among people in towns and cities, Kamltl often tried to suppress his sense of smell and pretend that the nausea he felt was an illusion; that way he could get on with looking for jobs without constantly thinking about odor. Now leaning against the post he tried reading the names and the ads on storefronts to suppress his hyperactive sense. They were mostly in Hindi, Kiswahili, and English, NAMASTE. KARIBU. WELCOME, SHAH DRAPERIES, SHA KA HORI KHANA.
The Indian shop owner came out and threw orange peels into the street, and as he went back inside he cast an evil eye at Kamro, as if warning him that if he did not move from that post quickly the owner would call the police. Kamltl’s eyes fixed on the peelings that seemed to beckon him to pick them up and see if when squeezed hard enough they might yield drops of sweetness. A voice within cautioned him: What did you say to yourself this very morning about picking things from the rubbish? Have you already forgotten the fate you were about to suffer at the dumpsite when you broke the law of your own words?
The earlier debate in his mind between the voice in defense of picking up garbage and a voice defending begging from strangers now resumed with fury. Which was less contemptible? The latter eventually overpowered the former by numerous references to the scriptures. Prayer after all is a form of begging and it was the cornerstone of all religions. Ask and it shall be given. Everyday followers of the different faiths, whether named after Jesus or Muhammad or Buddha, get on their knees and beg God for this or that. They pray that their Lord and Master will hear their cry. Yes, prayers are blessed. Begging is blessed. Among the followers of Buddha, the holiest are known by their vows of poverty, and they are sustained in the path of holiness by begging. Didn’t Buddha himself renounce the trappings of wealth for a life of begging and purity? At the center of the Sangha, the monastic community he founded after his Nirvana that followed forty-nine days of struggle with the Tempting Mara, was Bhikkhus, the order of the begging monks. Alms, give me alms. Surely what
Kamltl had experienced earlier at the city dumpsite, almost being buried alive in rot, was a clear signal that it is better to beg. He thought of entering the very next shop with hands outstretched, and then he quickly realized that the gray suit he was wearing on his job hunt was not the proper attire for seeking alms. He felt like laughing but held himself back when it occurred to him that even asking for a job is a form of begging. Begging, like everything else in this world, had its time, place, and clothes. The evening begging was some time away; there were still a few hours left for job hunting. Who knows- maybe things would start turning his way and he would not have to act like a Buddhist monk.
And then he could not believe his eyes. Bight across the street was a signboard, ELDARES MODERN CONSTRUCTION AND REAL ESTATE, and beside it a billboard. A job! The word blotted out all the others around it. Bising from the dead, he was now delirious with hope.
2
It was about five, and fearing that the office might close for the day before he had taken advantage of this godsend, Kamltl dispensed with knocking at the door and barged right in.
The secretary, who was reading a book as she waited for the close of business, did not see him enter but, sensing his presence, raised her head. Their eyes met. Kamltl felt something he had never experienced in all the offices he had visited. The stench that had oppressed him in the streets of Eldares had suddenly been replaced by a more powerful smell, a fresh one, like the scent of flowers, but there were no flowers in the room.
“What do you want?” the secretary asked, keeping her place in the book.
“I would like to see the boss. The employer.”
‘Tajirika? Titus Tajirika?”
“Whatever the name.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Then you cannot see him.”
“But I must, please!”
“Young man, do you want me to lose my job?” she chortled. “I was hired only a few months ago,” she added as she closed the book and placed it on the table.
The eye goes wherever it wants, so the saying goes, and Kamltl’s eyes wandered to the title of the book:
For years Kamltl had searched for work up and down the streets of Eldares. He had met with company bosses, African, Asian, and European, who all tended to regard black Aburlrians as potential thieves. He had frequently been insulted. Once security guards had even set dogs on him. He had also met all kinds of secretaries; a few had spoken kindly to him but many had barked at him as if asking for a job were a crime. The secretary he now faced seemed to carry herself altogether differently, but he could not pin down the difference.
“Madam, if I told you my story you would know why I have to see your boss. Right now I don’t mind even cleaning toilets.”
“Are there any toilets left in Eldares?” she asked, a little bemused.
“Well, there are pails.”
“Emptying them of shit? Then washing them clean?” she shot back.
“Any job will do.”
The secretary glanced at Kamltl with a curious eye. He was dark, tall, and slim, and in his hand he held a bag. His gray suit must have been nice when it was new, probably quite expensive, but now it was worn, the elbows patched.
“I see. In that case, I suggest that you come back tomorrow. It is now five. My boss is about to leave. I would have left already but he asked me to stick around for a while. So you are in luck. Let me check his schedule of appointments tomorrow.”
“Let me see him now, please-he will understand when I tell him my story.”
“You know…” She paused, leaned forward slightly, and lowered her voice as if imparting a secret. “My boss is a very important member of Marching to Heaven, and he is attending a dinner reception in honor of the mission from the GB.”
“GB? Great Britain?” Kamltl asked, a little puzzled. What was she talking about and what did it have to do with her setting up an appointment?
“Not Great Britain! Global Bank!”
At that very moment Tajirika emerged from an adjoining room, ostentatiously putting a handgun into the inside pocket of his jacket, making it clear to this argumentative intruder that he was armed.
Kamltl was overcome by a stench blast to his nose and for a few seconds found it difficult to breathe. But he held himself upright, trying hard not to react to the foul smell as he sized up the boss. Tajirika’s belly was a bit too impressive and his dark suit a bit too tight. His snugly gloved right hand matched his skin and held a small staff, an imitation of the Buler’s, which he pounded in his left for emphasis while he spoke.
Tajirika looked from KamTtT to the secretary as if to ask, From what dunghill did you pick this one out?
“He wants to see you,” the secretary said in response.
Tajirika gave KamTtT another look. KamTtT tried to speak but Tajirika interrupted him.
“Didn’t you hear what my secretary said? I am about to go welcome the delegation from the GB. Do you get it? The Global Bank, the bank for the whole world. I have
“A job. All I am looking for is a job,” KamTtT sputtered.
“At this hour?” Tajirika said, slightly irritated that KamTtT had interrupted him when he was just beginning to warm up about himself.
“I have been to several other offices,” KamTtT explained.
“So you assumed that the owner of these premises has all the time in the world?”
“What I am trying to say is that I have been on my feet all day” KamTtT said, trying to mollify him.
“So on other days you rode from office to office in a Mercedes?”
KamTtT let the insult pass, hoping helplessly that the boss would show pity and give him an interview.
