Mr. Char’s New Employee

[Written between 2000 and 2003)

Mr. Char’s New Employee

    by Do Re Me

Wesley winked his coy concern. He  generally disagreed with his boss, but he would not be one to openly disobey. At the sound of Char’s voice Wesley had, within two seconds, made his entrance into Mr. Char’s room. 

     “What is it you would like,” he whined, ingratiating himself with gentle obeisance of tone and a slight bow into his boss’ good will, now as he had done at each opportunity since he took employment with the firm three months or more ago. 

     “Nothing really,” Mr. Char spoke, clearly interested in the man who stood in the doorway. Mr. Char wore gray wool, Wesley blue cotton. Mr. Char’s eyes flashed blue as the sunny sky outside the window; Wesley‘s stared bleakly and colourless out of slits without eyelashes. He had a good smell about him of fresh, air-dried laundry. 

     But for this odd fact of birth, indistinctness of eye color and a pinched look about the octicles, anyone who got to know him well admitted what a fine sport Wesley was, without a hint of rancour in his manner, and habitually kind to all interlocutors except young boys, all of whom be violently disliked and thought unworthy of either attention or affection. 

     Char considered him a vast improvement over the man who had fulfilled these duties before the advent of the said Wesley. The previous, Bartleby, now alas dead from consumption brought on by a fierce refusal to eat what they provided in debtor’s prison, had been rather difficult to motivate, especially in the area of the performance of extra little duties not specific to his contract, but still requested by his superiors. Wesley, praise God, obeyed him without a second’s hesitation when he asked him to attend to the smallest, nay, even the largest, details. Always, prompt as asparagus, he brought the spoken need to completion and fulfilment, and always without a word said. No, “I prefer nots,” as Bartleby had habitually thrown out, until he, in his arrogance, had reduced his responsibilities to nothing more than to write a note or two a day to earn his generous five shillings a week.

     “One day we shall have to dine together,” spoke the preeminent Char, studying Wesley‘s countenance for signs of approval. He noticed them at once. They flickered over the other’s features with instant fires, and played about his mouth and nostrils in a drama of approval.

     “Certainly, sir! That would be most agreeable, sir!” He bowed just an inch, and left the room until his superior would have more to say to him on the matter. Char, for his part, felt saintly and charitable and decided to extract the bottle from the drawer to the left of his chair. He reached for it. He slipped. He fell wedged up against the desk in a most awkward way and then, laughing, called once more for Wesley to approach and help him up from the angle he had tumbled into.

[to be continued]