Filaria - Brent Hayward [79]
“Are you the leader of these crawling deities?” Tran so said. “The supervisor?”
The man-god twitched and the smile widened, just an increment. “Gods?” Its voice was rough and deep.
“Yes. Like yourself.”
“Me? A god? That’s rich.”
The eyes appeared humanlike, more human than any other god’s eyes. To stare at them and know this was no man was unsettling.
“Sorry, all of us here, we’re in the service industry. We’re here to serve. There’s no need to suck up. Please,” — this, with an uneven movement of the head, addressed to the tiny subordinates that crowded the doorway — “leave us be.”
The door shut quietly.
“They are creepy little spiders,” said the man-god, rumbling what must have been laughter. “That’s what they are!”
Now that the room was sealed, Tran so smelled the damp and mildew. Dim light came from a gooseneck lamp on the desk, which cast its greenish glow over the cream-coloured walls, the huge desktop, the crammed bookshelves. Over the god’s ample paunch. The features of its face were underlit dramatically.
“Take a seat.” Gesturing, with one of those plump, grey hands.
Tran so sat in a chair opposite. He was still reeling a little from whatever it was the crawling god had done to him. The chair creaked with his weight. There were pictures in golden frames on the desktop, turned so he could see them. The face of a homely woman; two homely children — boy and a girl. Tran so licked his lips. He would not say anything about the children or the ugly woman, though he was tempted; he would be cautious here.
“Call me Simon,” the god said.
All this time, those eyes, though intense, had not really seemed to focus on Tran so, who even waved a hand between the two of them in a vain attempt to illicit reaction. “My name is Tran so Phengh,” he said.
“And you’re looking for a transfer?”
“Excuse me? A transfer?” Settling into the chair, stretching his legs. “Uh, that’s right. I’m looking for a transfer.”
“Good, good,” Simon said. “What do you know about our particular contribution to this grand facility?”
“Facility? I don’t know what that word means, so I must say I know very little . . . Let me ask you a question. What do you know about dark gods — the giants who took me prisoner? What do you know about them? They attacked me at the bottom of Lake Seven as I talked to another supervisor, who was actually nothing like you, and then they apologized, and tried to attack me again. But I escaped.”
“Ah ha! Giants? A sports fan? Me too, but the little lady isn’t fond of me watching games. You know, chores to be done.” Now one eye closed and opened slowly in a grotesque wink. “Sit back, young man, sit back and let me explain a little history of the nostalgia suites, and why they’re such a popular destination with the guests.”
“All right. Fine. But tell me what you know about the women who work here. Namely Sandra. I want to meet her again.”
“Interesting.” Simon chuckled. “I like applicants who ask me questions. As I said earlier, don’t be shy, young man. My door is always open.”
“Presently,” Tran so said, “it is shut.” He leaned forward. Simon’s expression never changed. Was the strange deity blind? “I am married,” Tran so said, “but my wife is very ill. Meeting Sandra has rekindled me. I am on a quest. Now I’ve met her, for the first time in ages, I feel alive. Do you know what that’s like? I sincerely doubt it. And I’m not being unfaithful to my wife because the woman I loved died a long time ago . . . I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe it makes no sense to you . . . What do you think? Can I meet her? Do you understand what I’m saying?” He swivelled in his chair to get more comfortable. Most of the pain had faded to a dull, almost pleasant ache.
Simon, meanwhile, had apparently suffered some kind of lapse. Smiling, staring at nothing with its striking, blind eyes, a great deal of time passed before the body