GUT – Chapter 8

Dr van Arroz’s mind raced. Three months to take over the Personnel and Social Protection Department and turn it into Human Resources. He’d seen to it that the former Chief, Antoine Picard, had succumbed to a certain weakness for bubbly, bubbly that he, Humid van Arroz had doubly, and if he might say so, cleverly spiked.

It had been easy to take over, cut costs he’d proposed. And the time had been right. He had fired the Medical Practitioner and the Social Assistant, cut posts and heads, and Social Protection. He was just finishing off the financial side, and that regrettably was still a little behind, but budget cuts would be next, and it would not be long before General Services would also swallow up the Finance Department, and why not, even IT – he was, after all an engineer. When all was done there’d only remain a little cosmetic touch. What’s in a name?

Administrative Services, Chief of. Ad-min-is-tra-tive. He loved the way that word rasped over his tongue. It was liberating, just like his morning tongue scraping that freed the damp appendage from those annoying toxins.

As Head of Administrative Services, he would have all the power and the gift of telepathy would then come to him, home in to him. And then? Why, he could aim even higher.

He sighed and then his mouth tightened into a hyphen. He was so close, and now this.

But he needed Theodor Saint. He needed the reconciliation of the gift with his science. He had to give in on the six extra months. Damn Saint, he thought again.

Theodor Saint silently looked at van Arroz, then said in the measured intonation of a poker player before a Full House: “ Six more months. Take it or leave it.”

“Oh, very well then,” van Arroz said. “But midway through I want a detailed report. Facts. Figures. Persons. Male. Female.”

Sheep? Thought Theodor Saint as he rose from his chair as if ascending to heaven. “I shan’t come here again,” he said. “You know where to find me.” Then he left, quietly closing the door behind him.

Dr Humid van Arroz’s knuckles were white as he gripped the arms of his armchair. “So close,” he muttered. He stretched a hand towards the oranges and then pulled it back. “Damn The Saint!”