a short story by Tony Mellen

With a brisk and capering stride, Mr. Richardson, expatriate, consultant whiz, solver of all problems, and tall man to boot, breezed in the office on Day 1. He was a handsome man, (not unlike the author), and quite conscious of the fact. "Malo e lelei," he enunciated clearly, smiling broadly at the receptionist and the six people sitting along the side wall doing nothing. The receptionist smiled back, "Good Morning!" The six people along the wall looked blankly at him and did not reply. Mr. Richardson would one day ask who these six were … and no one would know.

"My name is Richardson … I'm a consultant here for a few months … and so I've come to see about getting my phone connected," he announced warmly. He was no stranger to the Pacific and knew that friendliness was a key to success. The receptionist raised her eyebrows once and then let them tumble back to her expectant men. Richardson hesitated for just a moment before asking, "This is the Office of Wires and Bells and Things is it not?" Again the eyebrows danced briefly. "Ahh" he sighed knowingly, realizing that he may have spoken too quickly, or to someone who lacked any English skills at all. "May .. I .. speak .. to .. someone .. about .. my .. phone?" He pronounced in a plum-in-the-mouth sort of way; the volume of his request rising proportionately to the time it took to leave his mouth. Once more the eyebrows rose and fell, the face to which they were attached becoming increasingly impassive.

"Rule Number 1," chortled a sprightly fellow who bounded from behind a partition at just that moment. "A raised eyebrow means yes!"

"Ahh hello!" exclaimed our relieved Mr. Richardson. "My name is Richardson and I'd like to get my phone connected." He paused to give the animated smile he was beaming at his wiry, little savior time to take effect. This was an English speaker, bound to be of assistance. "Can you help me?"

"Unfortunately not," replied the smaller man, smiling in return.

"I'm sorry?" questioned Mr. Richardson, his smile gone and consternation spreading like mosquitoes after a rain across his face.

"Accepted," beamed Siake (Richardson had just noticed the name badge on his lapel.)

"What?" said Mr. Richardson, screwing up his face in complete bewilderment.

"Your apology for what?"

"For not knowing the Rules of course!"

Richardson took a deep breath. "It appears we have a crossed line here somewhere," he said slowly, a twitch of a smile regaining his face as he smugly recognized his own cleverness. "Now all I want is to get my phone connected … if you can't help me can you tell me someone who can?" The smile was back completely now. He hated being flustered, and prided himself on remaining calm under pressure. "My name is John Richardson … pleased to meet you … ah Sy-achey!" His hand reached across the counter to grasp what seemed to be a very dead fish attached to the end of Siake's arm. Almost imperceptibly he felt a return grip from the fish, so continued pumping it up and down whilst looking straight at the other man. He waited for that unconscious, non verbalized point at which, with a slight change in grip pressure, both men would release the other's hand, almost simultaneously. It never came. They held hands, (he'd stopped throwing the fish up and down by now,) and smiled at each other. And smiled. And smiled … until with a terrible wrench, the quivering heap of jelly that used to be the taller man, tore his hand, and his embarrassed gaze away. Totally flustered before he knew it.

"You really should know the Rules," said Siake softly, sensing the other's discomfort.

Keeping sight of his objective, Richardson replied, "If it will help me get my phone connected, I will gladly discuss the Rules." The little man's smile fell.

"I can't tell you them of course … you have to … well, learn them by experience … that's one of the Rules."

Richardson was beginning to understand his predicament. "Can't you give me a hint?" he implored conspicuously fingering his wallet in his suit pocket. Disdainfully, Siake shook his head. "Not for that!" he retorted, his eyes flicking over the open wallet. Richardson quickly put it away.

"Well what exactly can I do here?" Richardson's voice rose beseechingly.

"I can tell you about the System," venture Siake hopefully.

"OK," sighed Richardson, "Tell me about the System."

"Once upon a time," Siake began, his eyes beginning to mist with a strange, fallow glow, "the Beast was perceived in the conjunctuous mind of an ancient civilization. Slowly over the Ages, the image of the Beast became more lifelike and more detailed. Tales of its power and might became folkloric, and in a thousand fertile minds, it grew. It slept still, huge and cumbersome, alone in the darkest recesses of the Earth, in places only Thought could reach. But its sleep was troubled, and oft its eerie cries would infect the sleep of those descended from the people who had first espied it.

"And so it was, that a young man of the very same race, whose name just happened to be Jack, heard the Beast in slumber, and with the untrammeled courage of sleep, sought it out. Lonely and desolate paths he traveled, until at last he came upon the Beast. It had grown beyond all imaginings, fiery and bejeweled, monstrously large, arcane power seething from its every orifice. But the youth was unafraid, and while the Beast slept, it climbed upon it and using his sword and whip as bit and reins, he harnessed the Beast symbolically to his will. And then with a cry of pure delight, he awoke the Beast.

"Finding itself tethered and controlled, the Beast roared in fury, and rose up into full awareness. It flamed and screamed, and beat its wings in fiery release, destroying its ancient sepulcher with the conflagration of its wrath. But the youth atop it rode the storm, and withstood the fires of destruction all about him, until at last the Beast was broken, and in submission, he rode it up from sleep into consciousness. And thus it was that the Beast was loosed upon the world, for as soon as Jack awoke, he realized his peril, and fled from the Beast in terror. And the Beast was stilled, realizing at once its power of this conscious world. It demanded sustenance, and so the people fed it. It demanded obeisance, and so the people formalized its wishes, and they became laws and regulations. It demanded worship, and so the people bowed and prayed.

"And thus the Beast became the System.

"With the Beast to guide them, the people prospered, and their race grew mighty among the races, conquering many others, and enforcing the will of the Beast. The Empire of the Beast stretched hungrily across the known world, and the people named their domain the Union of Jack, in memory of the youth who had awakened the Beast." Siake paused, and Richardson jumped, so transfixed had he been by the power of the narration. Only now he realized that here were tears streaming down the face of the storyteller.

"And so it was that these sunny shores were trampled under the claws of the Beast, and the Way That Was was lost forever. Beware the Beast, for it is the System, and the System pervades all, controls all … is all!"

Richardson stood stunned in silence. The receptionist sobbed quietly, and even the six statues along the wall displayed a modicum of grief. But Siake wiped the tears away and was soon smiling as broadly as before. Almost magically, the others began to transform until they too, were grinning foolishly. Terrible grief to smiles in seconds. Richardson's mouth dropped open.

"And so we feed the Beast" Siake said quietly, looking at his damp handkerchief poignantly, and passing a handful of official looking documentation onto the desk of the receptionist. "And so we heed the Beast … by following the Rules." He looked knowingly at Richardson, and then, with a conspiratorial wink, whispered, "And thus the System lives!"

The tall man looked back at Siake, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "I see," he finally ventured cautiously. "So … how does this effect me?"

"You must appease the Beast!"

"How?"

"By following the Rules of course!" exclaimed Siake, beginning to lose patience.

"The Rules I don't know, and can't be told," said Richardson plaintively, beginning to get angry himself.

"You see … by experience you learn them yourself!" chortled Siake happily.

"Unbelievable!" an exasperated Richardson sighed.

The two men looked at each other, a cultural Gap as broad as the ocean is deep stretching between them. Siake, who was really a nice man at heart, felt sorry for Richardson, and so he explained: "The Rules are explicit, and while they are necessarily ethnocentric, it is possible for a Palangi to get to know them. For example, if you want your phone connected, you must fill out these quite detailed forms, give them to Mele here, in triplicate, and then go home to wait. After two weeks you will ring to see if the forms have been processed and she will tell you that they have been lost. You will come in again and fill them out once more. After another two weeks you will ring again, to be told that the only person who can process them is on vacation leave. You will then come in and lose your temper and everyone will ignore you. You will demand to see the Manager who will be quite civil and assure you that he will get everything fixed as soon as possible. You will ring again two days later and he will sincerely apologize after explaining that there are simply no more lines available in your area. What you do then really depends on whether you have latent violent tendencies or not."

"I thought you couldn't tell me the Rules," Richardson smiled.

"Ah, you believe you have trapped me, don't you?" mourned Siake. "Don't you understand that under the Rules I am categorically bound to tell you these things if you pursue the matter correctly. It is up to you however, whether you believe me … or not." Siake smiled helpfully again.

"OK," said Richardson, "Let's try shall we … may I have the forms that I need to fill out?"

"I'm sorry," Siake said sadly, "but I don't work here."

"What!" screamed Richardson, "Then what are you doing behind the counter?"

"I came to see my sister," replied Siake calmly, "To get my phone connected."

It took some seconds for that to sink in.

"But what about the System?" implored Richardson.

Siake looked at the tall man intently before replying. He noted the suit and tie, the carefully groomed hair, and the expensive wristwatch. He noted the white, callous free hands, and the intelligent countenance. And he noted the black shoes the man wore.

"Have you ever tried to climb a coconut tree?" he asked pointedly. Richardson stared. What the hell, he thought to himself, I've come this far.

"No," he replied.

"Do you think you could?" asked Siake, pointedly looking at the patent black leather footwear of the other man.

"Probably not," sighed Richardson.

"Then why should you have access to they system?"

Richardson ignored the symbolism that was in there somewhere and retorted instinctively, "But it's you who don't use the system … you've just by-passed the whole procedure by using your sister. What the hell are you talking about?

"There are two systems," Siake said simply.

"TWO SYSTEMS!" exploded Richardson.

"Yes."

"And each is different?"

"Yes."

"And you can't tell me the difference?"

"Yes."

"And I have to guess what to bloody well do?"

"Yes."

"Is there anything you CAN tell me?"

"Yes."

"Great! … What?"

Siake shrugged his shoulders. "Yes is just an answer dictated by the Rules … it isn't supposed to mean anything!"

Richardson screamed.

At that exact moment, a woman stood up from one of the chairs lining the side of the room opposite the statues. Neither of the men had noticed her before and in truth she appeared solely because the author had decided he was running out of options with Siake's character. "Excuse me," she said confidently, "But I may be able to help you out somewhat!"

"Who are you?" demanded Richardson.

"My name is Sue," said the blonde, which isn't really surprising, as the author's wife is a pretty blonde called Sue.

Richardson waited for her to continue. "It seems that you're missing a crucial point here, Mr. Richardson. This is a different country to that which you are from. Things are necessarily different. As Siake has intimated, if you are to climb a coconut tree, you must learn how!"

Richardson looked at her coldly. "I am well aware of where I am. I am also well aware of the fact that climbing coconut trees is not on my agenda, and finally, I am well aware that wherever one goes in the civilized, English speaking world, wherever there ARE phones, it should not be this complicated to get connected!" he fumed.

"Why the English speaking world?"

"Because English is the universal language of course!"

"Try telling that to a Frenchman."

Richardson was getting nowhere, but refused to be beaten. "Does someone give classes here about getting of the track?" he questioned wearily.

"No, but they do live by the system," the woman calmly rejoined.

"Systems!" he corrected.

"Actually no," said the woman, "The System exists … but they live by the system"

Richardson gave in. "Please explain."

"OK, I will!" chimed in Siake, intuitively sensing that he was being written out of the story.

"When the Beast first came, it was young and active, and its very virility made the System workable. People obeyed it explicitly for fear of its wrath. But it has grown old and slow and forgetful .. still powerful … but not quite as omniscient. The people obviously know this, and have developed their own system (please note the lower case s) to work within and beside the Beast. The people still pay homage to the Beast, via sacrifices such as yourself, and others who know nothing of the other system. In this way the Beast is appeased, and all is well. But of course the System is now far too large and unwieldy to be of any use to the rest of us, and so by using the system, we get around it, by it, under, above it, however it is possible."

"By getting your sister to do it," Richardson ventured.

"Exactly!" Siake and Sue chorused together.

Richardson was beginning to see a light. A small, wavering glow at the very end of a dank, obsidian tunnel. "So I can use the system if I know it … or your sister?"

"No," Siake sadly replied. The light went out.

Siake leaned across to Sue and whispered something in her ear that Richardson could not catch. When he had finished, Sue spoke. "It appears there is a Consultants' Rule."

"A WHAT?" Richardson cried.

"A consultant's Rule," Sue continued, "Which basically is dependent upon how long your stay here will be."

"I'm here for three months."

She shook her head, "Too bad."

The emotional seesaw he had been riding for the past few minutes would rise no more. The sickening thud of its return to earth echoed about his brain, but strangely, it calmed him. He inquired softly, "Why?"

Sue looked him in the eye. "As far as I can tell, the Consultants' Rule dictates that all consultants who stay here less than 6 months should be feted and pampered whenever in the company of a member of the organization he or she is consulting for. Consultants should be given every assistance possible, unless they stray from the protection of their minders … as you seem to have done. They shall then be considered fair game, and offered unto the Beast, until they come screaming back to the fold. In this way they can be convinced not to write anything derogatory about the people who've been so nice to them, and once they have finished their report, which by definition should be large and bulky, it should be used to replace that wonky leg the photocopier has always had.

Richardson stood very still, a great many things suddenly becoming very clear to him. He felt abused, cheated and unfairly selected for unfair treatment, but he forced himself to concentrate on his immediate objective once more. He looked pitifully from Sue to Siake, before pleading, "Then what can I do to get my phone connected?"

"Have you tried paying the amount that's outstanding for that account … you have to do that before they'll do anything," Sue said hopefully, "It's one of the Rules."

"Can you tell me how much is outstanding on my account?"

Waltzes, Tangos, Fox-trots … a veritable dance hall extravaganza encapsulated in a single movement.

"Well … how much?"

"Two thousand, four hundred and seventy five Pa'anga and thirty three seniti," she said with an edge of finality.

"WHAT!!! … You've got to be joking! Who was in the house before me? A phone sex junkie? Well come on … tell me … WHO WAS IT?!?"

The Receptionist endured the tirade impassively; she was used to it. "It was, I believe," she enunciated very clearly, "A Consultant."

©1997 Tony Mellen
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