“My Dear Sir, you must be aware of the far reaching benefits of this experimentation. The perceived value, in all cases outweighs any cost associated with its continuation. There is absolutely no reason to abandon this effort while we are so close to discovery.” His dire pleas were cut abruptly by a gruff old man, wheezy under his triple chins like an old bulldog.

“It would be a pity to destroy this, I do agree… But I don’t assume you would be willing to fork out the loot to support this effort now would you, Mr. Marayek. There are many who are set on seeing the early demise of this operation, as you are well aware.” Taunting with the full realization of power that he ultimately carried, the ability to whisk the lifetime works of a great man into storage rooms in the basement. Mr. Marayek shifted unsteadily on his feet, rocking slightly to the left and then to the right, as if physically weighing the odds set before him. After an uncomfortably long period of silence, he spoke cautious yet confidently.

“The factories and the land they are on, I daresay I cannot afford outright, so I must be given time to secure a reasonable financier, however the equipment and the outlying properties you have my full assurance of payment. What are your terms?”

At this the old mans lips turned into a bitter sneer, as if mocking the desire of possession the other held. He let out a short muffled start, then gained his hefty composure and continued “Are you to say you have the amount in cash for the outlying lands and equipment. Mmm. You are aware its quite a sizable sum, are you not? Almost exorbitant in fact.” He queried, one hand unconsciously sliding under his bulging shirt to wrestle with the waist of his pants, where he tucked his thumb under the fabric to the second knuckle and curled his fingers around like a wild west sheriff. “You must have done good in your time, however, the deeds will not be furnished without payment in full… is six months a suitable time for you to conclude this, Mr. Marayek?” The old man smirked even wider, fully anticipating the other to lose his composure and come charging with bare fists, spit and swearwords flying.

But Mr. Marayek’s gaze did not waver, eyes locked solidly on the eyes of the other, nodding a silent approval to the bargain and he took a step forward, his hand raised slightly for the anticipated handshake. The old man puffed a snort from below the pudgy lips, spun on his heel and walked stiffly out of the doorway.

 

It is said that those who cease to know themselves become bound to illusions, and the illusion becomes reality. But who can rightly question the world in which a man chooses to envelope himself to find comfort? And to judge that against the weary and abandoned hopes of the average man, to level the exalted dreams of the invigorated youth to the pitiful reach of an old mans regrets to find the declarative normalcy. To most, their life long accomplishments become lost in a pool of acquiescence and taxation of their dreams, stripping all childhood away through contracts and agreements, the inability to succeed drives them to exhaustion, approaching from any angle only to be driven back again and again, but some survive, fed by an unending hunger to make something real happen from all their mistakes, a persistent integrity to live up to their ideals. It was this that remained the focus of Daniel Maravek as he forged ahead with bold plans of richness, his stubborn desire for accomplishment led to both a vast enterprise, and a great, unseen liability.

 

Work was cheap and employment scarce, the working lived on their dying breaths while slaving for pennies a day. Sweat falling in a thick mist around curly locks, swaying gently in the breeze from windows streaked with smoke and lint high above their heads. “Increased organization means increased productivity, which leads to higher capital gains: Its sheer principle.” Gwa-nath-nahn closed her eyes and felt a pang of regret, memories flooding her in this unfamiliar city like scenes of a vivid dream fading in the morning. One thing was certain after all this time and travel: she would find a job before the city swallowed her dreams in its slow grip, and her gaze turned away from the streets of skyscrapers, built next to dilapidated buildings from a time wishing to be forgotten in the riches and glory of this age. Shifting from the streets packed with morning commuters busily pushing their way through each other, heading to somewhere else and focusing on the prize in front of them. Thick glass revolving doors spun in silent eternity, barely whispering on the bearings cushioning the heavy frame, ushering unknown feet into the foyer. Plates of book matched marble laid out in rows from the entrance, symmetrical patterns lining up with the walls, contrasting with thick columns of fluted stone, twisting into abstract shapes in the high ceilings.

“You must be Ms… Kwakanit?” the voice suggested rather sheepishly, “I am Mrs. Dayton, and I will be showing you around the facility today.” The lady was unusually young for her position, propping the shallow arches of her feet into oversized high heels, her skirt laying lazily on a slim waist, hardly the type for a top notch secretary position. “Here you will notice the receiving area, this is where all the shipments come in and are inventoried. We sort the products and place the goods into several sanitary, completely temperature and humidity controlled rooms for storage. From this area I will show you the labs and the other facilities, but we require your signature on a few forms before proceeding. It’s really nothing much, just company policy…”

The words maintained their meaningless place in her perceptions, as she surveyed the warehouse in its outward simplicity, trying to determine if the business would have a future for long enough to consider any perks for enduring the gloomy surroundings. The stark contrast between the publicly visible and the working areas was remarkable, in the back rooms there was no attempt to mask the gross fabrication of the building, its painted walls peeling and flaking in the constant dry wind from whining ventilation fans. She carefully reviewed the Non Disclosure and Liability Waiver forms, effectively signing her life away if anything unfortunate happened while visiting, and agreeing to be completely passive in any observations. And never, ever”

“Bring nothing that you see here home with you, that is the golden rule. What happens here has no bearing on our daily lives; there is no use for the knowledge outside of this building... Are you clear on that?”   She asked as if expecting an answer with of “Yes Sir” like a military bludgeon.

“Please, step in” and the thick metal elevator door clipped shut.

“How so? What would I see here that would not be commonplace to me? If its new machinery, I would expect a chance to learn how to use it, after all I am pretty good at that.”

Gwa-nath-nahn caught her words at the first bell of the timid elevator, signaling arrival to the desired floor.

“As I mentioned earlier, I would appreciate it if you left all these things here, as simple or “common” as they seem. There is no place for this knowledge outside of this building. Now please, may I introduce you to Daniel Maravek, our chairman and founder.”

 

The wide entrance was shadowed by stacks of dusty volumes reaching to the top of the high ceilings, piled without care on top of each other in a seemingly random order as if welcoming chaos to this otherwise perfectly organized facility. From the dim skylights streamed a solid block of pale yellow sunlight, casting its presence upon the dark room, strangely lacking any overhead lighting fixtures.

“It is my pleasure to welcome you on your first visit to our premiere establishment. “

He beamed as if showing off a treasured collection of antique artwork.

“I do apologize for its complete lack of class; I tend to focus more on what comes out of this place, than what is put into it…”

There was an awkward moment of silence where Gwa-nath-nahn fumbled on the correct words, whether to compliment on his meager furnishings, or to recite a random phrase about how the lack of external glory exemplifies the true meaning, but managed to remain silent, merely pausing for a moment to look at the intricate woven carpet below her feet.

The thickly spun strands dyed with light colors, faded and inconsistent with years of use, hard soles wearing the color thin and stretching the pattern along the walking area between the desk and the doorway, like an old memory of a patchwork quilt from childhood is blurry and unfocused against the colorful fabric of today.

“My dear, let me show you what we really do around here. Hopefully it will peak your interest for a long time to come.” He slowly stood up and began walking away. “Come along now…” and with a small pause he looked up and mentioned “May I call you Gwen? Your long name is rather hard to pronounce...”

 

In shallow light the glint of silver is brighter, casting its wealth with a glance, mystifying the onlooker with the opportunity, creating dreams of vanity. The coins were weighed between hard palms and dented between teeth, tested for purity.

 

Morning wakes with a yearning, calling to arise. In roots the sap begins to flow, cycling to the flowers and back to the stem; pushing buds to blossom. The sanctuary of darkness is broken, lasting only so long, bringing the realization of dreams realized in the blackness.

A quiet chanting, rhythmic and soothing, emanated from beyond my vision. I was strapped and laid flat, bound to myself. The board dug into my back, slowly carving dents into my shoulders and hips. Around me the silence grew. Eyes looking at me in fleeting glances, nervous twitches of tired muscles through the shadows. Tired of more than I knew and hoping for an answer. I did not know how to react to the request, be it silent and interpreted.

When Gwa-nath-nahn was quite young she had a sister. Not a blood relative, but a sister nonetheless. They visited on Sundays in a shiny black buggy, after church was finished in the township. It was fatefully timed each week where they would show up right after grandpa stepped outside for his morning yawn, barefoot and shabby. Several times he would turn right abrupt and head inside, warning mom and the others that they would have to fuss up and deal with the smoking he was about to do.

She was a downright beauty stepping out of the wagon all decked out in new clothes, sporting high laced leather boots and carried by a chaperone, his arm tightly steering her through the crowd of natives. They were here to spread God’s Word, nothing more. Into the fire and flames they drifted, knowing only the contrived safety of faith.

Eyes peered behind wrinkles, gaping into the spaces under her layered clothes, wondering what else the Good Lord was reserving for after breakfast.

“Natasha, ensure the packages are handled carefully would you?” the elder motioned, and several bags were removed from the buggy to follow his slow, careful steps inside.

 

Gwa-nath-nahn raced forward and opened the door, waiting to embrace her dear friend, whispering into her ear childish memories of last month, last summer. She was greeted by not the usual friendliness, not the same girlish fancy as before. “Gwen, I need to talk with you…in private”

 

“Can you keep a secret?” Natasha asked in a persistent whisper, talking through the excited crowd. “You’d best be over here first” was her reply, ushering the pair to a low wall made of wooden beams. Their feet dangled above the faces fading into smoke filled air.

“I saw Mr. Donaldson a few days ago. He gave papa something… a small box. I don’t like it, just gives me the shakes. He was showing us around the stuff in it, some coins, really nothing too spectacular. I just keep thinking he shouldn’t have it, they seem really old..”

“Can I see it?”