His disruptive nights of parading nightmarish spectacles were persisting. Jonas awoke, yawned, and prepared to start the day, then realised he was still asleep dreaming of waking, yawning, and preparing to start the day.
“Catastrophes come in all shapes and sizes.” He attributed this philosophy to his untreatable narcolepsy and lamented the waste of creative energy others devoted to anticipated global apocalypses; energy that could, he believed, be more usefully employed addressing life’s immediate personal challenges. Comet strike annihilation; rebellion of the robot serfs; flooding by rising sea levels; alien invasion; all such fear fests he had let pass by. Humankind waited for Armageddon; he waited to wake up.
Today’s task was to avert a brewing insurrection by the workers.
***
The cow surveyed the passenger alighting unsteadily from the heated limo and lifted its tail. Jonas calculated and avoided the splat. The round face, cheeks ruddied by alcohol, black hair, jelled and patterned in the latest above ear triple stripes; the steam of citrus and pine aftershave, double- breasted cashmere overcoat in smoked mauve, the arrogant stance as he stood over the squatting men, their ears turbaned against the cold, hands outstretched towards the last twig as it hissed and flared before expiring with a sough – the Boss had arrived.
With a jagged inhalation, the oldest man spoke.
“Saab, we need our back-pay. My Bibi is due and Mohan is here,” indicating the youngest of the trio, “his son needs another transfusion.”
“You will get. Have I ever not paid?” Jonas relied on their trust and respect for smooth industrial relations.
“No Saab.” All 3 waggled their heads in agreement. The Saab spoke true, and always courteously. He graciously accepted their gifts of home-made ghee, spun cloth and village edibles. True, he paid late sometimes; yes, there were unexpected deductions, for the handcarts and gargantuan rubbish sacks designed to be slung over the shoulder or folded for head-loads, as well as the customary debits for food, fuel, clothes, medicines, lodging in the corrugated-iron colony sheds and salary advances.
“It all mounts up.” he showed them receipts and calculations they had no means of verifying.
But it was regular work they could rely on. And there was pride in the joyous return home at Diwali, showing families and neighbours wallets stuffed with 2000 denomination notes.
“Try this silajeet. For manly strength.” Mohan winked as he offered Jonas the black tarry stones. “The medicine man harvested it from the cliff-face above our village. A sliver in warm water. Your Bibi will produce a son and your sleeping problem cured.”
Jonas thanked the youth and surrendered to the drowsiness of the heated car. “Home,” he ordered, anticipating a night of connubial bliss. Catastrophe avoided.
***
Jonas awoke, yawned and prepared to start the day. The mirror reflected his father’s face; grey eyes milking to white, an arm, crêped like shattered safety glass, snaking towards the hair-knot of matted greying triple ropes, then realised…
