We smiled at each other in greeting as I followed him to an interior door across the room. He held it open and I walked into a space that could've belonged to any small company. If I had to make a movie set for an office scene, this was exactly what I'd make it look like. There were desks scattered throughout and people milled about here and there, until they noticed our presence. Then one by one, all heads turned toward us. And stayed there.
Luckily, I was used to a courtroom full of people staring me down. These people didn't have a thing on Judge Arnold when he was missing a golf tournament because I had requested an emergency hearing.
“Don't mind their curiosity. We haven't had a new recruit for quite some time.”
I nodded, wondering what some time meant to these people, with a frightening suspicion it was a lot longer than my personal frame of reference.
I followed him as he walked to the back of the long open office to a smaller managerial six-by-six and the only separated area.
“Please,” he said and waved a hand toward the chair, as he sat behind the only desk in the room.
As far as offices went, it wasn't exactly ostentatious with its gray metal desk, filing cabinets, and brown commercial rug. The plain white walls didn't do much to help add any character to the setting.
The room itself held almost no interest for me, except for the door behind his desk. It was plain, like everything else in the office, but there was a one-inch crack between the bottom of it and the floor, and the most brilliant light I'd ever seen was shooting rays out of the gap.
“What's behind that door?”
“Retirement. When you finish your trial period, that is where you will reenter,” he said, not bothering to look up from where he'd seated himself behind the desk. “I'd like to talk to you about your position.”
I forced my attention to Harold. He was as odd as my hazy memory had hinted at. He looked like he should be strolling around an economics convention, not dealing in death and retribution. And I couldn't help but feel like there had to be more than what met the eye. If this was the guy calling the shots, there just had to be.
“Which is what, exactly?”
“Karma.”
“Could you elaborate on that?” I repeated, squinting my eyes and staring at him in confusion. He still wasn't explaining exactly what I was supposed to do.
“Yes. Karma.”
“I don't understand. I thought karma was when you did something good, it would come back to you and the same thing if you did something bad.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“But you said it was my job? I don't understand what I'm supposed to do.” How many other ways could I ask him? This guy was really in charge?
He leaned his head in his hand for a minute and I had the distinct impression that this was out of character for him. He mumbled something I couldn't hear except for the mumbled word “transfer.” Then he shook his head, as if pulling himself back together.
“The universe has a certain balance it maintains, but it will occasionally fall out of balance. This is usually caused by people slipping through the cracks, who have a sort of natural immunity to the universal forces and need an associate to go in and manually adjust them. If they go too long, they can sometimes throw the system and balance off violently.”
I nodded and smiled, still unsure of exactly how I was going to come into play. How would I fix anyone?
“Let me give you a very simple example. You are familiar with WWII?”
“Of course I am. I'm dead, not stupid.”
“Everyone in this office tries to make sure that everything runs pretty much the way it should and nobody cheats the system. When we don't do a good job, you end up with people like Hitler. That's what happens when no one is paying attention. The better we do our job, the calmer the world.”
“So everyone here is in charge of karma?”
“No. Just you. Everyone has their own department. You are Karma.” He pointed toward me dramatically, the way someone would try and accent a meaning to a person who didn't know the language.
“I'm not sure I'm adequately suited for this position. Even for a month. I'm more of a “bygones be bygones” kind of person. Don't you need someone a bit more vengeful?”
He looked down at the file spread on his desk. “I would disagree. Your file said you would be an excellent candidate.”
“May I see that?” I asked, eying up said file on his desk. How much did Harold know about me? Everything? That was an uneasy feeling. Even the best of us had our secrets and even though I considered myself a decent human being, I didn't think I fell into the saintly category.
The file didn't look big enough for my entire life to be in it. It didn't even look thick enough for a short story. Maybe just a highly edited Wiki version?
“No, absolutely not.” He shut the Manila folder quickly, as if I were going to jump up and try to peek. The guy took neurotic to a whole other level.
Okay, the file wasn't that important. I needed to keep the peace and simply explain in better detail how I'd made an error in judgment. Be nice. My southern mother had always said you caught more bees with honey than vinegar. She had tried to drill it into my head since I was a small child. It wasn't something I'd come naturally to, that was for sure, but it was a valid tactic, even if that wasn't the lesson my mother had meant to instill.
“Harold, when I agreed to work for you, I was under the duress of seeing my dead body. You can understand how jarring that can be, right? I wasn't thinking clearly at all.” It sounded logical enough to me, but I wasn't sure if he'd ever had the pleasure of dying and his manner didn't scream naturally empathetic.
He cleared his throat and I could tell by the set of his mouth that I wouldn't like the next words. “I'm sorry, but that's not how things work here. Like I told you, there’s a mandatory one-month trial period. An active one-month.”
He leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up closer to his face. His almost black eyes, artificially enlarged from the lens, stared at me in a bit of an awkward way. I wasn't sure if there was a bite to follow up his bark but his magnified beady gaze sure made the situation less than desirable.
Still, beady gaze and all, I had to try one last time. Perhaps a different angle. Regardless of my record, he clearly thought I was an idiot; maybe that was the way to go. I had no problem playing a stooge if it got me out of here quickly.
“As you stated, I'm a transfer. You really don't want me. I'm a horribly slow learner. The mistakes I've made in my life, geesh, you'd squirm if you knew.” I twirled a finger in my hair for effect and wished I had some chewing gum to smack.
“Yes, I'm well aware.”
He was? Hey, wait a minute; I didn't think I'd done too badly for myself. What were these jerks writing about me in that file?
“Fate will help you with that.”
And just like that, I had bigger problems. I wasn't just stuck here; I was stuck with him. “The guy who helped me so far?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“It has to be him.” Harold threw his hands in the air, as if why am I bothering him? Not his orders.
“Then I'll work alone.”
I'd be clueless but peaceful. There was something wrong about that guy. There was something too bossy or too intense. I couldn't even describe exactly what it was about him that was too much, but it was.
Even the brief moment I'd actually been in my right mind around him, it was as if his presence exerted some sort of gravitational pull, stronger than a normal person’s. As if his intensity could throw me out of orbit. And I didn't want to go out of orbit. I had enough things to handle besides ping ponging around.
“Non-negotiable. I've got orders.” Harold folded his hands and rested them atop his desk, littered with paper.
“From who exactly?”
“The universe.” His chin notched up a hair.
“Would it be possible to speak to this universe person? I'm sure they'll understand that there is a personality conflict.” It was time to bump my complaint to upper management.
“No one speaks to the universe.”
“Then how do you know what to do?” I leaned in a little.
“Simple. Through my orders.” His eyes started to twitch.
“Which you get how?”
“My memos.”
“Then you can send a memo to the universe. I won't work with him.”