After lunch one day, I was sitting on a bench in the courtyard drinking a can of coffee when I glimpsed Mr. Tei walking down one of the first-floor corridors. No sooner had that perception formulated itself in my mind than he was standing right in front of me. It scared me half to death. Mr. Tei does stuff like that, though. He shows up everywhere, and gets through an unbelievable amount of work, to the extent that what he does often seems physically impossible.
“Agh! Mr. Tei! Honestly, how many of you are there?” I once said jokingly.
“Oh, there’s only one of me,” he replied, deadly serious. “How is work going?”
“I’m enjoying it,” I answered honestly, a big smile breaking across my face.
“That’s good to hear.”
I thought I saw the corners of his mouth relax slightly at this, but he was still just as expressionless as ever.
“How about you, Mr. Tei?”
“What do you mean?”
“What does work really mean for you? How much importance do you place on company mottoes and business models and things like that?” I said, deciding on the spur of the moment to try out some of the terminology from a best-selling business book I’d just finished reading.
“Company mottoes and business models . . .” I saw a frown form beneath Mr. Tei’s black-rimmed spectacles. “Well, personally I think that the first priority is to squeeze as much as you can from the rich.”
As I reeled slightly at the unexpectedly militant tone of his answer, Mr. Tei continued. “Then to give it back to the poor, in whatever ways you can. The imbalance between the rich and the poor has always troubled me profoundly.”
With that, Mr. Tei bowed to me and headed off toward the main gates. I noticed he was suddenly sporting a cozy wool scarf and carrying a briefcase, neither of which, I was sure, he’d had a moment ago. What a peculiar character, I thought to myself as I drained the tepid dregs of coffee from the can.
My husband seems to be really enjoying his work after death, so I watch over him quietly. While he was alive, he used to leave absolutely everything to me, so the change is really heartening. Thinking about it now, I probably should have challenged his behavior more at the time—should have questioned whether he really thought it was okay to act like that, and thought more about my rights and so on—but back then I didn’t have the slightest issue with it. More fool the both of us.
I should explain that my husband isn’t a bad sort really. I don’t have a problem with talking to him per se. It just feels a bit boring to have the same kind of relationship in the afterlife as we had while alive, and at the moment I reckon things are just fine as they are. Acting all lovey-dovey requires effort, anyway.
Standing by the window, sipping my drink through a straw, I look down on my husband as he sits on a bench in the courtyard. With all the shrinking and expanding that goes on, the geography of this company is hard to wrap one’s head around as it is, but the section where I work is tucked away in a particularly out-of-the-way corner of the building, so there’s little risk of my being found out. I’m not permitted to divulge too much about the nature of the work I do, but broadly speaking, I’m in research and development. Sometimes I wish that my talents were a bit more interesting—that I could metamorphose or had some other special skill at my disposal like the company’s star players have—but I also know there’s no use longing for something you don’t have. I’m satisfied with what I’ve got. Bringing new things into the world is an amazing occupation. I’m also thoroughly attached to the lab coat I have to wear here. I don’t know why, but this white coat just really suits me.
Now that I’m dead, the husband I loved so much seems like a total stranger. That’s been a major revelation. In my case, my husband died before I did, so I got to fully savor the joys of single life for a while again before my own death. I guess that didn’t help matters.
For the record, I’d like to state that I did go through a proper grieving period. For a time, I spent every evening weeping, asking myself why he’d had to go and leave me on my own. But at some point, I realized that it was actually easier being alone. It also meant a lot less housework.
So maybe it’s a bit of an exaggeration to say that I’m “watching over” him. He just happens to fall into my field of vision—that’s about the size of it. By the look of things, he hasn’t spoken to his first wife either, so he probably has a similar take on matters. That all’s fine and dandy, it seems to me. Everyone’s enjoying themselves, everyone’s happy, so where’s the problem?
I watch him toss his empty coffee can in the trash and return to work as I enjoy the last of my sweet and delicious Starbucks iced chai latte. Even though the weather’s taken a wintry turn, I still far prefer them iced.
