my little minions in tennis shoes and dance lessons." "You must have taught Nietzsche," I said. "To remember that." Was I jealous again? I got my clearance today. Tomorrow I would be going downstairs. But here I was, wishing I was Benveniste, who was clearly a mess. "I probably did," he said. "I don't remember. I"m off now to the men's room to find that wonderful grundtext we serious philosophers also call the uber tissue, unmarked by my, as-of-yet, pristine backside." "What are you and Sarra doing after work?" I asked as he peaked over the edge of the cubicle for the boss.
"Sarra really is the grundtext" Ben said. "What's the grundtext?" I asked, Benveniste probably the only person I know smart enough that I feel okay feeling stupid around him. "You know Nietzsche's grundtext," he said, without a hint of sarcasm, as if working at MENTRA somehow also entailed reading philosophy. "It's the original--the blank page upon which all meaning is written." "You really were a philosophy professor once," I said, still wondering why anyone like him would end up here. "I guess I was," he said, wistfully. "And?" I asked. "Well, it doesn't pay does it," he said. "Got to keep my little minions in tennis shoes and dance lessons." "You must have taught Nietzsche," I said. "To remember that." Was I jealous again? I got my clearance today. Tomorrow I would be going downstairs. But here I was, wishing I was Benveniste, who was clearly a mess. "I probably did," he said. "I don't remember. I"m off now to the men's room to find that wonderful grundtext we serious philosophers also call the uber tissue, unmarked by my, as-of-yet, pristine backside." "What are you and Sarra doing after work?" I asked as he peaked over the edge of the cubicle for the boss.