Sherry Cracker Gets Normal. D. Connell J.

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СКАЧАТЬ until the Japanese arrived during the war and created other, more complex problems. Japan does not publish statistics on dog-related deaths and is by all accounts a very clean if not severe nation. I imagine the footpaths of Laos were reasonably clean until the French briefly reclaimed the country after the war. When the Americans started bombing Vietnam decades later, they also bombed Laos for good measure. From 1964 to 1973, the American air force dropped two million tons of bombs on Laos. This is twice the amount of bombs dropped on Germany during World War II, which is quite a lot when you consider the small size of Laos and the fact that the Americans were not actually at war with the country.

      This morning, after cleaning up his dog’s business, the man in the fuchsia trench coat stood looking at the floral clock for a long time. The minute hand moved from seven to ten while he shuffled his feet and the dog sniffed at the flowerbeds.

      The clock is a very attractive timepiece and a legacy of the Beautification Drive pursued by the town council during the Benevolent Years of the fifties. According to the information panels at the council photo display, it was during this period that many trees and flowerbeds were planted around public facilities to ‘enrich the lives of residents with verdant niches’. You can still find traces of garden structures near the old library building but very few of the original trees remain standing. Beautification was not a priority under Jerry Clench who was mayor throughout my childhood and adolescence and might have kept the post if he had not bankrupted the council. He was sacked last week for gross financial mismanagement. His black Range Rover was impounded and his personal financial assets were frozen.

      This weekend an election will be held for a new mayor. The Cockerel has dubbed it the ‘Ballot of the Bloody Knight’ because of the ancient bylaw on which the town’s unique electoral system is based. The bylaw is the only one like it in Great Britain and dates back to the thirteenth century, which is quite a long time ago when you think about it. It gives the townspeople the right to hold a weekend election to elect their own mayor and was enacted during the ill-advised Crusade of 1271 when the local lord and all the churchmen rode off to the Middle East on the town’s finest horses. The bylaw was supposed to be a temporary measure but remained in place when the town leaders were ambushed and killed before they reached Jerusalem. Two of these unfortunate knights are featured on the town’s coat of arms. One has an arrow through his chest and the other is missing his head. Both are bleeding profusely.

      For the first time in my life, I am old enough to participate in an election. But voting is a civic responsibility and I do not feel ready to accept this mantle. It does not seem right for me to participate in choosing a leader when I am not a bona fide member of the local society. Observing is not the same as engaging, as well I know.

      At five minutes to nine, the man turned to leave, pausing as he passed my bench. ‘Time is a like a fowl,’ he said. ‘But does it fly towards us or do we fly towards it?’ He did not wait for a reply but turned on his heel and headed for the gate with the dog trotting after him and a delicate floral fragrance lingering in his wake.

      As I stood and prepared to leave the gardens, I was surprised to find new graffiti on the pavement below the CCTV camera. The message had been scrawled around the base of the pole in green chalk. By now, I recognised the bold hand and capital letters. Removing the notebook from my bag, I copied down the words under today’s date.

      This new chalk message and the man’s poignant comment about time were on my mind as I waited for Mr Chin to unlock the office door at the foot of the stairs. It is my habit to talk to him as he does this and I found myself repeating the man’s words. Since Mr Chin is not a native speaker of English and I did not want a misunderstanding, I substituted the ‘fowl’ with ‘chicken’ to avoid confusion with the word ‘foul’. I had not wanted to upset Mr Chin but that is exactly what occurred.

      ‘What you mean?’ he asked.

      ‘It’s a comment about time,’ I said.

      ‘Not just comment! Very intelligent and wise. Even tricky twist at end.’ His eyes narrowed and he stared at me without moving. ‘Someone tell you Chin is chicken?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You visit Mandarin?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You visit Jade Dragon?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Chin not chicken!’

      ‘Correct.’

      I could not explain about the man in the gardens without admitting that I had been too early for work. I tried smiling but Mr Chin did not smile back. He observed me as I sat down at my desk and went through the motions of opening the phonebook and turning on my computer.

      It is difficult to avoid Mr Chin’s gaze because our desks are directly opposite each other. Mine faces the window and on the wall behind it hangs a large mirror that provides Mr Chin with a view of my back. There are only two of us in the office but we have enough furniture, computer equipment and telephones for ten. These furnishings were purchased in a liquidation sale and are arranged at one end of the large room like a circle of covered wagons on a prairie. In the centre of the circle is a decorative wooden table with a floral arrangement of silk flowers. The only other ornamentation in the room is a large fish tank with a bubbling oxygenator. The tank sits on tall metal legs against the far wall and contains several aquatic plants but no fish. Next to this is a standard lamp with a pink conical lampshade. The fish tank came from a Chinese restaurant that closed down but the lamp was in the office when Mr Chin moved in.

      He was still watching me as I dialled up my first customer of the morning, a dentist from Dundee with the faint, whispery voice of an elderly person. The dentist was not friendly at first but warmed up once I explained our business and made my proposal.

      I find this is often the case with dental professionals. Dentistry is a respectable profession and dentists are often proud and standoffish as individuals. You have to approach them in the correct manner or you get nowhere. The technique I use is called the Honey Trap and was invented and taught to me by Mr Chin. It is a simple yet effective technique: if the dentist is a man, which is often the case, I use a very soft voice and take a big gaspy breath every ten or so words. By the eleventh word I usually have his attention. With female dentists, I simply introduce myself and immediately start talking about financial incentives. The Honey Trap involves a strict set of prompts and responses and I am not permitted to diverge from this formula. This technique works over the phone but it would not work in person because I do not have a convincing personality. Mr Tanderhill was correct when he described me as nondescript. People often do not recognise me, even after several meetings. An effective salesperson needs recognisable charm and a winning smile. I do not smile often and I have never won anything in my life. Small talk is another thing I have yet to master. It is on my ‘To Do’ list along with most other social skills.

      The Honey Trap is an effective business tool but will not be helpful once I finish calling all the dentists in the UK and Republic of Ireland and must find a new job. That is when I will need a university degree to launch a new vocation.

      Since I joined Mr Chin’s office, I have called virtually every dentist in the lowlands of Scotland to the city of Dundee. According to The Greatest Cities of Great Britain, Dundee was founded on the three J’s: jute, jam and journalism. Today it is a vibrant modern city and popular tourist destination. The guidebook says the people of Dundee are naturally generous and among the friendliest in the world: ‘Gracious and polite, the charming folk of this bonny wee city greet you with dazzling smiles and open arms. Forget the old adage about the Scot being a stingy hoarder. The hearts of Dundonians are warm and their sporrans are deep and generous.’

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