Without
fully knowing how or why, Nigel had stepped over the Rubicon, as
Julius Caesar had two thousand years ago. There was nothing he could do
to undo what he had done. As a matter of fact, were Nigel aware of
the irreparable and unavoidable consequences of his decision, it is
doubtful he would have chosen differently. He was like that.
His boss, a rather homely woman with a
prominent mid-riff, stared into the space directly up and left from
his eyes, her mouth slightly agape. Perhaps God would miraculously
intervene and puppeteer Ms. Galski into offering Nigel an encomium
for the rare honesty she had just witnessed in her carefully
manicured, window-less office. Her breath was audible and deep, and
the purple buttons on the front of her rose cardigan glimmered
rhythmically in the white fluorescent light. He could almost hear the
fabric stretching in an obedient effort to contain her girth.
Absent-mindedly, Nigel glanced over
his shoulder to see if Galski was, in fact, looking at something. He
saw on the wall by the door a framed photograph. In the center were
two elderly women smiling gaily at him. One wore a bright blue
sweater with two flamingos in Santa costumes, each holding a colored
stocking in its beak. The other wore a white, short-sleeved blouse
with green polka-dots. Why is one dressed for winter and the other
for summer, he wondered as he
turned back toward his superior. Perhaps she was related to them. He
considered asking her but could not decide in time.
"Mr.
Vowler." She licked her lower lip in earnest. "It is
unfortunate that you feel so antagonistic toward your colleagues."
She swallowed and kept her eyes on the flamingos.
"Yes,
I agree." Nigel watched Galski as she scratched the inside of
her thumb with her index finger with short, quick flicks.
"Have
you told them what you told me?"
"No."
"Are
they in any way aware that you hold no respect whatsoever for them?"
"That's
not accurate." Nigel finally gave up waiting for Galski to meet
his gaze, and let his eyes wander along the wall behind her. "I
respect them as people. I simply don't respect them as
professionals."
"Are
they aware that you do not respect them as professionals?"
"I
don't think so."
Galski
creased her brow in consternation, apparently disappointed that Nigel
had not yet taken the opportunity of his short shrift. She was
finding him less malleable than she had anticipated.
He
felt sorry for her and decided to offer some help. "I didn't
tell them precisely because I don't respect them as professionals.
They can't change. Their incompetence is..." He paused, trying
to think of the appropriate word. "... plenary."
"Yes,
you have already communicated your opinion of their work." She
hurried and gave the impression Nigel's opinion made her
uncomfortable. She took a deep breath, and her cardigan shuddered
visibly. She finally looked directly at him, and with a stentorian
delivery made her formal inquiry. "Mr. Vowler, are you able to
continue to work alongside your colleagues?"
He
allowed himself a small smirk but matched her tone. "I cannot."
Does she think I'm mocking her?
"Do
you wish to be transferred to another department?"
"It
depends who I would be working with."
"Who
do you want to work with?"
"Professionals."
"Professionals."
Galski
probably wanted to roll her eyes but instead let out a thick sigh.
Her eyes fell to the carpet and she resumed scratching her thumb. "Do
you have anything in mind?"
Finally,
he could let his guard down! An unashamed smile formed over his
frowsy visage. "As a matter of fact, I do."
And so, just as the army clamored up the river bank into Gaul to begin a decade-long war, Nigel, too, readied himself to enter a new territory and chapter of his life. The ramifications of his decision would, likewise, be war and death, the transfer of power and the remuneration of old debts - although of these eventualities both Nigel and Ms. Galski were entirely ignorant.
