Something Happened   ::   Хеллер Джозеф

Maybe someday, if my game and my job continue to improve, I might even play St. Andrews in Scotland. (Swish.) I miss my boy. Martha the typist went crazy for me finally at just the right time in a way I was able to handle suavely. I took charge like a ballet master.

"Call Medical," I directed with an authority that was almost musical. "Call Personnel. Get Security. Call Travel and tell them to hire a chauffeured limousine immediately."

Martha sits in her typist's chair like an obdurate statue and will not move or speak. She is deaf to entreaty, shakes helping hands off violently, gives signs she might shriek. I wait nearby with an expression of aplomb. Her look turns dazed and panicky when anyone comes close. The nurses from Medical are quickly there.

"How are you, dear?" the eldest asks soothingly.

We have a good-sized audience now, and I am the supervisor. Martha rises compliantly, smiling, with a hint of diabolical satisfaction, I see, at the wary attention she has succeeded in extorting from so many people who are solicitous and alarmed.

"There, there, dear."

"Come along, dear."

"That's nice, dear."

"Take your purse, dear. And your book."

"Do you want to rest, dear?"

"Do you have a roommate, dear? Someone we can call?"

"Would you like to lie down, dear? While we're waiting for the car?"

"That's fine, dear."

"Good-bye, Martha."

"Good-bye, Martha dear."

"Bye, bye, dear."

"Did you leave anything behind?"

"Don't worry, dear. We'll send it along."

"Be gentle with her," I adjure. "She's a wonderful girl…"

I hear applause when she's gone for the way I handled it.

No one was embarrassed.

Everyone seems pleased with the way I've taken command.