The Man Read online



  THE MAN

  a short story by

  Jared Sande

  Copyright by Jared Sande2013

  The old, clean, thick fabric, grey & black checked coat matched perfectly with the trousers of the same color, which worked together with the clean, light blue shirt that was torn all along its collar to cover his medium sized body. A grey & black trilby hat was on his head. On his feet, were highly polished, partly torn, brown, faded leather shoes. His ‘hard’ right hand carried his big brown, faded leather briefcase, as he stood straight at his very small verandah like a man waiting for inspection.

  In terms of age, The Man was about sixty-five. He stood as tall as his old, stained door behind him, with a posture similar to that of a confused person. His shoulders were wide, and the coat almost leveled on them in a manner that made them look flat.

  Enclosing his square shaped, one roomed house was a twenty by twenty meter, grass compound, which was surrounded by a rusted wire-gauze-fence crossed by climbing and crawling plants. Under his partly folded, rusted rooftop, he stood, as if waiting for the morning drizzles to pass. He was staring with a sad yet flat gaze at the blubbered, bitter looking man in grey pajamas and a white, wooly dressing gown, who was nailing a board on a pole on the outside of his fence.

  With his stare, he watched the man, who completed nailing and looked up at him. His mouth, cheeks, eyebrows, and all the other features of his face curved in a manner that communicated disappointed and anger. For about ten seconds, the two men gazed at each other, after which the man in pajamas angrily turned and walked away. The Man watched him from his verandah, as he shook his head in total disappointment, walking towards his big house.

  As soon as he stepped through his gate, The Man turned his sight from him. He slowly walked down the two steps and onto the muddy path under the cloudy, grey sky. Through the drizzles, he walked towards his own gate. His slightly short right leg caused him to limp slightly as he took the quick yet slow steps. Upon closing his gate, he turned in the direction of the outside path, which was parallel to his fence, carrying his briefcase as he traced the centre of the path and followed it. He walked along his fence past the nailed post as if it did not exist.

  ***

  The waiting room was about the size of an average living room, with a glass coffee table at the center, around which were well spaced, brown sofas. Equally spaced on the sofas, were serious-faced young men all about twenty-five in age, all dressed in brand new, two piece black suits, ties and shoes. They were vigorously going through their notes, intensely preparing themselves. They memorized answers, touched the chest sections of their coats, and lightly stretched their muscles for composure.

  Seated among these men with his hat on, was The Man. Squeezed silently between two of them with his callused palms resting on his thighs close to his knees. His briefcase was on the floor between his ‘perfectly aligned legs’. He sat upright, his back stiff, not relaxed on the cushions, as he fearfully gazed at the ticking clock on the wall. He began to slowly shift his gaze to the pictured calendar, and then back to the clock–which read a quarter past nine.

  As he stared, the Indian secretary stepped into the room and called out his name. His heart nearly ceased as he quickly leaned forward while looking at her. As she turned and walked away, he got up with his briefcase and followed her.

  The yellow-brown-themed office was a medium in terms of size. A few paintings hung on the sidewalls that were two meters away from the big desk. On top of the desk, were two piles of files on one side, and a flask of milk tea next to a cup on the other. Seated behind the desk, was the manager, a strange looking man who wore round spectacles. He had healthy cheeks and a well-fed body, which was clothed in a neat blue shirt and matching black trousers. He was relaxed on the comfy, brown swivel chair, wearing a weird, light smile.

  He leaned-in on the desk to explain to The Man, who sat silent on the opposite side of the desk on a small, plastic chair. As the words of rejection rolled out of the manager’s mouth, The Man’s ears began to ‘shut down’. He slowly turned his attention from him and focused his flat gaze on the flask of tea. Along the same level of sight, he changed his focus and stared at the spider, which was descending along a web on the high and flat cabinet a few steps behind the swivel chair.