reduced and recycled

I suppose some people might say that if you dance close enough to the fire, you’d get burned. I thought about that for a while, flipping through scenes in my head and wondering at my sudden paranoia. I imagined monks in latter years scouring through the events of their days, looking for little indiscretions. I wondered too, if these monks, upon finding nothing blameworthy, flagellated themselves nonetheless. Guilt seeking punishment?

It was Mark’s birthday, and I didn’t want to stay. It was past 12.00 on a Friday night and I was aching to leave. The screwdrivers and the downed shots of whiskey were working their magic on me, and pub began to look hospitable for the first time that night. My belly ached, and my head had begun pounding a regular beat. Martin and Vincent were exchanging pleasantries, and I looked past them to the clock on the wall.

It was almost past bed time.

Late booze nights called for deep, cynical explorations into the nature of our work. It didn’t help that Vincent used to work with us. It just meant that he was well aware of the bullshit that went on in our company and in the industry in general. I got up to go, a little unsteady and thankful that I wasn’t staying too far away.

“Where’re you going?” said Vincent. I swirled the remains of my screwdriver in its glass and smiled.

“Closing time,” I said.

“Not yet, lah,” said Martin. He was seated at our table, his elbows resting easy. Vincent lounged next to him, his head resting on the back of his chair. The lights were dim in our corner of the pub, and the in-house sound system played ‘Temple of the King’. Several years ago, I’d be at the entrance of just such a place, looking in. Several years ago I’d walk away. How things have changed.

“One more drink, then,” I said.

“I’m thinking of coming back,” said Vincent.

“Why?” said Martin.

“You shouldn’t have any reason to,” I said, nodding. Vince was with us on and off, twice now. He found something else to do, and he was good at doing it.

“I miss the job,” he said, “I miss the excitement”.

“That’s you on the outside, now. I’ve got nothing to recommend coming back,” said Martin, now serious.

“I was offered again,” Vince said, waving his glass in the general direction of our table.

“Mark? He’s asked you to come back?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“You do know it’s desperation, right?”

“Don’t,” said Martin.

“Yeah, we’d have left if we had the chance,” I said, motioning to Martin.

“No I wouldn’t have left. Something’s going to happen,” said Martin. I looked at him, eyebrows raised. It was a strange sentiment coming from him, and he sounded certain. For all the years I’ve known him, his were never wrong.

“And why’s that?” I asked, putting my drink down.

“He knows,” said Martin, motioning to Vince.

“Work hazard,” Vince said, mysteriously enough.

“I can’t tell you, but you’ll figure it out,” said Martin.

“What the fuck?” I said, frowning. I wasn’t in the mood for mysteries.

“Everyone tries to stay clean,” said Vince.

Clean. It was the watch-word where we worked. We were warned, on the first day, the price of being less than clean: a sacking within 24 hours, with nary a question asked. I quickly learned, however, that hypocrisy was the practice of those so inured in the work. We played God with other people’s money, and where money was concerned, temptations ran high.

“Don’t hate me for not telling you, yet,” said Martin. I suspected the worst, and I wanted to punch him there and then. But I could only frown and wonder. He was the cleanest of us all; his conscience got him in more trouble than any of us, and I knew that for a fact. I hoped beyond hope he wasn’t talking about himself.

I tried to let it slide, easing into the conversation, and settling down to listen to the drowned out tunes playing from the speakers. Martin was rational, and therefore if he didn’t mean himself, he must mean others in our own office. It was a terrible accusation to make, but it was unsurprising. I had suspected foul play and deceit, as we call it, over the years. ‘Clean’ now meant not merely innocent, but to be seen as innocent.

“When does it start?” I said, aloud. Martin and Vince paused, and sat silent. “First it starts with a favour, something ‘in kind’, doesn’t it? New sport rims. New leather seats. Then, when your conscience is used to petty concessions, you stop distinguishing between money and things, ya? That’s when it starts, doesn’t it? It starts there. It starts when you make distinctions,” I said, quietly.

“Yes. When you start making distinctions,” said Martin.

“Like climbing down a slippery slope,” I said.

“Yup. In a year’s time. You’ll figure it out. In a year’s time, ask me again,” said Martin. I smiled, but felt a deep unease within. ‘I hope to god you don’t mean yourself,’ I thought.