Maric

Maric Faust and I convene at our headquarters. Just the two of us and our supervisor, a gentleman we call “Maric.” Maric has been training individuals for the field for at least thirty years, so he says. The man’s had a long life, and I can only assume he knows quite a bit. The concept of his knowledge gains support from a tendency on his part to offer advice on every matter, a solution for every problem. If he didn’t really know, why would he say he did? We find Maric at his usual old, wooden desk. I notice the same charming, stale smell of oldness. Not of Maric--although he is very old--but of the objects. The smell of preservation. Our whole building reeks of it. “You may only get ahead if you get started,” says Maric, as Faust and I stand before him. “That is a secret between us.” He aims a pair of old, green eyes towards us. “How you view the world is how the world views you.” Faust and I nod. “That,” Maric says, “sums everything up. So, now, to serious business. How many?” He means, how many people have we successfully persuaded to support our cause, as future soldiers. We are to say, “Zero.” “Unacceptable.” Faust says, “There are only two of us. We can do little at a time.” Especially when we work as a pair, which we always do. Which we are forced to do. “One of you establishes,” he says, “and the other supports as evidence. You know how it works.” I say, “What about all of the other soldiers? What are they doing?” “They are on the way,” he says. “We expect them to arrive soon.” We have heard this before. I cannot imagine a picture in my mind of our fellow future soldiers. The best word: vague. I am slipping away. I admit it. I feel horrible. Maric facilitated my two year training regiment. He made sure Faust and I were prepared, where all others would not be. Hour after hour, day after day, week after week, on and on I heard what must be done. An old man like Maric has the world well figured out. And we have extra. As Maric says, he simply works for someone else. Another link in the chain of command. Like a real military. Not like, he always corrects. “I hear,” he says, “that you have spent time with a woman.” He is speaking to me. “Yes,” I say. “Only a meal. Just one. Very short.” His face shows annoyed impatience. “That is unacceptable.” “I know.” “You are above such urges.” “I know.” “Do you?” “I do.” He says, “If I did it for all these years, so can you.” So there.