chapter seventeen

Andrew was given directions by the hotel's receptionist, and headed off down the street towards the bus stop.

The road was crammed with growling trucks and impatient cars. On either side were rows of narrow shops, most of them were dark and shabby, but interspersed amongst them were large and brightly-lit plastic mausoleums, these were built to cater for customers who demanded that their food be cooked, sold and consumed in less than three and a half minutes. While waiting; the patrons could admire the very latest products that the petrochemical industry had to offer, even the food was designed to fit in with the decor, or was it, wondered Andrew, the other way around?

The wind swept along the pavement, hurling empty drink cans and soggy newspapers at the ankles of the many pedestrians. At the street corners the intersecting wind‑tunnels created eddies that threw grit in the eyes of anyone foolish enough to stand there.

There was a long queue at the bus stop, most of the people stared vacantly at the passing traffic. The ones who weren't staring vacantly were using handkerchiefs to remove the grit from their eyes, having previously failed to catch a taxi at the street corner. Andrew could sense an air of violence hanging over the queue, a violence waiting to be unleashed on the bus - if it ever arrived.

In an attempt to preserve some of his good humour, Andrew avoided the depressing queue, and decided to walk to the bank. But the streets were crowded with dithering shoppers. He was continuously side-stepping people who had abruptly stopped in his path, twisting his body to squeeze between narrow openings in the crowd, and pressing himself flat against shop windows to avoid having large chunks of his shins removed by aggressively driven pushchairs and prams.

It was no surprise that he arrived at the bank fifteen minutes late and in a very irritable mood. He was shown into a small, but attractively-decorated office. Sitting behind a desk was a rather fat woman. She stood, with some effort, and offered Andrew a chubby hand.

"Hello my name is Janet, please sit down," she lowered herself back in her chair. "Good heavens, what happened to you?"

Andrew realized that his face was still set in the grimace it had adopted for his battle through the streets. "Sorry," he said relaxing his face‑muscles and even managing a weak smile, "I made the mistake of trying to walk here, rather than catching the bus. My hotel is in a pretty dismal suburb."

"Which one are you in?"

"The hotel is called the Majestic, I don't know the name of the suburb."

"Well I'm afraid you'll have to get used to worse than that - your wages won't get you much in the way of accommodation, though they are above average, more than you'd get in a factory."

"Oh," said Andrew regretfully. "Well never mind, I'm sure I'll survive."

"I shouldn't really say this," said Janet looking around as if to make sure there was no one else in the room, "but most people who claim to be atheist are actually believers, it helps you know. It's not really a big secret but since you are an immigrant you probably wouldn't realize."

"I must say I did find it hard to understand how people could be atheist when God so obviously exists."

"The definition changed slightly after he started phoning everybody up. The word is now used to describe someone who doesn't believe in the word of God."

"Oh I see, so," Andrew imitated the conspiratorial survey of the room, "you're a secret Believer?"

"Well you'd be mad if you weren't, I can't imagine even the most dedicated of masochists would want to spend an eternity in hell."

"No I suppose not, but what about the Satanists?"

"Well they're so busy enjoying themselves, I guess they don't have time to worry about it."

"Sounds quite good."

"I wouldn't recommend it, if the sexual diseases don't get you the drug addiction will."

"Pity," said Andrew. "Still I suppose it's quality not quantity that counts. What's their average life‑expectancy?"

"They don't have one, but then that's their decision. And now you have to make yours."

"Oh, does that mean I've got the job?" asked Andrew hopefully.

"If you want it, it's yours, but you don't have to decide now - I'll show you around first, introduce you to a few people and outline your duties, and then," she said and her eyes took on a happy gleam as she added, "I'll take you to lunch."

"That's fine. I must say it's good to know that I can survive such a rigorous interview technique."

Janet smiled. "Yes it's just a formality really, the vetting for migrants is fairly strict, so I just wanted to make sure that you didn't have two heads."

"Lucky I left the other one at the cleaners then," said Andrew.

At twelve thirty‑one Andrew and Janet were outside the Bank walking towards 'a great little place for lunch' that Janet knew of. Andrew was shuffling along the street in an effort to keep in pace with her waddle, she really was a very large woman. He found it hard to imagine how anyone could keep track of so much flesh.

"So what did you think of the headquarters of the Mutual Trust Banking Corporation?" she asked feigning pompousness.

"To be honest it was much smaller than I had expected. From what you said I got the impression it was one of the largest."

"It is, in terms of its holdings. As you know, in any capitalist society ninety percent of the wealth is owned, or controlled by less than ten percent of the population. We restrict our business to that ten percent, thus keeping down our staff overhead whilst maximizing our monetary turn‑over. The customers regard us as an exclusive club to which only the very rich can belong. It appeals to their vanity you see."

"A thought has just ..." began Andrew. Glancing at Janet, he had the curious impression that she looked slightly taller than before, but he dismissed the idea and continued, "occurred to me."

"Yes?" prompted Janet.

Looking at her out of the corner of his eye, she definitely seemed taller and slimmer. He shook his head to clear the absurd idea from his mind, and said; "It's odd, if most people are Believers guided by God's charitable mission, that there are so many relatively poor -"

Andrew stopped talking, stopped walking and for a few seconds stopped thinking. His mouth hung open, his eyes were wide and round. It was impossible to ignore the fact that Janet was now a good foot taller than him.

"Please carry on," said Janet staring down at him. "Oh, I say, are you ill? You've gone all white."

Andrew stood flapping his jaw and watching Janet continue to both grow taller and thinner, while his brain tried to think of something appropriate to say. In the end the best it could come up with was; "Janet you're growing! Or," suddenly another possibility struck him and he looked around wildly, "I'm shrinking!" The passers‑by were now towering at least six feet above him and the buildings had changed from skyscrapers to skystabbers. He looked at his hands, they seemed perfectly normal, his feet didn't appear to be any closer. Was it him, or was it everything else? Janet was now the thickness of a lamp post and twice as tall. The process, whatever it was, was accelerating. Janet's head was shooting up and away, like a rocket. Now she was as thin as a pencil, and everything around him had turned into thin black vertical lines, some of which were once people or cars still moved passed him. Then, simultaneously, all of the lines receded up into the sky. He looked down and was horrified to see that he was up to his chest in pavement, the black surface rose up, covered his head, and then everything went black.

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