One often meets people who are so anal it is almost unbearable to talk to them. The world is the world as seen through their eyes. No other view is possible. And the infuriating thing about these people is that they are quite often successful in what they do. They are so damn focused. And in almost arguments they win. Not through the power of their argument but because they wear you down.
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THE PUPPET MASTER
“You should go back to college, Alex.”
Saying this John Macdonald leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and waited for a response. A handsome man, with a brush of grey on his temples, John Macdonald was supremely confident in his ability to analyze any situation. Twenty years as a social worker had taught him many things. And one thing was sure, the young Asian man across from him was headed for a life of misery. And well into the foreseeable future this young man was going to have his hand in the city’s pocket. And that pissed John Macdonald off. Because John Macdonald perceived himself as the guardian of the public’s purse strings. If not me, then who? he was often heard to say.
The young man sitting in the chair opposite him, was stocky, Asian, and gave off a foul never changed my clothes stench. His name was Alex Bell.
“They call me Fu,” Alex responded.
John, just call me Mr., Macdonald stared at Alex for several moments. His long fingers swallowed his head. He squinted his eyes. Did he just say they call him Fu? Am I hearing this properly?
Johan Macdonald’s hands released his head and joined together as he leaned forward over this desk. It was like a dance, these things that John Macdonald did with his hands. He was the Fred Astaire of hand signals. The grand puppeteer. Like Napoleon. Or Walt Disney.
“They what?” he cried.
Alex smiled. His eyes were riveted on the social workers mouth. He couldn’t believe how white the social worker’s teeth were. His own teeth were yellow. Too much coffee. Too many cigarettes. Too little dental care. How does he do it? Doesn’t smoke, that’s for sure. But no coffee. A social worker who doesn’t drink coffee. That seemed unlikely. Alex liked to ask these sorts of questions. It made him feel that he was contributing to the grand effort to unravel the mysteries of the universe.
“Fu. They call me Fu Manchu. Fu for short. I like the name. It has a certain cache.”
“Fu?” Mr. Macdonald shook his head. He glanced down at the notes he had prepared before their meeting. Get him to college. It read. Get him off the city’s payroll.
John Macdonald leaned to one side of his chair as he leaned back. It was a practiced technique which loosely translated as getting down to business. It disarmed the recipient of his attention. John Macdonald cocked his fingers and pointed one at Alex as if it were the barrel of a gun. He popped his lips, then raised his finger and blew across the mouth of the barrel.
“Alex,” he began, smiling confidently.
“Fu,” Alex corrected.
John Macdonald tapped his finger on the desk. Repeatedly. Like a pneumatic drill. Alex’s situation was not a lost cause. A new idea had broken through.
“Fu. We can get you a student loan if you go back to college.”
Alex did not respond.
“Whatdya say… Fu?” Mr. Macdonald finally added, his fingers spreading out in his hand like a Japanese fan. Carefree. An easy solution. It’s free money, stupid!
Fu smiled but did not respond.
John Macdonald smiled back, bringing his hands up in front of his face and crossing the fingers like a fort through which he peeked. Is this some kind of friggen zen thing? No one out zen’s John Macdonald.
Fu continued to smile back.
John Macdonald winked. And hummed. And clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
Finally Alex spoke. John Macdonald felt like jumping to his feet, throwing up his arms and declaring, I won! But he did not. It was unprofessional.
“Do you think,” Alex began, “I’m going to get a job if I graduate from college, Mr. Macdonald?”
John Macdonald smiled at the kid. That was too easy. What’s he up to now? He picked up a pencil from his desk and twisted it around in his fingers like a band leader in a St. Patrick’s Day parade.
Alex stared at the social worker’s teeth. They’re like gold nuggets. Except they’re white.
Macdonald tapped his teeth with the rubber end of the pencil in his hand. He felt like Glen Gould playing the ivory. Then, he pointed the eraser end of the pencil at Alex as if Alex were a doodle that he could erase. Easily. Without a second thought.
“Where do you think this life of yours is leading, Fu?” John Macdonald asked, dropping the pencil onto his desk as if all was lost.
Alex moved uncomfortably in his chair. I put too much starch in my briefs.
“I guess it’s alright,” Alex responded. “I eat well enough. Usually find shelter. A box. Under a bridge. Not always 4 star. It’s like camping. Boy scouts. You gotta have the right attitude. It’s not a life style for everyone. Having said that I wouldn’t mind finding more conventional shelter before winter strikes. Those north west winds bite like a witch.”
John Macdonald mused. Bite like a witch, eh?
“You’re a beggar, Alex,” John Macdonald cried, his chin sitting on the back of his entwined fingers like a baby in a cradle. “That isn’t a career.” He picked up the pencil again and tapped it against his forehead. “Think, man. You’re living meal to meal. You sleep in hostels. Or out in the elements. It’s not respectable. How would your parents feel if they found out, Alex?”
“Mr. Mac…” Alex responded then shrugged his shoulders. “They don’t care.”
John Macdonald stood up and walked over to the window of his office. He looked out over the parking lot of the Six Points Plaza. When he had first been transferred to the west end he hated the view. Who wants to look down at a parking lot? But now, it didn’t bother him. He didn’t even notice that it was there. It was as if, while looking out into the vast empty black expanse, he was looking into his own thoughts. He turned around and looked at Alex.
“Where is this leading…?” He was about to say Alex, then Fu, then decided not to address Alex by name at all.
“What are you getting at, Mr. Mac?” Alex asked.
Mr. Macdonald gritted his teeth. He hated being called Mr. Mac. Or Mac. Or Big Mac as his colleagues had begun to call him because of his passion for junk food. He looked at the boy. What is he thinking?
Alex smiled back. He wished he could have told Mr. Macdonald that he had managed to get a key to the basement below the furniture store and was now sleeping on a king size bed. Best sleep he’d ever had. He even had a small television. And a small refrigerator that he’d found in the garbage behind the restaurant. Life is good. The plaza is good. It’s a great place to unravel the mysteries of the universe. But now this do-gooder social worker threatened to screw it up.
“This is not acceptable.” John Macdonald stepped back to his desk and sat down, swinging his chair slowly back and forth, his fingers tapping to the rhythm of some music by Duke Ellington he’d heard that morning on the way to work.
“I can’t keep signing cheques over to you… you. You’ve got to show some sign that you’re trying to improve your station in life. That you want to get ahead. That you’ll be able to take care of yourself. The city is not your family.”
“I don’t want debts.” Alex raised himself up in his chair. He had been slouching. “I don’t own anyone anything. I don’t want to start now.”
John Macdonald’s jaw dropped. He leaned toward Alex, almost standing, his hands planted firmly on the desk.
“You’re afraid of debt?” he cried, almost on the verge of tears.
Alex nodded. “Ya. I was reading this article that said the market might take a downturn and it wasn’t a good idea to take on a lot of personal debt. It could be catastrophic.”
Macdonald fell back into his chair. I’m dealing with an idiot!
“You’re worried about debt! You don’t own anything! You don’t have anything! What exactly is it you think you have to lose?”
Alex rubbed his chin. “I don’t want people to think that I’m a bad credit rating.”
John Macdonald picked up the pencil again. The eraser returned to his mouth. He took a few seconds to gather himself before speaking. He couldn’t let the kid get under his skin.
“Look… Fu. You’re a young man now. But as the years pass, you may meet some young lady. And you’ll want to buy her things. Flowers. Chocolates. You’ll want to take her out. Dinner. A movie. Things will get serious. You’ll want to have a family. You’ll get married. Buy a house. Have those kids. Those kids will need to have things. Clothes. Toys. Food. When they get older, you’ll want to send them off…”
“I don’t like kids,” Alex said.
John Macdonald bit down on the pencil as he glared at Alex. God, how I’d like to shove this friggen pencil up your ass!
“That’s a lie,” Alex added.
Macdonald sighed. Finally, some honesty.
“I do like kids,” Alex admitted. “But I don’t like to be in debt. A friend of mine had his knees broken when he didn’t pay up on a loan. I need my knees.”
“For what?” Macdonald cried. “Begging?”
“Praying,” Alex responded. “I’m a very religious person.”
“You’re aren’t taking out a loan from the Mob. This is a student loan,” John Macdonald cried, bending the pencil in his hands. “They don’t cap your knees if you don’t pay.”
Alex stared at the pencil. Is he going to break it?
There were tears in John Macdonald’s eyes.
“You can do this, Fu. Think of it as an investment. Three years of college and you’ll be able to get a job doing something productive.”
“Doing what?” Alex asked.
“That’s up to you.” Macdonald could feel a wave of blood flushing his cheeks. High blood pressure.
“Philosophy?” Alex asked.
“What?” Macdonald cried.
“I like to read philosophy,” Alex said. “Could I get a job in philosophy?”
John Macdonald stared at the boy.
“Are you pulling my leg, Fu? I don’t like being made fun of. There are no jobs in philosophy. Pick something else. Carpentry. Electrician. Brick laying. Become a teacher for Christ’s sake. Something you can make a living at.”
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” Alex said.
“What?”
“Call me Fu. It sounds ridiculous coming out of your mouth.”
The pencil dropped out of Macdonald’s hands. He lowered his head. He’s won!
“I’ll think it over, Mr. Mac,” Alex said.
“Think it over?” The social worker looked up. A smile creased his face. I won?
“Ya,” Alex nodded. “You may be right about the wife. There’s a new girl in the drug store. I think she likes me. I figure if I take a bath, I met get lucky. And take it from there.”
“And what are you going to do in the meantime?”
“I’ll stick with my day job.” Alex smiled.
“Begging?”
“I’m just a conduit for people’s charity,” Alex said.
The social worker shook his head. I give up! He took some papers out of his desk and began to fill them out. When he was finished he handed a paper to Alex.
“Take this to Ms. Rubens. She’ll give you some papers for the bank. I can’t have you starving on me. But we have to make a decision about this soon, Alex.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mac,” Alex said shaking his head.
“One thing more,” John Macdonald asked.
“Ya.”
“Do you think you could move your begging act to another plaza. I can’t stand seeing you sitting in front of the store every morning when I come to work. Makes me feel like I’m not making any headway with you.”
Alex smiled but did not respond.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” John Macdonald asked.
Alex got up from his chair. He looked down at the social worker.
“If I move to another plaza, do you think that you can get me a dental plan?”
The social worker’s blood pressure soared. He picked up the pencil and bit off the end. Oh shit! Breaking a tooth.
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