FRANZ ON THE ATTACK
I needed a job so applied for a position of executioner at one of the
agencies downtown.
My first client was a frantic kid, probably a bohemian of some sort,
a real beatnik. I placed the knife directly under the heart. We
both waited a fraction of a second, then went all the way to the hilt
with it.
Since I'd never done this sort of thing before, an unease welled up
within me. I returned to my apartment. I recalled that each client
was supposed to be placed in a sack, so that our men could cart them
to the depository easily. Well, I thought, maybe someone else will
do it, though on a new job one doesn't like to get off on a bad foot
due to forgetfulness.
I heard at the office the next morning that the kid had been sacked
properly. My boss, a man with enormous bald head, promiment jowls
and looping pipe, was proceeding down the aisle. I caught him from
the corner of his eye by mistake. He said, "Don't worry, you did
fine, a strong first outing. The sack? I knew you'd be worrying
about that. We all have our jitters. Here, read this. You see, our
purposes aren't nasty entirely." He dropped a small diary on my
desk. My client had written:
Must see that first silver light,
hang ten,
And go for the deep blue!
He really did want to exit life! As I read on, a girl friend who had
been involved with these same psychodynamical issues was mentioned.
Perhaps, I'd meet her!
But, as I sat before my desk mirror, lines of fatigue, age and evil
started to appear on my face, and no matter what facial exercises or
self-massages to the temples I performed, nothing could ease and
erase these marks and seals. I tried to smile, and succeeded! But
the smile was of a small weasel-like animal, and only its teeth had
any power of expression.
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