“What can you pray in a situation like this?” he responded.
I told him what I was doing in the simplest way possible. “I am blessing the land. I am blessing your people, the Jews. I am blessing Dharwad’s people, the Moslems.”
“How can you bless people who are so strongly opposed to each other? What is there left to bless where hatred is so strong.”
I tried to explain, “It is for that reason I feel such a strong need to call down the blessing of The Great One upon them. On their behalf I am calling down forgiveness and peace and a sure knowledge of the presence of The Great One among them. There are many things I want to bless them with.
You know something, Scrivs. You spoke about hatred reigning among these people and, I have to agree, but there is one thing which, to me, supersedes that. There is a point of unity. These, the three great religions of the world, are united by one thing. They all look forward to the coming of the Messiah. Perhaps when he comes they will begin to bless each other. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to preach.”
We sat for a while longer. I heard him muttering quietly beside me from time to time. I think he too was praying in his own Jewish way. I felt a tide of peace flood across us.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE- YANA
We stood in mutual agreement that it was time to go home, but I couldn’t, not yet. As I was getting to my feet I had seen something. I would have missed it if the light had not been exactly right. Now my eyes were focussed on a spot across the temple precinct and up the street. The sun was shining on the wall of a building. I recognised that building. I used to go past it each day when I went with Peter and John to the temple. Myrna’s house was just around the corner. I must see it.
I pointed the spot out to Scrivs and told him that I wanted to explore. He immediately quashed the idea as we did not have permits to leave the temple precinct. I said, “Let me see the map.” I looked at it very carefully and pointed to a line which circled the area we were in. I looked at Scrivs and asked, “Doesn’t that define the boundaries of our permit?”
A grin spread across his face. “It could be interpreted that way. Let’s go.”
We had no problems reaching our destination. It was just as I remembered it. Scrivs could see, by the look on my face, that we had found what I was looking for. He was delighted to see that it was also photogenic. Our cameras had been busy all day. “Bales,” he exclaimed, “the Beetle will love you.”
I stood there, overwhelmed with a desire to go inside when, like a miracle, a woman appeared on the roof-top. It seemed that The Great One had heard me because she leaned over the balcony and called down to us in a language neither of us could understand. She was obviously trying to tell us something so I shouted up to her, “Do you speak English?” Her face lit up and she said, “Please come up. I practice my English.” She gestured toward the external staircase.
As we climbed the stairs Scrivs said, “Bales, you’re a genius. I don’t know who this woman is or what this place is but I’m sure that we can make something outstanding of it. Just keep her talking. I will make good use of my camera. Everything will be photographed, everything. Davo will love it. Genius-man! Here we come.”
At the top of the stairs we were welcomed by a woman of about forty years. Bailey thought that, dressed in the appropriate clothing, she would look well on any street. She looked at Bailey and said, “My English, I need to be practiced. We talk.” This arrangement suited Scrivs. He and his camera withdrew to the background. He could see that Bailey considered what was happening here to be women’s business.
The woman introduced herself as Yana and was keen to talk. Her need to practice English was strong and, as she talked, Bailey was just as keen to listen. This was a woman who demanded her attention. Yana had lived with her family in Damascus but, as one of the Christian minority, her family had come under strong pressure and persecution.
Maintaining work and income had become impossible and they had been reduced to extreme poverty. Then, adding to their distress, the bombing started. Sometimes she felt as if every nation on earth wanted to destroy them. She paused for a moment and then said with a sob, “I am the only one left.”
Bailey put her arm around her and continued to listen to her story, “The last few months I do not want to remember. I was one of so many people trying to escape from the horror. I saw things I could never have imagined possible. There was hunger and theft. There was abuse and torment, disease, and so much suffering.
I am one of the lucky ones. I found shelter here with friends and was able to seek and gain official recognition as an asylum seeker.” Bailey felt a kinship with her as she remembered her dreamtime experience of fleeing from Jerusalem. She too had been one of the lucky ones. Before she left here she needed to know what would happen to this woman and asked if there was a reason behind her need to learn to speak English well.
“Yes,” came the reply. “Next week, I go to Australia as a refugee migrant. I go to a place called Bun - -.” She got up and found a piece of paper and continued, “Bundaberg.”
Bailey was amazed and pleased. She took her own piece of paper from her pocket and wrote down her phone number and email address and asked her to let her know when she arrived, telling her that she was Australian and assuring her that her English was perfectly acceptable. She would do fine.
By this time Scrivs was getting impatient. He tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Bales, we’ve got to go. Our permits run out in an hour.” We made our way downstairs onto the street. Very little had changed since I had been here all those years ago. By the way Scrivs was looking at me I could see that some difficult explanations awaited me.
I did not want to answer questions about the things I had seemed to know about that house so I kept up a chatter on the way home. I asked him about this mysterious computer expert to whom we were supposed to hand all our material when we had it correlated. “Scrivs, tell me where is this mysterious Dharwad we are supposed to hand all this stuff to?” All I had seen so far was a vacant desk?
Scrivs looked puzzled for a moment then said, “Oh, you mean Davo.”
Right, Davo it is. Dharwad must give way to Davo, a pity. Dharwad was a name a girl could build fantasies about.
Scrivs must have seen something of this in my face because he said, “Don’t go getting ideas about Davo. No woman has got near him for as long as I have known him. I think something happened to him before he came to work with us but he has never talked about it. I do know that the name Dharwad means intelligent and he is certainly that. He is building a quantum computer for the Beetle. Everything revolves around that baby at the moment.
Even Sir has had to become involved in the computer project. They have both just come back from Sydney and Singapore on a purchasing expedition, although I do not expect they spent a lot of time together. They do not like each other much but Davo is indispensable to the Beetle, so Sir can do nothing about it.”
I think he not only intended to give me information but also a warning not to get involved with Davo. I’m afraid it had the opposite effect. If he had been my mother, he would not have approached it that way. She has always said I am contrary. She is probably right.
Now a new piece of information was firmly lodged in my mind. If there was a need to give that kind of warning, Davo must be both attractive and eligible. I knew I would probably meet both Davo and the mysterious Sir tomorrow. I was looking forward to the one but not to the other.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX- THOSE TWO MEN AGAIN
Today has to be the most exciting day since my arrival in Jerusalem. I will get to meet the two mystery men of the Beetle and perhaps see the quantum computer around which everything revolves.
The day began for me in the usual way with my papers spread out in the coffee room and a cup of the most delicious coffee that ever existed. I have my own table now in the coffee room which gives more the appearance of a restaurant t
han a workplace retreat. I suspect that is exactly what it was in an earlier life. Scrivs was in the room with me when the music started; classical piano over the intercom. He immediately came into action. Without a word he grabbed my coffee cup, tipped it down the sink and said, “Go, go, go. Grab your papers and work from the bench. I should have warned you. Classical piano means Sir is in the building.”
I didn’t pause to think. I just grabbed everything and disappeared to my own forlorn, deserted desk. Nothing happened. The music stopped as suddenly as it had started. It was a false alarm, but I stayed put and remained buried in my work. There were mountains of papers to correlate; photocopies of ancient and modern documents with drawings and computer printouts. I was thankful for the computer programmes we had. What I had was already sorted into bundles which belonged together but there was still about three month’s work left for me, putting it together and finally getting it into the form which Davo called a skeleton script, for his new toy to work on.
I am eternally thankful to Miz. The truth is that she has done as much of this work as I have; Receptionist indeed! But that’s the way life is. It is not always the hardest working or most valuable who gets the biggest pay packet or the most recognition. She loves what she is doing, except when Sir is here. I have some ideas about that if it turns out to be the way I think it is.
There was a gentle Yahoo, from the doorway and Scrivs, the man I now consider to be friend as well as workmate, was there beckoning with a come signal. I carefully noted where I was in my work and followed him down to what I had come to know as Davo’s space. Three steps into the room, I stopped and stared. It could not be.
It was. The man sitting in front of the computer screen was the man who had been sitting a little way in front of me on the flight from Brisbane to Singapore.
I flushed hot all over in embarrassment as I remembered the fantasies I had allowed to develop around him during the flight. The embarrassment was not lessened as I recalled the ‘drift away to some place nice’ dreams that had been evoked since then by his name, Dharwad, a name like water flowing over a rock, a name to dream on. To have these two things come together so unexpectedly was hard to adjust to. Too much coincidence is not good for you, I realized. It can cause hot flushes and anxiety long before their time.
I pulled myself together quickly and moved across to where Miz was standing. I needed some female support. I hoped no one had noticed my discomfort. I think she had, because she almost immediately put her lips close to my ear and whispered, “Don’t get any ideas about Davo. He is completely untouchable as far as women are concerned. I know.” It was her turn to blush.
She did another whisper, louder this time, “Keep as much distance as possible between yourself and Sir. He is a leech.” Everybody nodded. This was the first time all four of us had been together. I felt that the group was now complete. I did not consider Sir to be one of us and he was the only one of the Beetle’s staff who was not present.
Davo looked across at me with obvious approval and gave a thumbs-up, saying just one word, “Bales.” I gave him a thumbs-up in return. Then he spoke to all of us. “I just wanted you to meet our new staff member, Ifficus.” He gestured to the computer on the desk. “The display cabinet will go over there.” He pointed toward the centre of the room. “It will be a very large glass box into which Ifficus will project his holograms. If it all works as planned the public will be able to interact with him from outside the viewing cage.”
“Now,” he says, “to the important business of the day, get to know you time.” He then goes over to a large cabinet marked Computing Materials Only – Confidential and opens it with a key. He drags several beanbags from its interior and throws them onto the floor. Another shelf slides out. It holds a coffee machine and goodies to eat. We sit. We talk. We eat. We drink.
I ask, “Ifficus, that sounds a strange name for a computer. How did you come up with it?”
“There is no mystery there,” he says. “It is simply because he is a very iffy cuss. The technology is so new that nobody knows quite how he will behave. I expect to have to do a lot of tweaking to his programming before I have him trained to my satisfaction.”
It was good just to be able to relax and talk for a while. But after a while I began to get a little uncomfortable. A suspicion had begun to grow in my mind. I must find out the truth. I remember Scrivs saying that Davo and Sir had gone to Sydney and Singapore together.
I have to know, so I say, “I haven’t met Sir. Tell me, is he slightly shorter than mid height, mid-thirties, slightly balding, a little overweight, with a habit of wiping his hand across his forehead and then giving his chin a tug,” demonstrating the statement with gestures.
A roar of laughter burst out from everybody present. Davo looked at me with something that was suspiciously like admiration and said between chuckles, “I have never heard a more accurate description. How did you meet him?”
“I never really met him,” I said. “He was sitting a little behind me on the flight from Brisbane to Singapore. You tell me that it is right for everybody here to have a name that fits him.” I stood up, intoxicated with good company and friendship, and made a sweeping gesture with my hand to include them all. Then, placing my hand on the shoulder of an imaginary man said, “My friends, I want to introduce you to a friend, no not a friend, an acquaintance of mine. You have known him as Sir; I give you his real name, Sir Humus Mc Sleaze!”
For a moment there was stunned silence then laughter, laughter so intense that it was out of control. This mayhem was just beginning to subside when there was a “Harrumph” from the doorway. After my description, the identity of the intruder was unmistakable.
Instantly, I am in action mode. I told you that I had a plan. I just didn’t know that I would be called upon to begin its implication in such an impromptu manner but I knew that I must act immediately. I can’t allow Sir Humus to get the first word in, and I do know how to do authority and control.
I stand straight and tall, focussing my eyes on his chin. “Sir, I am the new girl. You may address me as Miss Bailey.” When I see that he is about to open his mouth, I continue. “There is a serious staffing matter which I wish to bring to your attention.”
He splutters. I relax a little. I know now that I have judged him correctly. He likes serious staffing matters. That’s where his authority lies. His response comes quickly. “Yes, yes of course, you can confide in me.”
I know that I need to maintain control so I respond in the politest way I can without losing control of the conversation. “With respect Sir, there is need for privacy. Could I see you in your office first thing tomorrow morning?”
His response is immediate, “I can do that. I will give you twenty minutes of my time. Make it eight o’clock, sharp.”
Having resolved that situation and regained control he turned from the room and retreated to his office. He was secure in his own space.
When he left the room there was silence. The party spirit had left with him. Everybody looked a little stunned. Miz sat beside me, on the edge of my beanbag. She put her arm around me and said, “Bales, you are amazing.”
If I had known what else was in her mind I would have been stunned. She had seen something that she had never thought possible. It was a look that, at one time, she had desperately wanted to see directed her way. It was a look of naked desire and admiration. She knew something that I did not. Davo had seen me as a woman. His defences had been breached, if only for a moment. If I had known this; I would have put my own defences up. It is not that I did not want him to see me as desirable. It’s just that, as you have seen, I like to be in control.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN- AN IMPORTANT MOMENT
The atmosphere among us was now more subdued. Instead of finishing the party, we had a meeting at which it was agreed that I should be appointed to the position of Sexual Harassment Officer, a position that had been
lacking until now. I promised that I would have everything ready for tomorrow morning. There would be no problem with paperwork. Paperwork is just that, paper with print on it. There was plenty of paper. I knew how to type and the computer knew how to use a printer.
That’s how I came to be standing in the Manager’s office of B.T.P.L. facing Sir Humus. “You wished to see me, Sir,” I said.
“Err – Yes Miss Bailey. Please take a seat.”
I wanted to be in control and I preferred that he did not have too much time to think, so I took the risk of moving into his space. Instead of sitting, I went around the desk until I was standing beside him and placed the papers on his desk. There were two identical sheets of paper. They were certificates of appointment to the position of Sexual Harassment Officer, setting out the terms of appointment and function. Both had my name in bold print as the appointed officer and space for signing by myself and the Business Manager, Ronald Crisp. Below the space for signing by the Business Manager there was space for signing by a Public Notary if the Business Manager was not available for signing.
I gave him time to read the documents and then made my little speech. “I must explain, Sir. Sometimes it is new eyes that see things that are otherwise taken for granted. Probably because I am new and a woman, I very soon became aware that our receptionist, Miss Amispa, was receiving unwanted attentions from a man in some way associated with B.T.P.L. We know that you will feel the same concern as we do. That is why we acted in your absence with the appointment of a Sexual Harassment Officer. I am sure you would have acted in the same way if you had been here. All that is needed now is our signatures.” He had no choice but to sign while I did the same.
I left one copy to be placed on the wall of his office and took the other to be hung above my desk. As I left I assured him that I would keep a sharp eye on the situation and guard the reputation of the Company and its Management. From this day on we saw even less of Sir Humus than we had previously. I suspect he was getting his kicks elsewhere.
The Biovantic Bear Page 12
