X.
The thin man sat at his desk, his pencil moving quickly across the page filling out some mindless forms involving some business or nobleman making a transaction with some other business or nobleman. Both required forms in triplicate while their lawyers required eight more copies.
His long, bony fingers brushed the front tuft of his thinning, ash-blond hair off his forehead. As he paused, he inhaled deeply and exhaled with a loud whoosh.
All of the sudden, it hit him. He knew what he had to do. The sharp features of his face and the wire-framed glasses enhanced the dawning look in his eagle eyes.
“Hey, Bert…” He leaned over to his best friend and coworker. “…I’ve got something important to do. Cover for me, will ya?”
Bert just nodded his head a little forward as if he were falling asleep. His jowls flopped forward a split second later.
“Thanks, bud.” He patted Bert on the back, and the large man slumped forward even more.
As he walked down the street, people stared not only at his ink-stained frock and besmudged face, but also at his chicken-with-hemorrhoids gait.
There was a slight drizzle in the afternoon air, very much like transparent fog. Every once in a while the lean paralegal aide stopped to wipe the condensed water from his glasses. When he finally arrived at the castle, he went through the door marked with a “C” for commoners.
The very gracious king of Filtwater had set aside one day a week when the peasants and middle class could petition him for any reason.
The thin man wiped the water away from his glasses as he got in line.
He waited.
He waited for a long time.
He waited for a very long time.
When he finally reached the window, the petite, short-haired woman who wore the same style of glasses that he wore, put up a sign and went to lunch.
When she returned an hour and a half later, he was still standing there.
“Can I help you, si-ir?” Her voice was very nasal, and she seemed to draw out the word “sir,” so that it became two syllables.
“If you please, ma’am.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Uh-hum,” he cleared his throat, “yes, well, very well then. I am here to see the king.” He stressed the last with a royal flare that stressed the king’s importance.
“You and half of all Filtwater,” the clerk mumbled, then speaking to the man who was taking up space in front of her window, “Do you have an appointment, si-ir?”
“No, but what I have…”
“Well, si-ir, you need to have an appointment.” She looked at him and began to shuffle some papers.
“Yes, well, um, how do I go about getting an appointment?”
“You need to fill out the proper forms. If you will step to the right, my colleagues in ‘audiences’ will help you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, si-ir. Next, please.”
The paralegal stepped into the line to his right.
He waited.
He waited a long time.
He waited a very long time.
When he finally reached the window marked “audiences,” the heavy-set woman with long brown hair shut it and went home for the evening.
His long, bony fingers brushed the front tuft of his thinning, ash-blond hair off his forehead. As he paused, he inhaled deeply and exhaled with a loud whoosh.
All of the sudden, it hit him. He knew what he had to do. The sharp features of his face and the wire-framed glasses enhanced the dawning look in his eagle eyes.
“Hey, Bert…” He leaned over to his best friend and coworker. “…I’ve got something important to do. Cover for me, will ya?”
Bert just nodded his head a little forward as if he were falling asleep. His jowls flopped forward a split second later.
“Thanks, bud.” He patted Bert on the back, and the large man slumped forward even more.
As he walked down the street, people stared not only at his ink-stained frock and besmudged face, but also at his chicken-with-hemorrhoids gait.
There was a slight drizzle in the afternoon air, very much like transparent fog. Every once in a while the lean paralegal aide stopped to wipe the condensed water from his glasses. When he finally arrived at the castle, he went through the door marked with a “C” for commoners.
The very gracious king of Filtwater had set aside one day a week when the peasants and middle class could petition him for any reason.
The thin man wiped the water away from his glasses as he got in line.
He waited.
He waited for a long time.
He waited for a very long time.
When he finally reached the window, the petite, short-haired woman who wore the same style of glasses that he wore, put up a sign and went to lunch.
When she returned an hour and a half later, he was still standing there.
“Can I help you, si-ir?” Her voice was very nasal, and she seemed to draw out the word “sir,” so that it became two syllables.
“If you please, ma’am.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Uh-hum,” he cleared his throat, “yes, well, very well then. I am here to see the king.” He stressed the last with a royal flare that stressed the king’s importance.
“You and half of all Filtwater,” the clerk mumbled, then speaking to the man who was taking up space in front of her window, “Do you have an appointment, si-ir?”
“No, but what I have…”
“Well, si-ir, you need to have an appointment.” She looked at him and began to shuffle some papers.
“Yes, well, um, how do I go about getting an appointment?”
“You need to fill out the proper forms. If you will step to the right, my colleagues in ‘audiences’ will help you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, si-ir. Next, please.”
The paralegal stepped into the line to his right.
He waited.
He waited a long time.
He waited a very long time.
When he finally reached the window marked “audiences,” the heavy-set woman with long brown hair shut it and went home for the evening.