School of Thought

A novel by Zia Zaman

PART ONE

Fazo looked over at the cab driver and asked, ``Is this 75 Influence Road?"

``Yes, the School of Thought, we're here. That'll be fifteen bucks," the cabby said as he opened his door.

Fazo stepped out of the cab and smelled the dark musk of the ocean. What stood in front of him was an old brick building with two large glass doors and a number of white steps leading up to them. The white bricks were darkened with the rain which had just recently cleansed the city of Central of its smog. He was scared and exhilarated; lost in a sea of confusion about the new surroundings. Somehow, the prospect of spending two years at one of the most important schools of higher learning in the world did not affect him. He had been chosen from thousands to attend this school of diplomacy. A year into his practical training at the consultancy, Fazo received the offer of admission from the School of Thought. Eights months later, he was on the campus grounds, a perspective new leader for the nineties.

Fazo looked around and saw a large green area in the centre of the compound covered with students. A young man wearing a tan hat, a light sportscoat, and khaki trousers entered the compound. Another student strolled across his path, cradling a bottle of ale in each hand. His jeans were rolled up to his ankles exposing his bare feet as they brushed through the still wet grass. He looked up at the buildings and saw a gold seven and a silver five on the front face of the brick building. The Central collegiates, he realized, were little different from the college students in Habsentia. They wore the same clothes, spoke the same language, they even drank the same beers.

``Excuse me, do you know how to get to dee Hinflew-hans rud?" a student tapped him on the shoulder.

``Influence Road?" Fazo questioned his comprehension of the man's accent.

``Yezz, de Skool of Dot Compound," he confirmed.

``I think we're here. I'm new here too, but I think this is where they have asked us to register," Fazo looked around sheepishly as he touched his suitcase with his foot. It tipped over, hitting the pavement with a loud bang.

``Hoh, you mean you not Zentral? I guess you give dee happearanz!" he said pointing to Fazo's attire. Fazo realized that he looked more like a Central than he thought and that a true foreigner would have a hard time identifying him as Habsentian.

``No, I am Habsentian. And you?" Fazo inquired.

``I ham late! I had do meet dee party at four."

Fazo looked at his watch and saw that it was already half past five. ``Where are they?"

``Hoh, der dey are. Nice knowing you!" and he briskly walked off towards a group of officials with badges. Fazo looked at these men and wondered if they were making an offer to the newcomer. He had little prior knowledge of the procedures of the School of Thought. Still, he did know that one was required to complete four cases in order to graduate. Outside the broad topic area of diplomacy, he had no specific idea of what he would be doing. A little scared, Fazo did not have any clue as to how he could ever help settle an issue, make an ethical decision, or arbitrate a grievance.

When time came for him to register, Fazo shuffled his luggage from the curbside drop off point to the registration desk. This Herculean task combined with the excessive heat left him perspiring and anxious to find his room to take a shower. The registration was formal and efficient. Just before leaving the desk, the lady in charge said, ``Just put your bags on the conveyor at the curbside drop off point. Put these tags on them and they will be sent to your room."

``Um," Fazo muttered with exasperation, pointing to his luggage.

``Oh, I'm so sorry, we should have made the sign for the conveyor more visible. Just hold on and I'll put your belongings on this one," she explained. Fazo looked around in deep admiration of the efficiency of this modern jungle. He would never have guessed that the registration desk would be outdoors. On his left were two tropical plants and to the right was a small stone path that lead to the rear of the building. Looking carefully, he noticed that a small abri could be set up during the winter to cover the desk area. In the summer months, the area was uncluttered and open, basking in the warm Central sun.

``Fazo?" said the woman behind the counter, breaking him out of his daydream. ``I hope you have a nice stay here, I'm sure everything will be to your liking. By the way, the name is Jenny, if you need anything I will probably be here."

``Thanks," Fazo responded with a big smile. He noticed that the lady serving him behind the counter was an attractive young woman with thick and wavy dirty blonde hair. ``Friendly people," Fazo half-muttered to himself as he walked away from the counter with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Deep down, he never dreamed that her suggestive tone of voice was due to his moderate attractiveness; rather, he sincerely believed that she parleyed this type of response to everyone in order to make them feel better at the end of a long journey.

While walking away, he overheard her tell the next man in line, ``Hi, welcome to Central. My name is Jenny..."

When he reached the elevator, a bell-person noticed the tags on his keys and pointed out that he was staying in the Red building at the other end of the compound. He was in the elevator which served the Green building. Fazo was grateful to the man for pointing out his mistake. When he looked back, he became terribly embarrassed. He realized that there were red and green lines painted on the pavement leading away from the registration desk pointing the way. He marched past the registration desk and past Jenny without even throwing a glance in her direction. Little did he realize that her eyes had been following his steps across the courtyard. She laughed quietly and politely to herself as she attended to the next student.

As Fazo was riding the elevator, he noticed that he had been passed a note with his registration materials. It read, ``Fazo, call the firm as soon as you arrive. We're worried about you!" Fazo was expecting some sort of message from the consultancy asking him to check in with them. He had grown into the role of favourite son at the firm, only after he received admission to Thought School. Fazo dutifully called, a little tired of their excessive interest in his affairs. Angelica answered and exclaimed, ``Fazo!" in an unusually high pitch. ``How are you?"

``Hi, Angelica. I'm OK. How's everything at work?"

``Everything here is at a standstill Fazo, we've all been waiting for you to call. We heard that a tropical storm may hit Central and we were worried that you may not be able to make it to the School."

``No need to worry, Angelica," Fazo explained, ``I'm fine. I had better be going since I have a dinner in twenty minutes."

``How long is dinner supposed to last?"

``We have forty-five minutes before the Opening Ceremonies, why do you ask?"

``Oh, you'll never finish in time for the ceremony the way you eat. Better make sure they serve you first and whatever you do, don't tell anyone any of your stories over dinner!" Angelica joked.

``Thank you," Fazo replied placidly, ``Bye! I gotta go." He hung up the receiver and turned to face the window. He was filled with a warm feeling of reassurance upon hearing Angelica's voice. A love for Habsentia was brewing inside him and was finally making its way to the surface. He smiled vacantly as he peered at the window pane. When he finally started looking through the window, he realized that a small group was already gathering for the dinner amongst which were three or four young women. Suddenly, his longing for home was replaced with a gratitude for the opportunity that he had been given.

As Fazo was waiting in line, he found that he had arrived even later than he had thought. The sun was low on the horizon, basking the compound with its soft orange glow. Some of the other students had already finished their meals and were heading for the exits in anticipation of the ceremonies. Worried about the truth in Angelica's remark, Fazo pointed to the two women in front of him in the queue and said to the hostess, ``I think there is space for three in that corner under that oak tree." The hostess complied and he and his two female ``companions" were escorted to the table. Fazo introduced himself politely and suggested that they all helped themselves from the buffet immediately.

``I think we are supposed to wait for them to let us go," the shorter woman pointed out.

``I suppose you're right. It will be a shame to miss the ceremony," Fazo responded somewhat regretfully.

The other girl perked up and added, ``I agree. Let's go right away. Which republic are you from? You have an unusual accent?"

``I'm not from the Republics. I am Habsentian."

``Habsentian! You know I've never met anyone from Habsentia. You see I'm from Katuria. You don't get to meet too many people from half way around the world. Pity," she responded. Her bright green sundress and multi-coloured sandals gave her an exotic appearance that Fazo hadn't noticed at first.

Fazo blushed slightly and explained his perception of Central Republic to the two women. ``To me, Central is like a giant shopping mall, complete with movie theatres, office buildings and ice cream stands. Central is television and pop culture, the New World and post-modernism, outer space and inner-cities. It has all the problems of the world: hunger, poverty, crime; and yet, people are still trying to get in. They give the image of tolerance and diversity even though all the republics are essentially the same. The only difference is that in the republic they call the Central Republic, people think that they are the only ones that matter.

``I guess that's why the whole country is called Central Republic," one of the women commented.

``So they're xenophobic?" the other asked.

``No, egocentric. You know, `We are the World,' and all that!" he stopped to take a breath. ``In Habsentia, we dream of being unimportant. The less that happens the better. We're a bunch of people from a bunch of different places who've gotten together to form a country. Most immigrants are trying to get away from something, trying to start a new life. In Habsentia, we accord them their freedom to choose their way of life, their religion, their political views. No infringements or cultural ideals are imposed upon them, unlike here. `Centralized' has taken on a whole new meaning in immigrant households. It's a dangerous thing for young people who grow up in Central. They're incapable of carrying on their particular cultural customs. They become desensitized to world affairs, the flavour of different cultures. So much pressure is placed on fitting in, on becoming more Central."

The threesome chatted for some time, slipping in personal experiences from their younger days until finally a voice sounded over the megaphone.

``The ceremonies!" they all yelled simultaneously as they looked at their half-eaten dinners. When they checked the clock tower, they realized that they were fifteen minutes late. They all stood up and rushed over to the exit, carefully making sure that they didn't leave any keys or Ids behind. First, the threesome ran towards the amphitheatre, then towards the gymnasium until they realized that the speeches were to be held in the auditorium right next to their oak tree.

``I hate being late," Fazo said, sounding much like a rabbit in coattails.

``Oh, don't be so tense, I mean what difference does it make if we are a few minutes late, here or there, the important thing is that we had fun," the colourfully clad woman replied.

Fazo started to think to himself why he had always been so rigidly affixed to time. Was it an obsessive enslavery to the clock or was it out of politeness that he valued punctuality so much? Was it unreasonable to expect people and things to occur exactly when one expects them to occur? Fazo had always thought to himself, ``Well, if I was waiting in the rain to meet a friend at a certain time, how long should I wait before I go home?" He thought it was a good measure of how strict someone is to the clock.

Fazo believed that an hour was not an unreasonable amount of time to wait. People who can easily find things to do to occupy their time were far more patient than those who anxiously wait by the clock and let waiting-time be wasted time. Fazo would go so far as use this as an indicator as to how tolerant and easy-going a person is with respect to others.

Luckily, the ceremony had just begun and people were still filing in without disturbing the speakers. Each of the three introductory speakers spoke briefly about a single anecdote that exemplified their perception of Thought School. The students thoroughly enjoyed their tales, applauding and cheering as appropriate. The fourth speaker, the keynote, then began his talk. Within moments, he had lost the attention of his audience. The students were far more concerned with catching a few hours of sleep. Fazo, however, could not succumb to the temptation of the monotone and the darkness. Instead, he began to observe the mannerisms of the speaker. Be it beyond him to know of what he was speaking, yet still Fazo was curiously taking notes. At this point, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

``Hi," came a loud whisper from behind. Fazo turned around to take a closer look at this strange woman who felt it timely to introduce herself in the middle of nap time.

``Hi..." he responded with a curious expression on his face.

``My name is Ajan. What do people call you?" she asked.

Fazo turned around once again and looked her over. He saw her thick dark hair which was slightly teased and her contrasting fair face which held a big grin. She had a naughty childishness about her, yet she looked very much like a sophisticated woman. Her arms waved vigorously by her side as she talked to her friend and she felt no fear in raising and lowering her voice to emphasize her speech. He finally answered, ``They call me Fazo," and turned around curtly, a little alarmed by the friendliness of Ajan.

``Why are you sitting by yourself?" Ajan asked noticing the empty seats to either side of Fazo.

Fazo wanted to explain that he had come with two people and that they had left moments earlier to get some proper sleep in their rooms; however, he did not feel like proving his socialness but nevertheless responded, ``I was with some people, but they left."

``What are you doing with that pen?" she asked.

``Writing," Fazo replied dryly.

``Oh, writing to your girlfriend?!" Ajan inquired raising her voice suggestively, in a way which made Fazo recall his pre-teen classmates.

``No, actually, I'm taking notes." Immediately, Fazo realized that he had said the wrong thing. He thought to himself, ``What kind of a recluse does she think I am, me the only other person awake in this auditorium, or shall we say, dormitory, taking notes about a speech on the challenges of female scientists in embryology. Here I am, shying away from her at every instant and giving monosyllabic brain-dead responses to perfectly valid, albeit immature, small-talk."

In fact, Fazo was quite accurate; Ajan whispered to her friend, ``What kind of a hermit is this? Taking notes on the first day, sitting by himself and not talking to me when I try to make conversation?" Fazo did not quite catch what she was saying although he thought he heard the word ``Kermit." Still, rather than being offended or even angered, she felt sympathy for Fazo. A smile cracked on her lips as she whispered to her friend, ``Must have been neglected as a child because his parents thought he was too ugly!" She then chuckled which prompted Fazo to turn around in his own defence.

``I am not taking notes on his speech, Ajan, just listen to him. Do you notice anything funny about the way he speaks?"

She replied, ``Other than the fact that he can only open one side of his mouth, and then only about one centimetre?"

``No, not just that," Fazo responded with a laugh, flashing Ajan his big, warm smile.

``He's not so strange after all," Ajan muttered to her friend. ``He reminds me of a little baby with that innocent little smile of his." She eagerly waited for his explanation.

``You see, he keeps repeating `Shall we say.' There he goes again. I'm counting the number of times he does it. Look he's up to thirty-three in about half-an-hour!"

Soon, Ajan got caught up in this clinical record-keeping. The speaker would intersperse the expression `shall we say' into every sentence, sometimes twice. He would say something like ``The sum of five and four is, shall we say, nine," at which point two muffled chuckles could be heard, that is if anyone else was awake to hear them. When he hit fifty-seven at the end of his one hour speech, the crowd wakened into a rowdy applause. As they left the room, Fazo told Ajan, ``Just be grateful he's not one of our counsellors."

``Yeah, otherwise we'd have to religiously go to class to see if he sets a new record," she replied. ``Bye, Fazo, look for me tomorrow at the orientation sessions, OK?"

``Bye!" Fazo smiled as he waved goodbye. Funny how first impressions can be overcome, he thought how provincial and dull he must have seemed to Ajan. He jerked his head when he heard someone utter ``shall we say" from across the room. Oh no, maybe I won't be able to shut this filter off and I'll need therapy, he chuckled to himself, again seeming very strange to the teary-eyed, grumpy people around him.

Back in his room, he shut the door and sat down on his bed. His arms folded behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. He was trying to attach names to faces, quite unsuccessfully. Discouraged, he thought that Central seemed to disturb him with its efficiency and pride. Never had he seen so many flags waving in the breeze or so many women dressed in business suits with tennis shoes. Images of home flashed through his mind. The open-air markets, the charming cobblestone streets of the old quarter, even the desolate expanses of snow-covered fields all made him value what he had left. None of this could be found in Central and yet, he could tell that he was unusually comfortable with its way of life, save these minor disturbances as he liked to think of them. Fazo wondered if the two nations were not so different after all.

Fazo had thought that he would be the new face on the block, the easily- identifiable, culturally illiterate foreigner from Habsentia studying at the Central Republic's finest school of diplomacy. Now, he saw himself caught between two worlds. He was neither here nor there. He did not want to become Central but he was not unprepared to live in the Central environment. He knew that it would become the new realm of existence for him, and with that thought he drifted into his dreamworld.

Fazo woke up the next day, foggy and confused. He had no idea where he was or even who he was. He saw a face on the pillow beside him and instinctively moved towards it. He gave the pillow a big squeeze then stopped realizing that no one was there. He sat up and peered around until he placed himself at 75 Influence Road. Fazo grumbled with disappointment as he pushed himself out of bed to the mirror. His left eye glued shut to his contact lens, Fazo looked at his morning face through his right eye. Unhappy with what he saw, he reached for the eye lubricant and spent a few minutes trying to actually drop a few drops into the small slit between the glued lid and his left eye. Finally, he succeeded as many tears ran down his cheeks. He braced himself, peered into the mirror again, and again he was disappointed. It was not as though he expected something better, but that he wished that he could wake up every morning looking his best. ``I should be grateful that no one was there," he said out loud looking at the empty bed and glancing at his face.

Vanity kicked in and Fazo found himself grooming in his usual way for about one hour, somehow expecting those extra fifteen minutes to make a difference. After all, it was a big day. On this day he was to meet more people than on probably any other day of his life, and, for better or for worse, they were all going to meet him. Impressions and appearances meant a lot to Fazo, only because he had seen them work both in his favour, and against him.

It seemed strange to him that regardless of where he might be, the rituals that he followed every morning would not change. Was it by rote or was it that at that time in the morning his brain could not conceive of new ways of getting ready for the day's events? Luckily, he was not designated to share a room for the first few days of the orientation session. It gave Fazo time to collect his thoughts and rest his mind for an extra hour or two. It had its drawbacks, though, Fazo knew. On any given day, his first words could be to anyone, the janitor in the hall, the wrong-number on the phone, or even to the pretty girl who bumped into him in front of his apartment. He was always afraid that his voice would crack or that it would stumble, making it sound like he was fourteen. He had devised a way of avoiding this potential embarrassment by speaking to himself in his full voice in the morning. Eventually, talking to himself became a habit so he switched to singing in the shower.

Today, Fazo did not have a tune in his head, nor did he have a conversation with himself over which shirt looked best. He had said some things to his pillow, undoubtedly in his sleep, but he hadn't properly tested his voice. He thought back on days past and dreamt of those simpler days when he knew exactly whom he would be speaking to first, every morning. After images of times past faded, he pushed himself out of his door and into the elevator. When he stepped inside, a woman already in the elevator politely asked Fazo, ``What floor?"

``Oh, ground floor, please." Fazo had passed the test with flying colours. Fazo hated the awkward silence in elevators and preferred to make conversation with his fellow passengers, especially women. After engaging in some small talk on the elevator, he said goodbye to the young woman and walked assuredly towards his registration post. To his left and to his right, he only saw the women in the crowd. Finally, reality set in and he realized what he was there for. He took the perma- smile off his face and registered in a business-like manner. He picked up his messages and before looking at them guessed that he had received three messages from Habsentia. When he looked inside, he found four, three from the firm and one from his good friend Laigo. Fazo made his way to a phone and called the firm to check in. He then unfolded the note from Laigo. It read, ``I'll be coming in two weeks. Call and tell me about the place. See ya, Laigo." Fazo was looking forward to his arrival. Fazo's thoughts drifted back to the day they received their letters of acceptance from Thought School. He remembered the excitement, the celebration, and the morning after.

Feeling a little lonely, Fazo looked around the room to see if he could find someone he recognized. All he saw, though, were rows of unfamiliar faces.

``Hi!" a voice said suddenly.

A short man in front of him was addressing him. He was well dressed, maybe not fashionably, but one could tell that his suit was tailored. He had a large pudgy face and big, bright eyes that were welcoming and friendly. Fazo smiled back and warmly shook his hand, ``Hi, I'm Fazo from Habsentia. Where are you from?"

``I'm Jack. From the Central Republic. Didn't travel more than forty miles to get here. Are you curious about your first assignment? I hear that it is the most important in terms of making contacts and associates. Do you know which case you'll rank number one?" Jack sounded as though he already had some sort of deadline to meet.

``I had no idea we were ranking our assignments?" Fazo face twitched nervously.

``Yeah, sure! You didn't get the Assignment Register? It is a great way to find out about the different cases available at the School. You'd better find a choice because if you don't, you might get stuck with embryology."

They both laughed as they remembered the previous day's lecturer. ``Thanks a lot, Jack, I'll look at that right away. I prefer non-monetary cases, you know the type to do with people's interests." Fazo could see dollar signs flash in Jack's eyes.

``You know, there aren't too many of those and there are even fewer people who want them. That's great, you should find something pretty easily. Everyone here seems to think that the big bucks are involved in the cases where salaries or contracts are involved," Jack reassured Fazo. ``I'm just looking for something that isn't too tough. I didn't really know what to expect when I got here. I'm really glad the way things are working out."

``Well, let me look at the Register. Thanks a bundle, Jack, by the way, what did you choose?"

``I'll let you decide first before I tell you. Wouldn't want to be responsible for getting you into something you hate! But if you want to know, it's on page 53." Jack pointed with his eyes to the Register.

Fazo turned to the appropriate page and read the description. The case dealt with arbitration issues in corporate law. It had something to do with settling patent disputes that were on the order of millions of dollars. It didn't excite him, but he thought better of showing his disapproval. He looked over at page 52 and found an assignment which pleased him. His eyes opened wide and his lips parted slightly.

``So you like it too! That's great! We might get placed together," Jack's words were dripping with enthusiasm.

``I'd really love that, but I was looking at what's on page 52. It's a case about-" and Fazo was stopped short by the megaphone announcing the postings. They said goodbye and hurried off towards their respective stations. Before they left, Jack shoved a piece of paper into Fazo's hand. ``Call me at 678-1876, Jack Paul Lindrom," it said. The card was not original. These notes had been printed just for occasions like these. Fazo thought it very strange, but did not think any less of Jack. He seemed strangely familiar to Fazo, maybe because he reminded him of Laigo. This association made Fazo feel very comfortable with Jack, so much so that he passed along his number and asked him to call him for dinner some time soon. Fazo looked into the sun and spotted his section. He moved closer and noticed that everyone was waiting in line to talk with one of the counsellor's one on one.

Waiting in line for his turn to come, Fazo swayed from side to side carefully observing his watch. As the wind blew furiously, swirling people's papers and rustling the leaves, Fazo started watching a small feather fluttering in the wind. The feather floated down just passing by Fazo's nose and just as he thought the feather would fall quietly to the ground, it gained a new life via a husky gust of wind that blew tufts of hair out of place. The feather rose higher and higher towards Ajan, upon whom it finally settled. Light as the feather was, she could not notice the feather sitting directly on top of her head. The man with whom she was talking, chuckled as he saw the white feather on her dark brown hair. She quickly took out a compact and started to look at her face in its tiny mirror. Not seeing anything wrong she grew more and more nervous. Finally, the man told her about the feather which instantly flew off her head into the air.

Fazo looked at the feather which was now just floating in the air, somehow defying gravity just rotating about itself at exactly the same height. Next it floated in front of a chubby man. He was talking to a man who seemed to be preoccupied with his Case Register. Suddenly, as the chubby man drew a deep breath of air, the feather floated into his mouth and most likely, down his throat. The man began to choke and cough until he finally swallowed, ingesting the little feather that Fazo had grown so accustomed to watching. The poor man excused himself from the line to drink some water and when he returned, he was as quiet as a mouse.

``What's wrong? Are you alright?" the other man asked.

``I'm fine. I just don't want to open my mouth. My mother always told me that I talked too much." He shut his mouth firmly and didn't say another word for a long while.

``Fazo, Fazo Mandluk?" a voice called. Fazo turned around and saw a bright-eyed young man of about thirty looking straight at him. Fazo knew that it had come time to register and yet he had little idea of what he had to do. He sat down across from the official at the small table. The wind blew the man's tie over his shoulder and he casually pushed it back in place. ``Are you Mr. Mandluk?" he asked.

``Please, call me Fazo."

``Thanks very much, Fazo. I'm Pierre. I see that you've been placed in the Red building. How do you like it there?" the man asked.

``It's very comfortable, thank you."

``No, I mean, how do you find the atmosphere, the people. It does have a reputation for being one of the friendliest houses on the compound," Pierre explained.

Fazo, a little embarrassed, looked back at the man and said sheepishly, ``Well, I haven't had a chance to meet too many of the people in Red." He turned away from Pierre for an instant and then looked back at him again apologetically.

``There is no need to feel bad, it isn't a test you know. You see we just want to make you more comfortable. There are a greater percentage of people from the Republics at Red than at any other building. People from other countries tend to be better integrated into the system if they stay at Red. It is typical of the Central lifestyle. Are you from Adnasia?" He looked at Fazo with an inquisitive smirk.

``No, I'm from Habsentia, but I am originally from Adnasia. I have been working at a consulting firm in Habsentia for the past year."

``So, you are twenty-two?" he asked.

``No, twenty-one; although most people think I'm about eighteen."

Disregarding Fazo's comment, Pierre proceeded with some small talk, ``It seems like we'll have another scorcher today. Everyday it seems to get warmer and warmer, even though it's Fall," he said as he looked into the sky.

``Sure doesn't seem like Fall. Anyhow, when is the deadline for choosing a case?" Fazo asked impatiently.

``Don't worry, you really don't have to choose a case. You just have to indicate your preference as to which school you want for the first term. I'm sure that you're aware of the way things work here, Fazo."

``Actually, I thought I was, but I've been hearing a lot of rumours lately and-"

``Don't worry, I'll clarify it all for you." With those words, he began outlining the history of the school. ``The School of Thought was founded in 1967 by a man named Fulton. He thought it imperative that today's leaders have formal instruction in the art of persuasion. His founding philosophy has grown into what is now considered the foremost institution of higher learning in this incredibly new field of Influence. At the School, we don't teach people how to manipulate, rather, we instruct them on how to better get their point across, or to better sway an audience towards one side of an argument. Thought School incorporates the best aspects of law school, business school, and a school of government. It is also firmly grounded in the ideal that the best way to prepare young professionals for the challenges they will face in the future is to throw them into real situations where they will tune and hone their persuasive skills."

Fazo was paying close attention, so that if anyone from Habsentia should ask him ``So what is it that you do at the School of Thought?" he could answer. The man spoke with a Central accent and was impeccably dressed in a dark Kitsilano suit. He could see the enthusiasm and interest in Fazo's eyes and spoke with even greater conviction.

``You see Fazo, we don't make manipulators here. We just teach people to better influence others and to bring these skills back into their own field of work. We could have made this place a factory for lobbyists, but Fulton's directive was more broad and socially conscious than what industry wanted."

The School of Thought was something of a Leadership School: a forum for potential leaders to develop their leadership skills and their tolerance for other people's ideas. The program emphasized the ability to listen to other people's requests and demands. They also wanted to develop the student's argumentative skills. It was crucial to them that the student be able to sustain an argument in the midst of a heated debate, even when the focus of the opposition's attack was not on the issue.

Fazo looked around at the other registration desks, again surprised that it was all held outdoors. He rocked back and forth on his metal chair until he almost tipped over. When he tuned back in, he heard Pierre describe the divisions within the School. The School of Thought was set up as a set of four schools or faculties. They were the faculties of Arbitration, Ethics, Diplomacy, and Promotion. In the School of Arbitration, the students learned how to deal with the third party situation. When two opposing sides were facing off in a conflict, the arbitrator must have the ability to listen to both sides, filter the relevant data from the lobbying and spin, study the implications of every decision, and implement a fair negotiating agenda. It was a very popular School, primarily because its applications were endless and its case work was deemed to be challenging and fun.

The School of Ethics was intended to help students explore the touchy areas of developing an argument on moral or ethical grounds. It tried to develop the student's moral code and suggested new ways of resolving ethical dilemmas. The students involved in this faculty were usually attracted to it for its high profile and its remarkably interesting and philosophical cases.

Fazo dropped his pencil which Pierre politely picked up for him. He smiled at Fazo as he gave it back to him. Pierre continued, ``The School of Diplomacy is concerned less with selling ideas, but with selling one's self. The art of making contacts, friends, and liaisons with different societies is at the root of the school's teachings. This is why the cases are so critical to this school. Only through practical experience could such expertise be learned. You know, the art of diplomacy is fundamental to the progress of the world as a whole."

Fazo did not quite catch on to the importance of diplomacy, as Pierre had sold it. Still, he tried to keep himself looking interested. He was distracted by the smell of a faraway barbeque and wet his lips with anticipation for dinner. He could see two jugglers clowning around behind Pierre's back and over to his left, he noticed Jack talking to a friend about some newspaper article they were reading. He shifted his attention back to Pierre. The School of Promotion was not exclusively based on the notions of selling the public an idea, a product, or a service. It was focused on the broad area of influence. It intended to teach the student how to influence other people's decisions in their favour. In some sense, the School of Thought was largely a school of Influence. It may be that Fulton's primary vision for Thought School was to have it teach in the School of Promotion exclusively. The administration thought it essential that the realm of teachings at Thought School encompassed all four faculties.

Fazo was by this time overloaded with information and questions about the School. He could not instantly recall any one particular question, nor could he definitively say that he understood everything that he had been told. Still, he felt satisfied with the counsellor's explanation, ``Thanks very much for your time and effort. I always appreciate it when someone takes the time to properly introduce me to a new setting, especially one of such great importance."

``Yes, it's true, you will be spending a great deal of time here," Pierre said loudly. He then added in a subdued voice, ``Or, wherever your cases may take you. We think that it is invaluable to the students to hear first hand about what we do here."

``I agree," Fazo remarked. He then wiped his tired eyes and looked back at the well-dressed man.

``Well, that's all for today, Fazo. I will be assigned to you and to all these other students so feel free to ask me any questions at all, at any time. We will be meeting back here at 6 p.m. for a question and answer session. Have a nice dinner!"

``Thank you, Pierre. Until later then." Fazo walked away slowly, trying to recall everything that Pierre had said. Just then he bumped into a woman, literally shaking the hat off her head. ``Oh, excuse me," Fazo apologized. He then fixed his eyes on the woman's hair which fell gently to her side after the hat had been knocked away. It was shining brilliantly in the soft afternoon sun, quite unlike anything Fazo had ever seen before; or so Fazo thought, obviously taken by its beauty.

``Fazo!" the girl shouted with glee. Shaken by the sound of his name, Fazo looked up to see Ajan's big smile. He saw her in a different light, again literally, but he also buffered his admiration because he felt an unusual sense of comfort in Ajan's presence. To Fazo, it was a strange brew of eros and sibling love, a combination which obviously did not sit well together. Fazo broke his awkward silence by replacing the hat on Ajan's head, taking care to properly push her hair into a prominent position.

``There, that's better. Ajan, how are you? I have been looking for your metre long smile all day!"

``I've been here and there, no time to talk right now, I want to show you something and it starts at three, we'd better run." And with those words, Ajan grabbed Fazo by the arm and dragged him through the dense crowd towards a green circus tent in the distance.

Without stopping for a breath of air, Ajan lead Fazo through the jumbled mess of people, dodging obstacles left and right and whispering ``Excuse me" to all those who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ajan's idea of a good time was just like anyone else's, just accelerated to three times the speed. She walked like she wanted to have fun. She never looked anxious or bored, just eager and happy. Neither rain nor Fazo could slow her down this day. As time went by, she grew more and more eager to get to their mysterious destination.

``There, we're through the crowd," Ajan told Fazo after they reached the clearing. Before them stood a wide open field, obviously intended for sports. ``Come on, we have to get over there," she said pointing to the tent. ``I'll race you!" and with those words she streaked away at a tremendous speed, taunting Fazo to catch her. He was a little bemused at first but faced with a race, his instincts took over and he sprinted off towards the tent. Ajan ran quickly for a woman, quickly for a man as well. Still, Fazo finally overtook her. He then slowed up and looked back at her so as to make it seem that he wasn't exerting much of an effort even though he had been running at full tilt.

``Another wait," he grumbled, seeing the line outside the tent.

``Don't worry, it'll be worth it!" Ajan explained. ``There's a comedian, you know a stand-up doing an act inside. I heard that he's really funny."

``Great, I love comedy," He really did. Even if he hadn't, Fazo was the type to say that he liked something if it would mean prolonging his time with someone. Still, Fazo was very fond of stand-up probably because he himself had always wished that he could do it one day. Deep down he knew that he wasn't funny enough, so he let that dream remain just that, a dream. While looking for a seat, they walked along the aisleway near the stage. Out of nowhere, a mime appeared and started imitating Ajan's masculine and eager walk. She could not see the mime behind her back. She stopped and peered into the audience which had burst into laughter. ``What?!" she said in a loud voice with a big smile. The mime copied her to a fault. She turned around quickly. The mime was just able to scoot around behind her. She saw his striped shirt and suspected what was going on. Instead of being self-conscious, Ajan relished the attention on the stage and played along. She made deliberate, easily- imitated movements for the mime to copy. He did so dutifully. She whirled around as though on cue and so did the mime. She walked with her hands glued to her sides, and so did the mime. Finally, she faked and whirled around to meet the mime face-to-face. The mime was startled to see her big, smiling face two inches from his. She laughed and the crowd roared with approval. The mime bowed dramatically, Ajan just laughed and took her seat beside Fazo.

Fazo had been enjoying the show that the duo had put on, but did not want to become a part of it so he hurriedly found a seat. Slightly embarrassed but mostly in awe over Ajan's natural appeal, Fazo applauded and cheered them on. When she finally did sit down, he said to her, ``That was hilarious. Did you practice with the mime, then run over to get me so that I could see!"

``No, it wasn't planned! Really!" she smiled. Her eyes sparkled as she looked deeper into Fazo's eyes. Fazo caught a glimpse of this sparkle but acted as though he hadn't seen a thing. ``You were really funny. I doubt the comedian can match up to you," he complimented her. She graciously thanked him as she sat back to watch the show. Although Fazo knew that she had shown a sign of interest in him, he could not catch her leaning to his side or even glancing over at him during the show. He concluded that he really hadn't seen anything at all. Ajan, he suspected, knew very well that Fazo was watching her every move. Fazo could tell that she was fairly shy when it came to men. Instead, she acted casually and platonically, as though she wasn't in the least interested even though she was. Fazo got the impression that even if she were interested, she may not even acknowledge it to herself. She might deny her thoughts and prevent herself from wondering 'What if?'

They both enjoyed the show which was very much targeted for them. The comedian went to great lengths to milk the international flavour of the audience and to poke fun at their collective talent for persuasion. ``I had this nightmare last night," the comedian said, ``that after the show, I'd come out into the audience and ask some of you what you thought of the show. Then, you would each convince me that no one really enjoyed the show and that you were all laughing at my open fly, and not at my jokes. And the way I hear you guys convince people, I'm sure I'd believe you." The joke went over well with the audience and one member even heckled,

``Your jokes are funny but now that you mention it, your fly is open." The crowd stirred again in a fit of laughter, Ajan leading the pack with her loud laughter. Usually Fazo would find feminine giggling to be annoying to a fault, however Ajan's laugh was hearty and warm and made everyone else want to laugh along with her.

``Come to think of it," Fazo told her, ``he isn't that funny, it's just that when you laugh, everyone else wants to laugh right along with you."

``Hmmm. I'm more influential than I thought!" she exclaimed.

They left the tent and scurried back to the compound just in time for a Wednesday Night Social, a weekly function held by the international students on campus. They talked with many people, introducing themselves and discussing ideas about their cases, their travels and their hobbies.

A week later, at this same social group, Fazo started chatting with some of the people he met at the last meeting. Fazo liked talking about Habsentia, but he liked hearing about other places even more. He spent two hours just listening to stories about remote lands, trying to pick up on the particular passion of the country or republic.

``So we started out on the West Coast of the Republics," Fazo listened in to a young man's description of his travels. ``And we drove, oh, I don't know, it seemed like weeks, 'til we got to a small little place in a northern republic, Fignotia, I think. We stayed six days, mountain climbing and stuff until we hitched up with these women who were heading up to Habsentia. We drove for sixteen hours just to get to some small mining town in Western Habsentia. It was so boring that we just picked up, drove across the border and all the way to the East Coast. We stopped at the Beaches and did some surfing and headed up here just in time to register!"

Fazo turned his head and heard some people talking about Adnasia. ``Yeah, it's a long trip from Lopa to Lacuria, but at least they're on the same continent! Travelling across Adnasia last year I stayed to three countries: Rumesia, Katuria, and Pulzea. I just wanted to get back home to Lacuria!"

``So, what's the Lacurian passion?" Fazo asked the tall, blonde man.

``Our passion? Lacurians have this fascination with perfection, but unlike the Pulzeans, we try to make it seem like we didn't try hard. In Pulzea, you will hear people boasting of how many man-years it took them to develop their new car or process, whereas in Lacuria, we strive for perfectionism, without making it seem like we tried too hard."

``I think in my Republic," a student from Fignotia added, ``we take pride in not trying too hard at all. Perfectionism is only accomplished in Fignotia by perfecting the art of doing nothing. Fignotians don't like to do anything, if they could help it. I guess that's why I'm here, I want to be able to convince Fignotians to get up and do something, anything, even if it is just finding another couch to lay down on!" The students smiled as each of them reacted to the possibility of doing absolutely nothing for long periods of time.

The Pulzeans and the Lacurians seemed very uncomfortable about this idea, whereas most of the Adnasians were nodding along, thinking, ``Wow, Fignotia is a great place!"

Fazo was not excluded, he too dreamt of one of his earlier summers when he remembered doing exactly what he wanted, twenty-four hours a day. He remembered waking up at noon, eating breakfast while spending hours reading the newspaper. Taking his time getting himself groomed, he would amble through the ``rigours" of the morning. Once he was ready, he would watch his favourite cartoon and wait for his mother to arrive home for lunch. They would talk and chat about stuff which was between something and nothing. She would leave and he would spend the rest of the afternoon choosing between popular diversions. He wrote poetry, letters, and essays when he really felt intellectual. Some days though, his laziness would reach new depths and he would do nothing but sit in front of the television watching reruns of syndicated Central shows. He never let his boredom overcome him, although it was always creeping in on him. By the end of the afternoon, he would be rested and ready for an exciting evening of a pleasure of his choice. Some nights it was dancing, other nights sports, but more often than not it involved close friends.

Fazo woke from his reminiscing to hear a man named Clyde speaking of his childhood in, of all places, Habsentia!

``What part of the country are you from?" he asked.

``The West, and you...Sorry, I didn't catch your name..." Clyde asked politely.

``I'm from Fireas." Fazo looked at Clyde and started to tell himself, yeah, he looks Habsentian when a few moments before he would never have guessed. The rest of the crowd was silent, waiting for the two to start a conversation about their country, but neither spoke. Habsentians found themselves to be rather uninteresting and were far more curious about other places. If Clyde were from Fireas, Fazo would surely be asking him what school he went to and what clubs he frequented; but, being from the West, Fazo thought that they had nothing in common except probably their love for loki and their pride in not being Centrals.

Finally, Clyde spoke up, ``You play loki?"

``Yeah, I love it. Do you want to play some time?"

``Sure," Clyde answered, somehow giving the rest of the crowd the indication that it was alright to continue the conversation. They all started to discuss their favourite sports.

``Is that all you people do in Habsentia?" asked an ex-football star from a Central college. ``Do you just play loki, drink beer and pretend to be Central? I mean, you're just another republic!"

``We value what we have," Fazo said quietly. "I mean our culture is different from yours. We're more tolerant and permissive. We don't pretend that multiculturalism means melting in," Fazo said quietly.

``It's crazy. All you people do is pretend that you're different, but you're really not." He chuckled as he hit his friend on his shoulder.

Fazo continued, ``We're more sparse, more calm, less aggressive..."

``Damn right you aren't aggressive!" the friend interrupted. ``You're so insignificant in international affairs. You mean nothing," he sneered.

Fazo felt small and chose not to rebut, ``Anything you say," Fazo said sarcastically. He felt tired and decided to give Ajan a call. He had seen her every day for the past week and missed her at the social. ``Hi, Ajan! You're in!" he said with surprise.

``Hi, Faz!" she yelled into the receiver. ``Whatcha doin'?" she sounded unusually perky.

``Not much. Mind if I pay you a visit?"

``I'm waiting! I got something special I've been wanting to try."

``What?"

``You'll see!" she teased him. ``See you soon."

Fazo rushed over in earnest and flung the door wide open. He looked at Ajan who was precariously balancing on a stool reaching for a bottle that perched on the top shelf of her bookcase. ``You'd think you'd been here for months. Everything's so set up!"

``I sure feel like I have!" she said. ``There, got it!" She stepped out of the air and floated to the ground with a mischievous smile on her face and a bottle of Irish cream liqueur in her hand. They sat down and chatted and began drinking. After about two Cds, Ajan was getting a little tipsy. She started flirting with Fazo, putting her arm around him and kicking his shoes off. It certainly went beyond the simple remarks that he had come to expect from her. Although he felt like reciprocating, he was impeded by an archaic sense of impropriety. Incapable of shaking it, he reluctantly pushed her away, and started talking about a secret from his childhood.

``I was nine years old, when it happened..."

``What?" she smiled as she put her hand on his knee. He picked it up and took it in his own hand.

``I was playing with some friends in art class."

``You were playing in art class? What were you doing, throwing paint at each other?"

``Actually, worse. We were cutting out pictures from magazines to make a collage. We had our little scissors, our pencils, our rulers and our Xacto knives all laid out. One of my friends took the picture I really liked and scribbled all over it with a marker."

"What'd'you do?" She was slurring her words and she reached for her glass. Fazo let her have another sip and moved his head towards her lips. He could smell the Irish cream on her breath. Her eyes closed, her lips parted and he moved closer still. Guilt overcame him. Moving back, he continued with his story.

``I got mad at him and pushed him. He was sitting across the table from me. When I reached over, I accidentally spilt an ink bottle all over his collage."

``Accidentally?" she said as she put his hand on her thigh.

``Yes, accidentally! He then picked up a pencil and threw it at me. In retaliation, I picked up something from my side of the table and threw it at him. Suddenly, someone screamed. I looked up and saw a Xacto knife, my Xacto knife, sticking out of this boy's chest! I thought I had picked up my pencil, but I guess they felt the same. He calmly looked down at his white smock now stained with blue ink and red blood. He pulled the knife out of his chest and they booked me for manslaughter!"

``He died?"

``No, it was just a surface wound."

``So you got an assault charge?"

``Fortunately, the judge suspended my sentence." Fazo could not hold the smile from his face.

``Fortunate. Otherwise, you might not be here..." Ajan's inviting eyes left Fazo speechless. He never forgot that look on her face and hoped that he would see it again under different circumstances. His morals held his impulses hostage and the evening ended without a spark.

Still a bit hungover, Ajan looked around, searching for Fazo. The weather had turned colder in the last week, still the glorious greenery around the compound was like nothing she had ever seen. Where she came from, the trees were brittle yet capable of enduring many harsh months in the arid climate. The trees here were lush, their leaves moist and green with the humidity. Sounds of birds and squirrels offset the gentle, wave-like sounds of the wind playing in the trees as though they were reeds. Ajan could not imagine that these trees could be bare.

Weary of cocking her neck to look at the trees, she relaxed in the shade of a giant oak facing the field. She began reading about all the activities available to the new students. She eagerly started filling in the response forms for almost every activity until she realized that she could never be able to try everything in the span of the four weeks of orientation. As she looked out onto the field she saw no one. The green circus tent had been removed, the compound was quiet. All this made Ajan feel low.

At that moment, she felt that someone was watching her. She looked up and saw a man with a prominent chin, thick eyelashes, and hazel eyes. His build matched his face. He was about six feet one and obviously in shape. His khaki trousers were rolled up just enough so that Ajan could see that he was not wearing socks.

``Hi," he said to Ajan who by this time had examined him head to toe, trying to find a fault.

``Hi," she sighed. ``Seems like they'll never get things started here..."

``Why, are you in a rush?"

``No, no. I just, well, no, not at all." Had she given him the impression that she was the hurrying type? She tried hard to make it seem otherwise. ``If you could have the chance to sit under any tree here and read or listen to music for the whole day, which one would it be?" Ajan worried that the question may be too aesthetic, but he smiled as he peered out into the distance.

``The willow. Without a doubt," he said, pointed to the inviting weeping willow in the corner of the courtyard.

``Yeah, me too. What would you be reading?"

``Something modern. Maybe a play about nothing. I love to laugh at everyone rushing about for nothing."

``Hmmmm," Ajan gazed at him for some time until he turned his head and their eyes met. She bent down to pick up a dandelion. While pulling out its petals, she asked, ``What would you be listening to?"

``Bachtung. Anything and everything he ever composed."

``Oh, you like classical. What about modern music?"

``I like new music but, really, if you were sitting under that tree, reading a book and enjoying nature, would you want to hear Meat Beat Manifesto in the background? I'll leave that for the clubs. On a lazy afternoon, nothing can beat classical."

``Would you be alone?" she ventured in a quiet, sweet voice.

``Well, that depends." He glanced over at her and caught her eyes. They looked at each other for ten seconds until Pierre yelled out.

``All right, people, gather around." At this point, the young man put his hand out to Ajan to help her up. She grabbed it tightly and sprung up like a trapezist. She did not want to let go off his large, strong hands but he stopped applying pressure so as to show that he wanted her to let go. She complied grudgingly.

``Oh, by the way, I'm Patrick. I'm from Carvel, a small town in Betalthia on the West Coast of the Republics."

``I'm Ajan."

``How do you spell that?"

``Ahhh, like what the doctor makes you say and jun, sounds like gun. A-J-A-N!" She didn't realize that she had acted her name out for him.

``You'd make a great charades player, Ajan. Have you met Winchester? He and I and some other friends in Green might play some time tonight. Are you interested?"

``Sure, where?"

``Fifth floor lounge, around 1 a.m. Sorry it's so late, we're still on West Coast time."

Ajan was not used to staying up so late but considering the West Coast was so far away, she understood. ``I'll be there," she said. ``Say, where are you going?"

``Oh, I'm not with Pierre, I'm with that group, over there..." Patrick said as he walked back to his group which had already started its discussion. At this point, Fazo tapped her on her waist.

``Hi, just made it didn't I?" he said with a smile.

``Oh, Fazo, I'm in love," Ajan said dreamily. At once, Fazo knew it wasn't he of whom she was speaking. Mixed feelings swept over him. Disappointment and relief are hardly ever found together, but Fazo felt both.

``That's wonderful! Who's the lucky guy?" He tried to sound truly happy for her, but there was a tinge of disappointment and an edge of mockery in his voice.

``We'll talk more later. Let's listen to Pierre." They took their seats. Fazo didn't hear much of what Pierre was saying. Luckily for him, he had heard it all before. Instead, he was thinking of Ajan. How could she have fallen in love? I just saw her yesterday! What could have happened in one day. She must be exaggerating. He tried to analyze his feelings. Even if it were real, it would be adolescent, immature, even insensitive of him not to be happy for Ajan. At the age of twenty-one, he did not need to be reminded of the pitfalls of his teenage years. He had grown more solid, more resilient; he would not let himself get hurt by a woman's lack of interest.

Still, it had been a long time since he had met someone as refreshingly different as her. When he thought about Ajan's ``love", he realized that her being in love would not have to detract from their friendship. He would be equally happy, perhaps even happier, being her best friend rather than her significant other. After all, he was here to experience Thought School, and a love affair would just distract him.

Fifteen minutes into the discussion, Fazo tuned in to what Pierre was saying. His first case involved lobbying for a fisheries company. The assignment was in the School of Ethics. The assignment was to convince the Lacurian government that the fishing quotas that were being enforced in the Skillion Sea were far too stringent. He headed a study to verify the previous fish population study and met regularly with the Ministry of Fishing of the Lacurian government. Convinced that doubling the quotas would not deplete the beluga population, he submitted a report. Fazo looked at the crowd of students and noticed that a few of them were licking their lips.

An analyst told Pierre that the fishing process spewed dangerous chemicals into the ecosystem. For the next few months, he worked closely with the ministry's scientific team and finally came up with a process which was practically perfect. Later, he spoke with the research team studying the beluga population. The population was far more unstable than it had seemed. Raising the quota even slightly, they said, would possibly lead to the extinction of the species.

Pierre's voice spilled out onto anxious ears. ``When I heard this news, I was faced with a tough ethical dilemma. I could not inform the legislators of this new study and bring great dividends to the fishery or I could betray the company and tell the minister of the new findings."

``But, how would you be betraying the company if you prevented the quotas from being doubled. They would suffer too if the population went down to nothing," Ajan remarked, feeling no inhibition to interrupt Pierre's story.

``Well, the company would make a killing on the beluga that were remaining for at least ten years. Firms are short-sighted, Ajan. Money drives all. And, it was only a fifty-fifty chance that they'd die. I felt under personal pressure to please the company since their evaluation to Thought School would greatly influence my next assignment. A real Catch-22, huh?" Pierre asked the crowd. They all nodded and sighed, none of them really sure of what to do. ``I just couldn't knowingly turn my back on an environmental crime so I halted the legislation. Although the fishery was not pleased at first, they understood why I made my decision and gave me a favourable review. On the basis of that review, I was placed in three excellent cases for the remainder of my time in Thought School."

``Wow, that was great!" a girl exclaimed, impressed with the subtleties of the case. The whole audience thoroughly enjoyed the fish story and many began discussing enrolling for a case in the School of Ethics for their first assignment. When the crowd broke up into smaller groups, the discussion continued.

``Did you enjoy the story?" Pierre asked, looking primarily at Fazo.

``Yes, I did. I think you made the right decision, but it seems amazing that the fishery would let you off the hook." The crowd groaned, ``What?" Fazo asked, unaware of the pun.

``He's really something," Ajan's friend said, ``He can convince you to buy tires even if you don't have a car!"

``Hi, Ajan," a fellow turned to Fazo. ``Jack told me that you were interested in an Ethics case for your first assignment?"

``No, I'm Ajan, he's Fazo," Ajan chuckled.

``Oh, I'm sorry, it's just that Ajan sounds a little masculine and Fazo a little feminine, no?"

``No, I don't think so." Fazo said. "And yes, I am interested in an Ethics case. Why do you ask?"

``Well, then, why don't you come over and meet some of my co-workers. We're working in Betalthia on a very interesting case and we could use some bright, eager new students." The fellow led Fazo away from the crowd to a picnic table at which three other men were seated. Fazo motioned to Ajan that he'd see her at eight, as he walked away.

``Fazo, the name is Dokla. We here are excited about our project," began the most self-assured man of the lot. ``We are all happy in Betalthia because the assignment is challenging, but not too time-consuming. We are all in good standing with the firm and the Betalthian people are more than gracious hosts and hostesses." He smiled knowingly as he looked into Fazo's eyes.

``But what is the case about?" Fazo asked, impatient to hear what he was dragged away for.

``You see..." and he went on to explain the case in detail. The scenario was quite simple, there were two opposing factions in the Betalthian community. One faction, the Jungers, constituted 85 percent of the population. They were opposed to the Alsacians who made up the rest. The struggle for the control of the nation's lucrative computer chip industry was about to escalate into a trade war. Whereas the Jungers had the manpower, they lagged in technology and capital. The students were asked to interview each side and negotiate a compromise. Of the many skills required, knowledge of the manufacturing operations of a computer chip factory would be particularly helpful. Fazo had spent most of his time in the firm on a consulting job within just such a company. As a result, he had invaluable exposure to the intricacies of chip design and management of technology.

The Betalthian society was rich and warm. The people were easy-going and cloud was not in their vocabulary. It had few vices and was one of the most livable places in the world. Still, these conflicts threaten to push many Alsacians out into the other republics, and with them would go their money. In addition, there would be five or six students working together, divvying up the responsibilities as they see fit. To make things even better, Fazo's friend Jack had already accepted. The project was very appealing to Fazo. The work was not tremendously laborious, the pay was outstanding, and the society was, well, Betalthian.

``So what do you think?" another asked.

Fazo was very interested but held back on an immediate response. ``I suppose I could make use of the experience I have. Still, I can't make a decision just yet."

``You're experience would be invaluable to us," Dokla said suggestively. Fazo looked at the others who seemed eager to please him.

``I suppose so. And you say it's in Southern Betalthia?" Fazo asked. The group assured him that they had truly found paradise and Fazo began to taste the sweet smell of Betalthian air. After some time, a rapport started to form between them. By the end of the evening, Dokla's group of friends were agonizingly close to closing the deal. Still, Fazo did not commit. He knew that they'd be talking more and wanted to sleep on it.

``Thanks a lot, guys, I'll see you tomorrow," he said. He walked away with a spring in his step, all the while saying to himself, ``Wait until Ajan hears about this!" Then suddenly it dawned upon him that he was late once again.

He rang Ajan's buzzer only thirty-three minutes late.

``Oh, perfect timing, Fazo." Ajan was finishing putting her lipstick on. Fazo breathed a sigh of relief. ``I had enough time to defrost my refrigerator while I waited. Good thing, too: there was some old cheese stuck in a drawer."

Neither Ajan nor Fazo had any idea of what would be a good place to eat in the area. Both had been relying on the catered food which had been coming to their doorsteps in Red ever since they arrived ten days ago. Still, after asking a few elders, they found an expensive seafood restaurant near the ocean, just minutes from the Midtown Green. Fazo had noticed the park on his trips into the city. When they drove past it on the way to the restaurant, Fazo and Ajan saw a couple kissing under a streetlamp. The soft rain did not seem to deter them as they embraced each other passionately. Embarrassed, Fazo looked away.

The restaurant was what Fazo imagined as typical Coastal Central style. The tables were covered with a red-checkered cloth with dim, lantern lights and heavy cutlery. The walls were decorated with ship parts, lobster traps, and even harpoons. The hostess wore an old, pleated skirt made of overdyed cotton which made Fazo think of Adnasia.

As she seated them, Fazo noticed for the first time that Ajan was smartly dressed. The loose skirt she was wearing fell to her ankles and seemed to flow as she walked. Her hair fell perfectly on her shoulders and her makeup was impeccable.

``Will you stop examining me!" Ajan joked.

``Oh, sorry, you look great! I can't find anything wrong with you."

``Well, you wouldn't notice it anyway. Listen, I wanted to tell you about... I can't believe I forgot his name!"

``Oh yes, your mysterious love interest! Tell me is he tall, dark and Central? Or is that too standard for you?" he asked.

``He's the typical Western type. Casual to a `T', laid back and irresistibly charming."

``Sounds like you're head over heels," Fazo said with a whisper of a whimper.

She smirked and swallowed Fazo's reality pill. ``Not quite." The two of them talked for some time, almost completely ignoring the food in front of them.

He remembered the look Ajan had on her face the night before in her room. Back at the restaurant, that look was not there. Instead, she glanced at him amicably throughout the meal, her eyes straying to the mirror behind him. To alleviate his melancholy, he thought about the Betalthia offer. He told the story to Ajan.

She said with a frown, ``I thought you were above that, Fazo."

``What?"

``You could do better. It sounds like Dokla could really use your experience, if you know what I mean"

``So? That's good."

``You're worth a lot to them! You're a ringer. They don't really want you for you, they want you for what you can do."

``Sorry to spoil your fantasy, but, most people are that way. Marketability is important." He tapped the bill with his fingers.

``Is money that important to you?" she started to sound disgusted with Fazo. ``It won't be good for you. I mean, you already have a natural tan. You don't need all that sun. Put your mind to use instead of wasting it in Betalthia."

``I would not be wasting it!" He thought she might be jealous and turned away from her.

``Fine, take the job. Ninety-five percent of the cases here at Thought School are meaningless. The companies create imaginary positions in order to keep the students out of trouble. They give you a lot of power but don't let you use it. You'll have no effect. Anyone can decide a business case, Fazo."

He thought about what she said. ``Ninety-five percent!" he repeated. ``Why did you even bother coming here if you think it's just a load of bull?"

``For the five percent." She didn't say another word about it and yet the expression on her face was sufficient counsel.

After dinner, Fazo walked Ajan to the Green and wished her luck. By that time it was already midnight and she did not want to be even a minute late for charades. Fazo, meanwhile, wanted to get home and get some sleep. The day's hectic pace wore him out. They said goodbye quite coldly and indifferently walked away from each other. Fazo knew how much he valued her friendship and she his and finally let go of his jealousy, and dismissed the possibility of hers.

When Fazo returned to Red, he found a bunch of students discussing their cases in the lounge area on his floor. The crowd sat up late that night discussing politics and what they would view as an ideal society. Everyone present seemed to be very involved in the heated discussion. Still, none of them really cared one way or the other in the morning. It was as though they were arguing for the sake of argument. Little true conviction could be found in these men, just a lot of grandiose ideas and moral judgments; but they discussed their views passionately as though their personal happiness was at stake when in reality, they were all very happy and comfortable and under no personal threat. Put off by their apathy, Fazo thought that he didn't want to be like them. Tomorrow, he would start to look for the five percent.

In the next day's mail, Fazo found a letter from the firm. Specifically, it was from Angelica. He read it with anticipation.

Dear Fazo,

I have been having such a hard time getting things back to normal ever since you left. It is as though the peace and stability of this office went with you. We all miss your long jokes, your incredibly long lunches, and yes, we even miss your stupid comments. It has only been ten days but you must know that the first few days are always the hardest.

Listen to me, remember to take care of those things that I told you about! Get yourself a Central ID Card immediately! Also, get out more often so that you can tell us where the decent clubs are when we come to visit you. These days the Fireas Transit Authority workers are on strike so people are having a hard time getting to work with all the extra traffic on the road. Unfortunately, we hear of more and more people getting into bicycle accidents. This week, Marc was hit by a truck while biking to school. Do you remember Marc? He's Laigo's cousin. Anyhow, this eighteen-wheeler didn't see him crossing the road until the last minute. He slammed on his brakes and almost came to a complete stop just before he reached Marc. Almost. He was still moving at about 2 km/h but with the weight of the truck... well, you know momentum. Laigo was asked to prepare a eulogy, but he declined. He said they weren't close.

What else is new? I started my new course at the University yesterday. The program only lasts for a few months and is only two hours a day so it doesn't really infringe on my schedule. Actually, since you're gone, I'll have a little more time to do these things. Don't get me wrong, I'd be happier if you were here but we are all real proud of you, Fazo. We think that it is an excellent opportunity for you. The potential windfalls of your education are enormous. People will learn to respect your opinion. They'll seek your advice. You'll become a respected member of the community solely on the basis of your degree. That doesn't sound right, you see you deserve to be a respected member of the society, it's just that, well, you know that people tend to care about diplomas and positions...

I hope that you take full advantage of your situation and meet people from all over the world. It just seems so wonderful that after you're done, you'll have a register of people all across the world that we can stay with when we travel. (Notice the we!) Also, you should get a chance to travel while you're there, not only on your cases but in your spare time. Do you have any spare time? I guess not. Still airfares and bullet train fares are much cheaper from Central than from Habsentia, you should be able to get a ticket to go to any one of the Republics for under one hundred. Speaking about going to Central, I saw Laigo the other day. He's really excited about going to Thought School and he's looking forward to seeing you. He has this new girlfriend. I'm afraid the poor girl is going to be left by the wayside in ten days when he leaves. I'm sure she expects it. He's looking very good and as soon as he's finished with his work, he'll be on the next plane. He's worried that you'll be off on your first assignment before he arrives. Still, you'll see him eventually I'm sure.

Yesterday, I met this really interesting guy from Central. I told him about you. His name is Jodoum. He's got this cute smile and eyes to die for! I only spoke to him for a few hours but we're having lunch tomorrow and we'll probably go dancing Friday. He's a natural dancer. He actually thought of becoming a dancer when he was sixteen because he was so good. The best part is, he thinks I'm beautiful. Me! Can you believe it? He always says, ``People always told me that Habsentian women are beautiful, but I never expected someone like you. You're gorgeous and you're really interesting to talk to." He's such a doll; still, I'm not sending out wedding invitations just yet. If I learnt anything from these past few years, it's not to let myself get swept off my feet.

From the first day I heard about the School of Thought, I knew it was for you, Fazo. Remember that time when we were all kids and you asked me to go to the amusement park with you? I said no because I didn't like rollercoasters. You told me that there weren't any rollercoasters at this amusement park and then I told you that you were lying. I still remember how you convinced me to go, you said, ``Well, no, we won't see any rollercoasters there because we won't be looking for them." So we went. You won a big stuffed dog and you wouldn't give it to me. You insisted that it wouldn't get any love or attention in some corner of my room so you gave it away to that orphanage. Remember? Do you also remember whose idea that was? That prickly-eyed old lady that heard us arguing over the stuffed animal said to us, ``There are many children out there without parents who would love it." She said it quietly and meekly and as soon as she said it, she walked away with that funny little cane of hers. We both felt guilty and found the orphanage together. How old were we? About sixteen? Yeah, those were the days. And if I remember right, you finally convinced me to go onto the rollercoaster and I got sick and I never trusted you again. Well, at least not for a week or two. Regardless, I knew that you had a talent for convincing people to do things.

I remember telling you, ``Why do you always tell people to do things they don't want to do?"

You replied, ``No, I don't. I only convince people to do things that deep down inside they want to do, but are inhibited by fear." I believed you then, I guess I still believe you now, even though I know that sometimes you get carried away.

Well, Fazo, I just want to remind you that we all miss you, me especially and that I'll be thinking of you. I saw your mother the other day. I was surprised that she took the time to come back to Habsentia. Does she still own your old house or has she sold it?

I miss you. You never really notice how special something is until it's gone. I know it's corny, but have you ever known me to be original? Take care.

Love,

Angelica.

Fazo folded up the letter and put it away in his breast pocket. He looked at his watch, laced up his cleats and ran outside to join the others in a game of soccer. The letter left him emotionally charged. It seemed Angelica's letters always had this sort of effect on him. This one in particular had struck a special chord. He knew not if he was jealous or concerned or even alarmed by Jodoum. He had tried to be a best friend to Angelica but somehow, he knew that he wasn't quite right for the job. By some strange coincidence, Fazo had told Ajan about the stuffed animal story over Irish Cream on that special night. It had been years since the episode happened and yet, both he and Angelica still recalled it, and at exactly the same time.

Instead of allowing the letter to upset him, Fazo took it out on the soccer ball. He scored on a lucky play when his shot from the edge of the box ricocheted off a defenceman, past the goalkeeper. He was overjoyed because he had a bet with a friend. Since Fazo scored first, his friend was to buy him lunch. The lunch wasn't anything too fancy, just some fast food at the corner grille, still, the right to boast about his victory made the greasy hamburgers taste that much better.

At the end of the afternoon, Fazo was exhausted. The combination of seminars, orientation events, and sports had left him in search of water and a shady place to sleep. He wandered into town and found a spot in the Midtown Green. He knew of it as a spot for lovers but its original purpose was as a communal green area designated by the city. Here he sat and enjoyed the peaceful sounds of a baseball burying itself in a glove. He looked up and saw two boys throwing the leather ball between each other. Neither had to move far to catch the ball, they just stood in the sun, perfectly content to throw the ball back and forth. Occasionally, one of them would stop and tie his shoe, and the other would look around, staring at the clouds. Packets of giggling girls walked through the park with their shopping bags filled. The boys seemed not to notice the girls; they were too busy throwing the ball, watching the sun, doing nothing, to be concerned about anything.

Three other boys looking around for something to do. They finally found a young couple sitting in the grass, obviously too concerned with themselves to notice these seventeen year-olds staring at them. He figured that one of the boys asked the young man if he could borrow his frisbee. The young man passed them the disc and went back to admiring his girlfriend. What made them all the more interesting was that they barely said anything to each other; the girl just sat with her head back on the boy's leg staring into his eyes, and he into hers. Fazo never saw them kiss; they just looked into each other's eyes and smiled. It was as though they were communicating telepathically, with some sort of expressive facial language that Fazo could not decipher from a distance. Still, the image stayed with Fazo, not only for its ideal representation of young love, but also because of the minimalism in their actions. Their gazes were loaded with passion and meaning.

Soon Fazo felt a little guilty for staring at this couple and sat back himself to watch the sky. The clouds were flying through the sky, so strong was the breeze. A cloud which looked just like a mouse would pass overhead and it would be followed by a cloud resembling a cat. Then came a dog, and a sheep, until finally, Fazo lost consciousness altogether and fell into a deep sleep.

The world in the Green was oblivious of Fazo. The couple still stared at each other. It was now the boy's turn to rest his head on the girl's leg. The baseball fanatics still threw on, now venturing to make it a little tougher for the other to catch it. The swans still swam gracefully in the pond, once in a while fleeing from a mischievous toddler that would wade into the pond to try to catch them. Even the clouds kept passing by, although no one but Fazo could see them as farm animals.

The day was ideal, a perfect balance of clouds and sun and breeze. The air refreshed those exercising. The sun warmed those who were just lying about and the clouds would give some relief to the boy trying to spot the ball in the sky. The ever-present ocean salt permeated the air and left a distinct impression on the tourists from the arid republics who were not used to its scent. Even the seagulls and the squirrels seemed to be enjoying the glorious weather. The gulls raced against the wind and then swooped down to catch the bread that was being offered by a playful six year-old. The squirrels were much like the two ideal lovers, indifferent to the rest of the world, chasing each other through the trees and the grass.

Still Fazo slept, with an ethereal look on his face. Then, without notice, a frisbee came flying through the air to strike him square in the head. He awoke with a start and rubbed his aching head. Only when he spotted the frisbee did he remember where he was. He picked it up and saw the three boys staring guiltily at him, sans disc. Fazo eyed the furthest boy, the likely perpetrator of the crime, and hurled the disc in his direction. It floated through the air and landed precisely at the boy's feet. Too scared to even say a word, the boy picked up the frisbee and tossed it to his friend. Fazo, meanwhile, forgave the boys in his mind and continued to rub his head with his hand.

``Are you alright?" a voice called out to him.

``Well, I think so," Fazo said, still unable to see the speaker. He turned around and saw a young woman with a Coke in one hand and her shoes in the other, squinting at him.

``Do you want some ice?"

``No. I mean, yes, I mean, do you have any?"

``Sure, I do." The girl smiled. As she walked out of the sun, Fazo got a better view of his benefactress. She was very tall for a woman, probably taller than him. She wore a long cotton teeshirt and baggy cotton pants that ended above her ankles. Her eyes were as blue as the sky behind her, but her nose and mouth were somehow wrong. The nose was hooked, too big for her face. Her pale lips were thin and practically invisible. On the whole though, her merits overshadowed her flaws, and yet Fazo, still stunned, could not notice. She took the cover off her Coke cup and poured out the ice into a napkin. She then threw her shoes onto the grass near Fazo's book, knelt down and applied the ice carefully to Fazo's head. Running her fingers through Fazo's thick hair, she said, ``You're not cut."

``That's too bad, it's a five minute major if I was."

``That's funny," she laughed, obviously understanding the reference. ``Now, don't make me laugh any more or I might drop this ice down your shirt by mistake."

``That's just a disclaimer so that when you do it, you can blame me." At that instant, the ice slipped out of her hand down Fazo's shirt. It melted quickly as it slid down his back, leaving a trail of cold, wet skin. It actually felt good, still Fazo would not admit it. ``Ah!" he yelled in jest. ``I knew it. Do you always go around parks dumping ice down stranger's clothes?"

``I'm so sorry! I'll...do you want me to....if you want I could...I have a teeshirt in my bag if you don't want to wear your shirt. It's really nice your shirt. Where did you get it?"

``Lopa. And no, I'll be alright. There, now I forgot that my head hurts."

``That's great! Lopa, really, have you been there often?" she asked.

``No, just twice, once when I was a kid, and recently," he said.

``That's pretty far away. I never knew it was known for fashion."

``Not for women's clothing but definitely for men's. It's a real shopper's haven for men," he said.

``Problem is, there aren't too many men who like to shop," she interrupted.

Fazo objected, ``That's not true, I love to shop. No one likes to pay the bills afterwards but I know a lot of guys who love to buy things."

``You're the first. Do you like-"

``Listen, I really must be going," Fazo interrupted, anxious to get back to the compound to meet with Dokla.

``Oh, I understand," she sounded disappointed by Fazo's lack of enthusiasm. ``By the by, people call me Kirin, and you?"

``Fazo. I'm a new student at Thought School. Well, I'd better be getting back. It was nice meeting you, Kirin, bye." Fazo gave her arm a squeeze. His head was still quite sore and he didn't want to be late once again. He walked away and threw a glance back in Kirin's direction. She just stood and stared at Fazo, walking through the green as though she had nothing to do.

``I'll surprise him. There can't be too many Fazos at Thought School!" she said to herself.

And then, from behind her she heard a voice yell, ``Look out!" It was Fazo warning her about the infamous frisbee which was just about to strike her head. Kirin calmly snared the frisbee out of the air, and yelled back, ``Thanks!" She then threw the frisbee back towards the boys but a strong gust of wind took hold of it and carried it into the middle of the pond. Kirin walked away, laughing, not one bit remorseful for what she had done.

``Fazo!" Dokla cried, as Fazo walked through the door to his apartment.

``Hi, Dokla, how are you doing?" Fazo answered, noticing the lovely blonde woman sitting on a cane chair in the corner of the room. Her cotton dress revealed most of her legs. She was cradling a half full wine glass with both hands. She sat upright in the cane chair and seemed to be very attentive to everything that was going on around her.

``Fazo, I'd like you to meet Sandy, Sandy this is Fazo, he might be working with us next year in Betalthia," Dokla explained to Sandy, who got up and made her way over to Fazo.

``Pleasure to meet you. Would you like some wine? It's Chardonnay."

``No, thanks, I don't drink wine," Fazo responded. She refilled her own glass and made her way over to Dokla. She then slid an arm around Dokla's waist and leaned over slightly to give him a kiss. Tall and attractive, she looked incongruous with the short and plain Dokla. He seemed to take no notice of the kiss.

``Fazo, let me let you in on a few secrets about the School. Here, remember, what matters most is intentions, not just results. If you seem sincere and act as though you had everyone's interest in mind except your own, you'll do well. It's a strange situation but the people who try hardest to succeed, inevitably screw up." He let out a twisted laugh which made Fazo shiver. Then, as though nothing had happened, he regained his composure and continued, ``What is the one thing, the one word that you would use to best describe your perfect assignment?"

``Challenging," Fazo replied, a little more wary of Dokla. Dokla looked at him, perplexed. He paced around the room slowly and sipped some wine. He then motioned for Sandy to sit down which she did, this time adjusting her dress so that her legs were even more prominent than before.

Dokla then drew a deep breath and said, ``Wrong word, try again, Fazo."

What do you mean by a wrong word. That's what I want most? He thought it unwise to seem ungracious to his host. He was still interested in the Betalthia work. ``Well, I guess another word I could use is enjoyable."

Dokla's eyes lit up. He seemed to transform into the good-natured man Fazo had known before. ``There, that's a great word. You see one can be overly- challenged in an assignment. It may be infeasible to resolve under any situations. In that respect, challenging can be far from ideal. Enjoyable assignments are much better because, knowing you to be the conscientious student that you are, I'm certain that you will get enjoyment out of doing a good job. Also, you will enjoy working on a project which is interesting and fun, something which is not too heavy, and yet still has a philosophical appeal to it. Also, enjoyment can be measured on the basis of how interesting the after-hours time is passed. Working on an interesting project in the middle of nowhere can not be as enjoyable as working on an interesting project in a vibrant city where there are many things to do and friendly and interesting people to meet. Do you see what I'm saying?"

``Yes, you're saying that Betalthia is a far better place to spend a work term than any other place in the Register," Fazo said.

``And, not only is the place more interesting, but the job is also less stressful. And you'll still get recognition and praise for your work. Plus, you said it yourself, the negotiations between the two people is a fascinating assignment. A very people-oriented, culture-oriented assignment, perfect for people with a passion for living like you," Dokla said.

By this time, Fazo was growing tired of the sales pitch and needed to change the subject. He didn't know whether he should just give in or flat out refuse. No matter, something had to be done. ``Dokla, why don't we discuss this after dinner. You know what you've just said has really helped me clarify my decision. We'll talk more about it with Jack. By the way, where is Jack?"

``Jack, oh Jack is with one of Sandy's friend," Dokla said, winking at Fazo.

``Yes, she is showing him some of Central's more interesting sights." Sandy spoke as though her line had been rehearsed and she were under some sort of influence from Dokla. Regardless, Fazo was concerned with the eerie atmosphere of deception and with the steamy innuendos which seemed to weigh down the apartment. To make things worse, in came Jack with whom was presumably Sandy's friend. Unmistakably cut from the most endowed of genetic rocks, she wore her beauty remarkably well. Her hourglass silhouette left Fazo in awe. At this point Fazo realized that there was something wrong with this picture. Not to take anything away from Jack, Dokla or himself, Fazo knew that women as beautiful as these did not generally end up with guys like them.

``Are you girls from Betalthia?" Fazo asked.

``Yes, we are," Sandy's nameless friend replied.

``What do you do?" he asked.

``We work in the Ministry of External Affairs for the government. We take care of legal issues in trade between Betalthia and its major trading partners. It is an interesting job when you consider the sheer size of the exports," she continued.

``How did you meet Dokla?" Fazo turned to Sandy.

``Oh, we were at a meeting on legal issues. Dokla was there as an observer."

``I know what I was observing," Dokla said, laughing. His adolescent behaviour was starting to wear thin for Fazo.

``Well, anyway," Sandy continued, ``he asked me to dinner and I said yes. I had never met anyone as current as Dokla. He's very modern, ultra-modern as they say here in the Central Republic."

``Oh, that's great," Fazo added, much more relieved that the relationship seemed to be genuine. In fact, Fazo started to feel guilty that he had even thought that there was something unnatural about the whole situation. He did think that Dokla was very, very hip and that Jack was one of the funniest guys he had ever met.

They had dinner and conversed at length about the project, and with each passing minute, Fazo grew more and more attracted to the idea of spending six months in Betalthia. The case seemed fascinating to Fazo and, as an added bonus, he was assured of meeting many people of his own age. At one point, Fazo was so excited that he almost blurted out an emotional, ``I'll do it!" but somehow he felt restrained. Still, he had a fantastic time, and as he left, he thanked his hosts and hostesses graciously and walked back to his room on cloud nine.

Ajan knew perfectly well that the world had many problems that needed resolving. Still, her focus was on her friends, and, of course, her family. A contented smile permeated her face during sunshine and rain. In fact, the smile actually grew wider in the heaviest of rainfalls when she would run out into the grass and stomp around in the puddles.

Unlike Fazo, Ajan was confident and selfless, a veritable altruist. No measure was there for her loyalty to her family. Given the choice between pleasing her husband and pleasing her sister, the former would always lose out. She did not really believe in the institution of marriage per se. For her, the most important reason to be married, by far, was to have children. Her love for her children and the rest of her family would be far more strong than her love for her husband. She viewed this world in terms of family and blood; marriage and men meant little to her, except to help perpetuate herself.

She was not self-absorbed or a narcissist, for she was co- dependent on her friends and siblings. She took great pride and pleasure in helping others, yet somehow she always knew that she needed love in return. Not just love was important to her, but also, recognition. She needed to know that people regard her as the tireless and caring friend and daughter, who will always be there when needed. It was absolutely crucial that she could maintain this type of relationship with those people with whom she felt close.

Ajan was never satisfied with just a few good friends. Her main goal in life was to extend her circle of close friends, there was no limit. She didn't spread herself too thin; she made certain that she was there only when needed. In times of trouble, a friend of hers could rely on her support, but in fair weather, Ajan would be nowhere to be found, and unnecessary to the friend. Ajan was a little too comfortable with this perspective on friendship. The few friends who were aware of her ways, knew better than to become dependent on her. Remarkably, Ajan had already forged ties to a few dozen friends.

She spent a fair amount of time in groups, but she was less prominent, and needed the undivided attention of one of her friends. She rarely found herself on her own, except to study and to sleep. She needed to go out every evening. Anywhere really, a trip to a friend's apartment would be as valuable as a trip to the amusement park or to a symphony. Devoid of accompaniment, she could not thrive, nor could she be content.

Ajan found herself in a peculiar position at Thought School. For the first time in her life, she actually felt like devoting a large portion of her time to one individual, namely Patrick, the tall blonde whom she met while waiting for Fazo. She had been enjoying herself, she thought as much as she possibly could. She was meeting and interacting with dozens of people every day, and best of all, she was popular. The stage was set for her to play the social butterfly; instead she wanted to be a lovebird. She did not want to be apart from him, even though she did survive in his absence. Her phone would be constantly beeping with the sound of all her friends trying to interrupt her; still, she would talk to her sweetheart for hours on end, virtually ignoring the call-waiting. Her behaviour was rather adolescent, but she didn't mind since her own adolescence was not filled with similar experiences. She had never fallen in love, nor suffered from the insanity which accompanies it.

She appreciated it as a mind-altering drug which did no harm, only good, and made you feel immortal. No substance or set of friends could ever help Ajan reach this high, and she knew it. It was not an addiction for her, just a fascination, a wonderful experience that she didn't want to end, but, unfortunately, like all good things, her insanity was short-lived.

Ajan had been planning a trip to the Beaches for the upcoming weekend. She had some family with whom she could stay, and more importantly, her blonde hero would be only a few miles away on a fishing expedition. He had told her that it was crucial that she came to the Beaches this weekend, for he had something important to tell her. The word ``crucial" kept ringing in Ajan's head, as she tried to guess what it was that Patrick had to say to her.

Unfortunately for Ajan, her hopes were rising with every passing minute up to and until the day came for Ajan to leave for the Beaches. She closed up her bag and telephoned Fazo to say goodbye. Unfortunately, he was still not there, so she left a message. She took a cab to the train station and boarded the bullet an hour in advance, just so that she wouldn't be late. She fell asleep on the train and was awakened when the horn blew signalling the fact that they had reached their destination. She peered out of the window and saw the most lovely, sandy beaches that she had ever seen. Suddenly she saw him. She leaped off the train into Patrick's arms and gave him a long kiss. He was surprised but not complaining as he held her in one arm and her bags in the other as he walked to the car. They drove along twenty miles of the most pittoresque coastline that she had ever seen, stopping twice for photographs. When they finally reached his cabin, Ajan could see a small dalmatian running wildly about the car, jumping at the windows, trying to lick his master.

Ajan got out of the car and carried a small bag of hers to the gate. The low picket fence seemed out of place on this rugged coast. The house itself was nothing more than a small log cabin, built amongst the sea rocks. She thought it impossible that Patrick, who was as tall as a Christmas tree, could survive in this hovel. One side opened out onto the majestic ocean, while the other faced the deep dark forest which lay a few hundred metres behind the cabin. Ajan could barely see the neighbours' cottage in the distance, but she could tell that they too had a similar picket fence.

She took one last deep look at the ocean and turned to him and said, ``Well, I'm here!"

To which Patrick responded, ``Ajan, I love you." She looked back at him as though she didn't quite believe him. ``But I have some bad news. I am going away on an expedition from the Oceanographic Institute and I will be away for six months, starting Monday." Her eyes lost their gleam and her face turned expressionless.

Ajan, instead of being sad and disheartened, felt relieved and joyful. She had dreamt of a tearful, permanent goodbye while on the train. She had been preparing herself for the worst ever since. Now, this temporary setback seemed meaningless and tears of joy started to roll down her cheeks.

Back home, Ajan opened her window which looked out onto the compound and stared at the beautiful trees, blushing from the wind. The moon was in full force, lighting up the leaves as they fluttered about. Ajan looked down into the compound and saw a young man in a long, ankle-length black raincoat. Under the raincoat, he wore a pair of torn black jeans and a baggy black turtleneck. His belt was studded silver and his hair was wavy and dark. The wind was blowing his light raincoat in the wind like a cape.

Next to the man dressed in black was a tall, athletic looking man wearing bright shorts and a vinyl, burgundy starter's jacket. His blonde hair was neatly arranged on one side of his face which was strikingly chiselled. His eyes were but slits, but still, the bright blue pupils could be seen even from where Ajan was watching some fifty metres away. The two spoke at a curious pace. It seemed that the blonde, athletic type would be continuously talking, leaning closer and closer to the sombrely dressed man.

Ajan could tell that they knew each other well, since they were standing very, very close to each other. It would seem like one was passing on secrets to the other except that neither of them was even conscious of the other people who occasionally passed by. The dark-clothed one would sway back and forth, not removing his hands from his pockets. The blonde one was fluent with body language, especially his hands, and seemed to be telling a story with full illustrations. Ajan could not decipher what they were talking about, but she did notice the unusually large and genuine smile that the dark-clothed man wore on his face. It was a trusting, warm smile that made the blonde man feel at ease and confident.

Sometimes, the smaller man would say something to which the athletic one would respond with a grimace as if to say, ``Are you kidding, me?" The other would get defensive and try to explain himself until finally, the blonde man would forgive him and chuckle.

They continued this seemingly emotional dialogue for upwards of half an hour, completely indifferent to the shearing wind or the curious onlookers. Finally, the man clad in black took a step back as if to try to end the conversation. The blonde man stepped forward and stopped just in front of the shorter one's face and whispered something to him. The shorter one nodded and seemed to give thanks and walked away, turning back to give his companion a friendly wave goodbye.

Although Ajan had no idea of what was transpiring below her, she enjoyed creating stories. Her imagination was racing, trying to come up with better and better explanations for what she had just seen. Her first idea was that they were collaborators in a secret plot to play a trick on the unsuspecting new students at Thought School. Ajan had heard of the pranks that had been played on the new students at the School, each more imaginative than the last. Ajan thought that the cat burglar, the dark one, would sneak into all the new students' rooms and apply an invisible pigment to their dress shirts. This pigment would then be activated by sunlight to reveal their messages.

Still unsatisfied with her story, Ajan thought that the darkly clad man was returning from a concert with his band and that the other was just a close friend from high school who wanted to see if he could get some tickets off the other for his next gig. Or, maybe the athletic one was a professional athlete and the smaller one was a newswriter, threatening to blackmail him with tapes that would endanger his professional career. ``No," Ajan thought, ``they were lovers. They hadn't seen each other in days and since they were the type to keep their personal matters private, they arranged to meet later in the night at some specified location. That would explain their secrecy, their proximity, and their smiles." Ajan was temporarily satisfied with her story, she felt it was plausible and interesting enough, but just then she saw something shining on the grass where the couple had met. It sparkled like a star but looked as small as a rock. Just then, Ajan's imagination went wild as she exclaimed out loud, ``I know! A heist! It was a jewelry heist!" She went on to explain to herself how the cat-burglar had just successfully stolen the jewels from a downtown jeweller. The blonde was the contact for the buyer, and they were arranging a place to meet in some secret corner of the compound, in which to do the deal. Finally, satisfied of her explanation, Ajan lay back to sleep. Quite understandably, she dreamt of two gay lovers, one of whom was a rock star, the other was a pro athlete, and on the side they stole jewels just for kicks.

``Hey, luv, where have you been?" Fazo said as he put his arm around Ajan's waist.

``My, we're up late!" Ajan replied, looking at her watch and pointing to the dial.

``Let's see, the big hand is on the twelve and the little hand is on the two, it's twelve-ten, oh, so it is!" Fazo joked. His eyes were shining and his face looked rested. Ajan could notice the spring in his step as he circled around her.

He can't stand still, he obviously had a good weekend, she thought. He was wearing an outrageous pair of preppy shorts and a solid yellow polo shirt. He wore a pair of tiger-laced sunglasses and had the matching cologne on. His shoes were a pair of worn, black topsiders. He looked, well, happy, and Ajan knew it. ``What's with you?!"

``Well, I saw this really awesome concert last night, a friend of mine, Pat, took me. You've heard of the Jimmy Hunt?" Ajan shrugged her shoulders. He went on to explain about the biggest band on the Lopan side of the ocean. They were well known for their progressive use of sound effects and innovative use of synthesizers. They were a great show, problem was, one had to look all black. Fazo went to extremes and got some wash-in black hair colour to turn his brown hair jet black. He ran his hands through his lustrous hair. The concert ended pretty late and he went to get something to eat at Gorky's. ``You've been there? Of course not, it's a late-night hangout for DIBs, you know, dressed-in-blacks. I met some interesting anarchists from Kilford." Ajan looked amazed. After chatting with them until all hours of the night, he met a friend from Habsentia who went to technical school here last year. Just finished, he was looking forward to a career as a professional soccer player. One hundred and fifty thousand a year made up his mind. ``It was strange to see him right here at 4 a.m. He has a girlfriend on the compound. You should meet him, he loves to talk and talk, it's hard to get rid of him."

By this time, Ajan was almost completely convinced that it was Fazo and his friend that she had seen late last night outside her window. Terribly disappointed with the inaccuracy of her story, she asked Fazo in vain, ``So, he's not your lover?"

Fazo was suitably shocked, ``No, did you think I was-"

Ajan interrupted, ``And I guess you two didn't steal any diamonds either, huh?"

By this time, Fazo was really confused; he put his hand to Ajan's head and asked her, ``Not hot. Have you been, um, drinking?"

``No, no, Fazo. It's just that I saw you there last night and I didn't even recognize you, probably because it was dark, and you were dark!" she laughed as she brushed his now-brown hair off his forehead. ``Your hair is really soft!"

``Thanks, thanks, and it's not black! I have always wanted black hair, you know."

Running her hands through his hair, Ajan added, ``No, your hair suits you fine. Hey, aren't you going to play soccer this 'morning' with the others?"

``Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. No wait, we're not playing today, stop confusing me!" he told Ajan with a laugh. ``Listen, where were you this weekend?"

``If you must know, I went to the Beaches to see my aunt and my boyfriend."

``Your what?" Fazo said, just now recalling Patrick into his head, ``Wow! You two went to the Beaches! Lucky you! Well, I can't say I've been that fortunate. You see there's this girl Kirin that I met in the park yesterday who wants to cook me dinner tonight but I don't know how to tell her that I am not interested. She seems like she won't take no for an answer."

``What, is she not pretty enough for you, Fazo?"

``Well..." Fazo admitted, guiltily, ``I'm not interested right now, anyway."

``Fazo, you should just let her know how you feel. You were the one who told me that the world was lacking in honesty these days. Take your own advice and tell her the truth!"

``You're a great help, regurgitating my words back at me! I'll deal with it later. Also, this weekend I spent some time with Jack and Dokla discussing the Betalthia project. It really sounds like a lot of fun and the project is really cool," he said, smiling.

``Fazo, remember, we're here to challenge ourselves, to meet interesting and obscure new people, to enrich our lives with new experience in negotiating positions. The people in Betalthia, they're just like people in Habsentia, more or less, just prettier." Fazo knew that she had a point but he wouldn't admit it to himself.

``No, they're not like Habsentians. We're not as proud of ourselves, not as ignorant about others, and far more soft-spoken and tolerant than they are."

``Still, you speak the same language, watch the same films, the same television. You're both products of the Central cultural blitz. Distance yourself from this mess of popular culture and find out about more mystical, fundamental societies. You know what I mean, Fazo, open your eyes. This is your chance to watch the world wake up from history. Take full advantage." She looked at him as an elder sister would look at her kid brother who decided he wants to join the circus.

``Thanks, sis!" Fazo joked, giving Ajan a peck on the cheek. He was apologizing for the day before. ``Well, things could be worse. I could have already accepted."

``You know, Fazo, it's a decision. Do you want to learn about Central culture or do you want to broaden your horizons? It's the breadth versus depth argument. You strike me as the Renaissance man- type..."

``I'm flattered." Fazo blushed.

``I knew you would be, Fazo. See that's why I think breadth is more important to you than depth. We get mired in deep waters, keep yourself afloat!"

``Enough with the analogy," he said, ``I understand your point, just tell me what you think I should sign up for."

``Well, do what I am going to do. Let's go for the gusto and take on the Rumesian cases." She looked excited.

``In Rumesia? But... why not? Let me see what they have!" Fazo said, pointing to her Register.

``Don't bother," she replied, keeping it away from him. ``Does it really matter what we do over there? You know it's going to involve learning the culture and the customs. It'll be a challenging experience."

``There's that word again, challenging," Fazo muttered.

``What's wrong with challenging? If you don't want to be challenged, Fazo, you could have stayed in Habsentia and-"

``No, don't get me wrong, Ajan," Fazo defended himself, ``I want to be challenged, that's my keyword. I wouldn't have it any other way, and from what I can tell, that's why I'm here."

``That's why everyone's here. Not only are we good negotiators, but we also want to take a sip of water from the firehose of life." And for the first time, Fazo knew exactly what it meant to be at the School of Thought.

A few days later, Fazo woke up with a fright and sat up like a zombie in his bed. He rubbed his eyes, leaned back on his pillow, and began to think. Had he dreamt the conversation or was it real? He heard a conversation between two people sitting beside him, talking amongst themselves. The first one was a heavy-set man about the same age as Fazo with beady eyes and a long, dark moustache and a full beard. His name was Genierre. He was talking with a very tall and incredibly slim young man who answered to the name Frank. Frank would open the conversation with a question after brief moments of silence. Fazo noticed that he wasn't the talkative type, he just liked to initiate the conversation and listen to what to Genierre had to say. Genierre didn't mind it too much, he seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Moreover, he was always interested by the eccentric dilemmas presented to him by Frank.

Although they had been talking amongst each other for some time, Fazo just tuned in when Frank asked Genierre something about baseball, one of Fazo's favourite sports, ``400 hitters," Frank said. ``Will there ever be any more? I mean in the next century." Fazo perked up at the talk about statistics. He himself was a sports fanatic and could not measure the amount of time he had spent analyzing the numbers of the game.

``Like it, Frank, you know I adore baseball. The answer to your question is yes," Genierre said.

``You really believe it! No one has come close since Williams, do you really think anyone can do it? The game is so stilted for the pitchers now," Frank argued.

``I agree, it is a lot harder, but I have faith in the ability of the remarkable athlete to come along and redefine the standards that we now live by. No sports feat is indestructible unless the rules of the game change dramatically," Genierre said.

``And they haven't?" Frank asked.

``No, baseball is still pretty much the same. The key is to look at it from a scientific point of view. Statistically speaking, the talent pool of men with respect to hand-eye co-ordination is a Normal curve.

``Agreed," Frank replied, remembering his basic instruction in statistics. Fazo was a bit confused by the terminology, but listened avidly without drawing attention to himself.

``What that means is that there is a finite chance that there will be an athlete who is superior to Williams or even anyone else that may have picked up a bat. This person will undoubtedly find his way into baseball and hit .400," Genierre said.

``Well, it won't be Foggs. I know you like him so much," said Frank.

``I'll give you that. But someone will come along, mark my words." Frank thought he'd give Genierre a rest, but Genierre pleaded for more, ``Anything else you'd like to ask me?"

Frank deliberated for some time and finally came up with a classic ethical question. ``If someone were to be truly good, that is to say more ethically good than anyone else on the Earth, would he be recognized as such and be the leader of the masses or would he be deemed a fool?"

``Why do you only say he? Women can be fools too."

``So I take it you think that the most good person would be considered naive and idiotic by our standards today?" asked Frank.

``I believe that some men, Prandhi and Dr. Zing come to mind, have exhibited truly high ethical morality but to imagine a truly good human being is to envision an idiot."

``You read too much Donstorevsky," Frank replied sarcastically. ``You probably don't even believe in love!"

Genierre replied, ``I believe that love is a state of consciousness that we put ourselves into, but I doubt that we fully understand the mechanisms involved. In all societies, regardless of culture or teachings, there will be evidence of what we call love, physical mutual attraction between two people which goes beyond the need to reproduce and transcends the need to fit into a societal framework. People will naturally want to be together for the sake of being together, and that is the root of the emotion that we call love."

``Well, that's one topic I'm sure people will be discussing for a long time to come," Frank said quietly.

At this point, Fazo started to think to himself about the few experiences in his life which he called love. Were they real? Were they as Genierre said or was it deeper still? Fazo had no answers this day, his heart being virtually new in such matters. Only once had he thought that he understood love, yet he knew that he had only just got a smidgen of a taste. He woke up from his recollection and focused on his present. Here he was, twelve days into his experience in the Central Republic and he had accomplished nothing. He spent hours every day playing sports, another few hours talking about women, many other hours trying to impress women and maybe fifteen minutes a day on serious thought about his future. He began to wonder why he was there. Had there been a mistake? Why was he so much less interested in the cases and so much more interested in meeting women? Was he the only one? Why does he feel the pressure or need to integrate socially? Is it a natural tendency to try to settle one's social standing in a new community before one tries to do something constructive? Fazo wondered about his recent immaturity.

The idea of purpose came into Fazo's head and wouldn't leave. He kept questioning his purpose in Thought School. He was very disappointed with himself for not having the necessary enthusiasm and commitment to his education. He often wondered why it seemed that so few people were as concerned about their cases as he would have expected prior to his arrival. Did this reflect a deficiency in this year's class or was it a natural tendency to try to enjoy one's self prior to getting down to work? Fazo finally realized that part of the experience was meeting and interacting with people from all over the world; it just seemed that this sort of flirting and clique-forming was more representative of college freshmen than new students at Thought School.

Only few people in the School were married. Everyone else had chosen to put their careers first, or at least in their early years. Now, as people, especially the women, were at a stage of their lives when parental instincts are budding, he wondered if there was a real pressure to find the right mate through Thought School. He did realize that the pool of people at the School was a desirable one; maybe not in looks but at least in intelligence, leadership, and potential. He knew that people thought that if they married someone from Thought School, their lives would be pretty much secure. Imagine, Fazo wondered, two big incomes, two competent, bright leaders, two tolerant, understanding people in one family: how could things go wrong!

Fazo then thought of the drawbacks to finding a mate from the Thought School. Despite all the talk about the world becoming a global village, people were all still hesitant to forge unions with people of completely different backgrounds. It is easier, less complicated, and more enduring, they thought, to marry into one's own race or cultural group. Cupid plays tricks with these people much less often than one would think. They focus their interest on only eligible mates of their persuasion and make themselves fall in love with one of them. Otherwise, they abstain from the marriage dance and return to their homelands to find someone suitable.

Intelligence was not an important trait in one's wife, according to most men here. They want a woman who was subservient, beautiful, and sedentary. Their inability to make intelligent conversation would mean nothing in lieu of their beauty and care. The women of Thought School would have a different dilemma. Fazo wondered whether a woman with such excellent potential and power would be an attractive mate to a man in a lesser position. Would a man allow himself to get involved with a woman who was more suited for success than he?

What about these women that come from male-dominated societies in which the woman has been repressed for millennia? Fazo hypothesized that the driving force behind their success was exactly the same as any male's, probably just stronger to overcome the cultural roadblocks. They probably do not want to return to become another passive woman. If anything, he thought, they would want to return home and lead their fellow women in a movement to prove their equality. The problem with this strategy, Fazo thought, is that these women are just as mortal as the rest; they still need the love and attention of another human being. If they chose to return home, the pool of men who are tolerant enough to stand in the woman's shadow, in such a male-dominated society, would be small indeed.

The only alternative to the prejudice and biases against women, Fazo decided, is to marry into a society that accepts women at par. They would have to willingly give up their cultural ties, and quite possibly never return to their homelands for more than a visit, but at least they would be treated with the respect and fairness that they deserved. To these women, it was clear that their careers were paramount in their minds. If their spectrum of opportunity was greatly diminished in their homeland, they would choose to settle somewhere else just so that they give themselves a chance.

Women at Thought School were more willing to meet men than Fazo had expected. The intense feeling of similarity and camaraderie between the new students easily transformed itself into love. The so-called ``secret" to love was that if someone wants to fall in love, they will be much more likely to fall in love than someone not expecting it. Everyone realizes that the psychological needs are far stronger than Cupid's arrows. The majority of the population that Fazo had met in these last two weeks was very much attuned to the idea that Thought School was a top-of-the-echelon singles' club and that they should take advantage of the concentration of very eligible mates and fall in love.

Fazo could reason his hypothesis through, but he still did not totally accept its consequences. Making the right social and romantic contacts could not be more important than his debate training. He was as much in the wrong as anyone else, and he knew it. His behaviour was reminiscent of his high school years, constantly searching and plotting to meet the particular woman of interest. He didn't know exactly what it was about him that had changed; all he knew was that he was restless and insecure. He would wake up at nights with the unsatiable desire to be in the company of women. Fazo thought that perhaps the food at the Republic had been laced with an aphrodisiac as a prank. He knew there was no explanation except that the students themselves were different.

Fazo then began to wonder about the Central culture. Looking through a magazine the other day, he noticed the cultural icons of the time. Society tended to reward young couples was his conclusion. It was built for couples. Most every aspect of modern Central television and film promoted this promiscuous, anything-but-single attitude. To be loved in such a harsh world seemed to be the only way to survive, and the media exploited this collective need by reinforcing it at every occasion. Wherever Fazo turned he could see the evidence. The newspaper was filled with advertisements for women's lingerie, weekends at country inns for two, matchmaking cruises, and weight loss programs guaranteed to make you look more sexy. It was as though there was an unwritten rule in advertising which read, ``Appeal to the societal need to feel loved." The word love was almost exclusively used to signify romantic rather than familial or amical love. To be in love, Fazo thought, was the ultimate state of happiness in Central society.

No matter how rich or how poor, two individuals who were in love were seen to be cultural heroes. Where wealth and power once dominated, the current cultural ideas of happiness were through love and not materialism. Where the media used to promote the ultra-rich lifestyle, it had been replaced with the unquenchable young love, he thought. Subconsciously, the entire society subscribed to this notion. From the age of six or seven, people were taught to believe that they must have a love interest in their life, or be searching for one. To be single, was to be unhappy, and to be alone, was to be dead. Strangely enough, the institution of marriage did not benefit from this cultural snowball. Fazo was convinced that the ideal love did not necessarily have to result in marriage these days. The ideal love must thrive despite marriage, or so it seems through current popular media. Be happy and in love forever was the message, not be married and live happily ever after. People realized that what is most exciting is the before. One can live happily before one is married, and in fact, society would say that we always do.

Fazo himself was an incurable romantic, totally possessed by this need to be in love. Even though he could see society's influence at work, he did not resist it. For him, there was no greater sense of happiness. He had made himself comfortable with this hierarchy of values and did not want to stray from the norm. If everyone in the room is playing the game with the same set of conventions, don't be different. Fazo thought that this bridge maxim applied equally well to love. In today's world, everyone is not only aware of, but embraces the need to be in love. The collective good of the society is measured, therefore, by how many people are coupled off at any one time.

Taking the argument one step further, Fazo postulated that today's new tolerance for homosexual relationships was a product of the societal desire for people to be paired off. In some ways, a couple was a couple was a couple, whether it was a man and a woman or two men or two women. Although unquestionably different, the basic exchange of happiness was the same, and for that reason, it was more tolerated by today's Central love society.

In some ways, though, to be in love was not enough. Some argued that to be truly ideal in Central society, one must be in love and sexually active. There was no room for old-fashioned ideals or patience in a world where pleasure derived from conjugal pairs was golden. The notions of chastity, purity, and honour disappeared into higher ethical questions of love and desire. Did man create marriage just to regulate reproduction or was there an innate need to submit to a commitment before enjoying the sexual liberties associated with marriage? Today's Central world had clouded the distinction between right and wrong when it came to the issue of premarital sex, he thought. So much so that one might think that one who does not practice premarital sex given an opportunity and a loving partner is considered a fool. Fazo himself knew how he had looked down upon some of his friends in college when they refused to espouse this element of Central moral code. Why did he chide him? Did he feel that his abstinence would promote a more chaste lifestyle?

This idea was not uniform across the world, by no stretch of the imagination. Many republics were themselves still espousing the ideas of free will in marriage, let alone premarital sex. Still, the issues were clearly there to be studied, and, in some ways, it was hardest on those who had the mixed blessing of being brought up in a traditional society and who have now been exposed to the permissive popular culture of the Central Republic.

But where do I fit in? It was a question that he had been asking himself for some time and fortunately or unfortunately, by which ever way you look at it, he had not been forced to address these questions in the past. He knew that one day, there may be sufficient reason for him to choose one course of action over another. He, like most people his age, did not seem to let it stand in his way when it came to meeting people of the opposite sex.

Fazo sat in bed, a little more aware of his being than previously. He had somehow settled the issue of his adolescent behaviour in his mind, and began to accept the idea that innate or societal, he, and many others like him, was more interested in love than his cases.

Fazo had grown up watching film after film, learning from them, imagining he was the lead, or even imagining how he would do things better. One point which was never under debate was that if the hero was given the opportunity to ``get action", he should. He needed to live his decadent lifestyle vicariously through his screen heroes. Undoubtedly, Fazo enjoyed movies, but he knew that he didn't like every movie he saw, as some people had insinuated. Fazo just enjoyed watching a story unfold in front of his eyes, right in front of his eyes. His favourite seat was fourth row center. The sound was better, the stars were bigger, and it didn't matter if he had brought his glasses.

Finally, Fazo ambled out of bed and strolled towards the window. He peered outside and saw the sun shining down on the compound, welcoming the trees, squirrels, insects, and people to bask in its splendour. What had been troubling Fazo had now disappeared. He stretched his arms and embraced the new day with an imaginary hug.

While strolling through the picnic, Fazo spotted a familiar face, ``Two hundred and fifty students in this place and somehow she still managed to spot me!" he muttered to himself as Kirin walked towards him.

``Hi, I didn't think I'd be able to find you at this picnic. Just my luck you were sitting under this oak," Kirin said as she walked towards him. She stopped just short of his face and said, ``Do you like it?" as she twirled around to show off her obviously new sundress. It was very pretty, indeed. It had a red and green flowery print with a cut that suited Kirin perfectly. Her green eyes were set off by the dress and the red flowers in the print helped disguise her pallour. Her hair was left open and looked different than it had on the three previous occasions that Fazo had seen her.

``Kirin, I really appreciate you coming all this way to spend some time with me but I don't think I'll be able to see you any more," he said feigning a tear.

``Why not, Fazo?" she pouted.

``Well, do you see that girl over there?" Fazo said pointing to an attractive girl whom he had never seen before. ``Well, she and I had dinner last night and three nights ago and well, I think I might have fallen in love with her. I would like it if we could still be friends though, Kirin?!" Fazo said softly, trying to sound as sincere and disturbed as he could. He hoped that she would somehow understand and not take the rejection too personally, but he knew that was impossible. He looked her up and down, trying to read her body language to predict her reaction. She stood silent, somehow waiting to wake up from her nightmare. No tears flowed, so resolute was she not to accept his response.

Fazo then knew what he had to do and in one swift motion, took her in his arms and delivered a firm wet kiss on her lips. She, reciprocated instinctively but Fazo could feel that her aspirations were muted by her disappointment. He retreated slowly, whispering something inaudible that Kirin could not have heard anyway, so overwhelmed was she by his rejection. He continued to meekly tiptoe away when she suddenly ran towards him, threw his arms around his neck, and planted yet another kiss on his lips. Fazo did not know what to do, so he made it seem that he was enjoying it, and he was. After only a few seconds, he gently pushed her away and said, ``I won't forget you!" and briskly walked off towards his apartment.

``Bye," Kirin said softly, as she walked away herself, seeming somewhat dejected.

Fazo left the picnic and assumed a guarded position in his lounge. No one else was on the floor, let alone in the building, it seemed. Fazo had no one he could talk to, no one to tell him he did the right or wrong thing. He thought about poor Kirin and how he must have hurt her feelings and possibly destroyed her self- confidence. He thought of her pain and the effects of his lies and felt terribly ashamed of himself. A tear even came to his eye as he hyperboled Kirin's hurt ego into a suicide in his wickedly wild imagination. Suddenly, he jumped up and yelled, ``Stop it, Fazo!" and returned downstairs to the picnic which was by this time over.

In reality, Fazo's melodramatic account of Kirin's miseries was nothing more than an act. He had this unusual ability to pretend that he was actually feeling sincere emotions such as regret and guilt. In reality, it was just a good acting job. It was as though he could consciously make himself tear or smile, vengeful or hurt just by thinking. He had used it the past to solicit sympathy by pretending to be hurt by another person's words, just so that they became less critical and more sympathetic. He used it in games, too. He often feigned injury, limped along, and pretended that he was ineffective, and then suddenly, he would race along as though nothing had happened and score.

Fazo was not fully aware of when his acting abilities ended and his true feelings kicked in. In the past, he had been truly hurt. Sometimes, he blocked himself off from emotion, often with laughter and cynical sarcasm. His sometimes black perspective on existence made him seem cold, unfriendly, antisocial, and even morose on more than one occasion. Still, Fazo was an eternal optimist and used his imagination to create happiness for himself.

A real study in contrasts, Fazo had given up on introspection. The phrase, ``to find one's self" had little power over him since he always thought that either he knew who he was or that the question was moot. To him, ``what do others think I am?" was often more important; yet, contrary to this belief, he would often do things solely on the basis that he wanted to do them, completely oblivious. His personal focus was on making himself a better person. This ambitious task was often clouded by his other driving philosophy, that is to have as much fun as possible. The challenge for Fazo was to instruct himself how to feel happy for other people's successes and to want to contribute positively to their advancement out of a selfless generosity of spirit. It is this giving spirit that eluded Fazo for the first twenty-one years of his life; still, he never gave up hope that with age would come the maturity and benevolence that would further his quest to be as good as he can be.

He often solved moral and ethical dilemmas in such terms, for Fazo knew no other way to resolve conflict. Often hopelessly idealistic, Fazo was impassioned by his drive for personal and social goodness and did not let the harsh truths of reality cloud his moral reasoning. Still, he often felt and succumbed to the temptations of a less noble life and even went so far as to challenge the moral goodness of many of the institutions to which his society so dearly clings. Fazo was fully aware of the fact that it is this imperfection which makes us all so human. Vulnerability and imperfection is, in this case, much more attractive characteristics in love matters than impeccable behaviour and infallible strength. Today was no exception. Fazo knew that he had not handled Kirin in the best way and felt a little guilty for his lack of compassion. He had no regrets, though. Listless and detached, Fazo sat down at his desk and stared at the engravings in the wood. The desk had obviously been used by many, many students over a period of many years. The engravings were not legible, just prominent signs of the desk's age. He started following the wood grain from one side of the desktop to the other when he suddenly realized that the form of the wood was the form of a tree. In these lines, Fazo could see the history of the tree that had been sacrificed to help make the desk. He then took out a stack of paper and placed it squarely on the desktop. The paper, itself was made of trees, but, it was inherently different in that it didn't tell a story about the story, but invited its possessor to tell a story on its surface. The paper served the purpose of holding the thoughts and stories of Fazo so that they could be kept for posterity. Fazo could not stare at the empty page without feeling the pressure to fill it with words.

There was no better time to write a letter to his confidante Angelica, he thought. Fazo's mind and heart poured out onto the page as though he was an opening a valve from his brain.

Dear Angelica,

My spirit has been overcome by the Central Republic, by its size, by its people, by its lack of compassion. In the many years that I have known and interacted with Central people and Central society as a whole, never have I truly understood them until now. Where can I begin, Angelica? Let me start by telling you a little bit about how Fazo is surviving, then I'll tell you what Fazo is seeing. You see, Angelica, Fazo is fine. He knows that his major problems in his life are now but a memory. He has a lot more confidence and self-esteem, and he is a lot more adventurous and creative than ever before. I have never felt so, well, alive, but I can do better. I have never felt as inspired by my surroundings as I do today. Still, I am not at peace with my situation, since, I feel trivialized by the terrible Central machine.

I realize that, all of a sudden, I have become an expert on Habsentia, a true ambassador from our country, a person by whom our country will be judged and understood. It is a tremendous responsibility and a wonderful opportunity for me to be able to impress my impression of what makes Habsentia so wonderful. To show people that Habsentia is the most marvelous place on Earth would be wrong, that would be how the Centrals would try to sell their country. Instead, I realize that the greatest characteristic about our people is their flair for understatement, modesty, and tolerance. To perpetuate such an image, I try to just illustrate Habsentia for all its wonder and its shortcomings. I just paint the picture of the place as best as I can. If the people are tuned in to what makes me so happy in Habsentia, then they will see its magic. If they cannot get a feel for its simplicity, then they cannot recognize its merits. Arguing on its behalf can be quite a trying experience, since we are so much more accustomed to complaining about it! And, to tell you the truth, when I tell Centrals that the most important thing about being Habsentian is that they are not Central, this tends not to go over very well.

The people here had a twisted impression of Habsentia, and to tell you the truth, you have a right to blame them. Yes, you read correctly, Angelica. They are the one's to blame for their impression of Habsentia. They have little appreciation or interest in matters outside their realm of experience; that is to say, they couldn't care less about Habsentia, unless it pertained directly to their lives. We are just thought of in terms of Central political perspective, and through the lens of Central's films and their media machine. We do not all drink ale and play loki all day long, contrary to the Central image, mind you, once they understand these essentials of Habsentian life, they are one giant step closer to understanding what it means to be Habsentian.

Angelica, what do you think it means to be Habsentian? Why is it that we so rarely ask ourselves these questions? Do we really not care or is it part of our persona that we are self-effacing? I would really like to hear your perspectives on the matter, Angelica, you know how influential you are to me. Please write back as soon as you finish reading this letter.

Just in case you're wondering, no, I have not found a girlfriend, yet; nor I have a fallen in love and begun trailing anyone! My days as a spy are over, I tell you. If I like someone, I will be up front and open about my feelings. If Central has taught me one thing, it's that women respond to confident, self- assured directness far better than they would to a beer and an ``Excuse me, but would you like to go out with me, but if you say no, it's ok..."

There is one typical thing about Habsentians, we always say we're sorry, even when the situation does not call for apologies. It seems to be in our nature to meekly apologize for inconveniencing anyone. We are conscious of the effect that each of our actions has on this world, and frankly, we're scared by it. We would rather have less effect on the world's affairs so that we could not blame ourselves or merit a bad image from other countries. Yet still, you know, the thing that I am most proud of, remains the fact that I am not Central.

To put things tersely, the Central people have not always made me feel comfortable. I would like to think that the most important decision I have ever made in my life was to enroll at Thought School. Trust me, I do not regret it; in fact, I think it is even more wonderful as an institution for higher learning than I had thought. Let's just say that I am glad that I never visited the place before I came here. I would have been terribly disappointed by the obnoxious, uncultured Central people and as a result, I would have missed out on this wonderful opportunity. Instead, I am on the one hand, overcome by the brilliance of the people at Thought School and appalled by their ignorance. Mind you, not every one here is ignorant about world affairs. The students from outside the Central Republic are very much citizens of the world as well as citizens of their respective countries. Even some of the Centrals show signs of tolerance and willingness to learn about other people and other culture. This is probably a result of the fact that Thought School insists that we create some sort of understanding of world affairs in our case work. I shiver when I think that the Central people here represent the most knowledgeable and diplomatic young professionals that Central has to offer. But, I really should not prematurely judge their performance; it has only been a few weeks.

Angelica, I have not been myself when it comes to socializing. I have lied to a girl, flirted with many, developed a truly wonderful Platonic relationship and given up on a sure thing. I don't expect you to understand the nature or the details of my transformation; suffice it to say, that I have been socially active and I have been redefining my moral and ethical code daily. I have yet to find someone who will give me that warm, fuzzy feeling you always talk about but I am sure I will. I still don't know why I would ever want to feel like a peach that's been sitting too long in the sun!

I have been desperately depressed and unshakably content. My mood swings have been wider than Joan's hips and my patience has been shorter than Lucas's..., well, enough of my stupid similes! I miss you very much Angelica, you are constantly popping up in my thoughts and I wouldn't want it any other way! You have the magical effect of seeming close by even when you are many thousand kilometres away! Let's not forget each other: keep bombarding me with your tales from the land of the absent, Habsentia, that is, and keep me smiling! I'll be expecting a letter in twelve days. With much, much love,

Fazo

PART TWO

``You're not joking around with me are you?" Fazo asked Ajan.

``No, honestly! I heard that Jack was admitted to the infirmary for insomnia. He was so worried about his case that he couldn't sleep or eat..."

``I get the feel that everyone's a little intimidated by their cases. The honeymoon's over."

``I wouldn't call our orientation a honeymoon." Ajan looked at him sternly.

``Even I've been affected..."

``No," she said sarcastically.

``I wanted to play it safe! Is there anything wrong with that?"

``Yes!"

``What do you mean, yes?"

``You can't just buckle to the pressure and take the easy way out!"

``The road to Betalthia..."

``Is not a yellow brick road," she interrupted.

``So, I decided to go to Rumesia instead. To become a miner. A forty-niner!"

``We're not going to be there for forty-nine weeks, only twenty-five!"

``It's just an expression, luv!" He pinched her cheek. She looked at him as a four year-old would her grandmother.

She continued, ``There are tons of immigrants there!"

``Really?"

``Yeah, a few years ago they started letting in so many that they had to tighten immigration laws. They're a pretty restrictive society, you know?"

``How so?"

Ajan went on to explain that the Rumesian's reserved lifestyle although more intimate and family-oriented was lacking effervescence or joie de vivre. Somehow, the people believed in a notion of personal space. It was seldomly violated. They didn't hug, kiss, or even shake hands in public. It may have even affected their love lives.

``I could see how that could be a problem," Fazo stroked a non-existant beard.

``Oh, could you?" The sarcasm hadn't left Ajan's voice.

``Yeah, sure. If you're with someone, you gotta show how you feel..."

She looked at him strangely and shook her head. ``What?"

``Three and a half weeks I've known you and..."

``And?" Fazo asked after a pause.

``Never mind."

Although Fazo and Ajan would be expected to understand and integrate with the Rumesian culture, their casework dealt with the Rumesian mining industry. The highly-advanced, technological drilling processes were doing irreparable damage to the environment. The alternate mining scheme called for expensive human resources operating in sub-par working conditions at a productivity rate far inferior to that of the machinery. The mining company was a major source of jobs in this unpopulated region of Rumesia and was indispensable to the well-being of the community. Fazo and Ajan were to negotiate a fair settlement between the ministry and the company.

The case fell into the faculty of Arbitration. The students were not working for one side or the other. It was their responsibility to sort through the findings of both sides, rather than to do the research themselves. Their decision would determine the resolution of the conflict. Both parties had substantial claims that needed careful negotiations. In some ways, the case appealed most to Ajan and Fazo because of its similarity to Pierre's celebrated fishery case, so much so that the two of them were prepared to use some of their instruction in ethics to resolve the conflict.

``What's that?" Ajan asked, pointing at the book Fazo was holding.

``It's a little history book about Rumesia. It's pretty interesting. Their GNP is about 20 percent of Central's. And they only have one tenth the population."

``That's not history. History is stories, tales about the past, about customs and religions, about the way it used to be, about lessons learned, and about how they got to where they are today."

``Alright, listen to this. Rumesia has always been blessed with a strong sense of civic pride and duty. Taxes are duly paid. Government is big, strong and respected. And it all started with their charismatic prime minister, Dutreau. He was so popular with the people that they all decided that the cause of the whole was more important than their individual lives. The social patterns changed dramatically. People started doing everything in their power to help the government, to give it more power and function. Everyone trusted it and wanted a part. The cold and formal nature of the people grew out of this obsession with service which, basically, restricted the personal freedoms of the people."

``Restricted their freedom?" Ajan sounded doubtful.

``They kept their dissatisfaction mum. United we stand and all that."

``And Dutreau started all this?"

``Twenty-five years in power. Ironically, he was a warm, caring, loving man who was more than happy to express his feelings about people in public. He would definitely not be happy with the way things have turned out."

``But, the society is very efficient..."

``But how happy are they?" He peered into the afternoon sun and then at his watch. In four hours, they would be on the plane.

``I don't know, but we'll find out, won't we?"

``What's the first thing you'll look for?" he asked.

``Oh, I don't know? I guess I'll look at the people. See how they form friendships. You can tell a lot about people when you see them with their family and friends. But, you know, Fazo, people are pretty much the same all over. Society changes, but not everyone fits into society so perfectly, thank God!"

Fazo wasn't so ready to accept the universal character of the human spirit. ``I'm sure they're really different from us! I wonder how they dress. Do the women wear make-up? Do men work out? Does no one use stupid lines to pick people up? Is it Yuppieland or does Big Brother watch over you? Where does the office end and the home begin, or does it? Do you sleep with the company and not your wife?"

``Fazo!" she sounded surprised. ``How do you come up with this nonsense?"

``I wonder. If people are so hung up on work and hiding their emotions then their culture would be completely devoid of expressions of femininity and masculinity. The process of mating would be drastically altered, reduced to a science. The people would be kept in check by the watchful eye of the society and by their own will, I suppose."

``Come on, Fazo. They're all human. We're all on the same planet! They grow up, fall in love, have kids and die, just like us."

``Us?" He pointed to her and then to himself.

``You know what I mean!"

``Another thing: people are sometimes affected by the geography of their country. Rumesia is very beautiful. The north is like a winter wonderland with the snow and the elk, cariboo and the log cabins. The summers are beautiful, they say. Warm, sunny and pleasant. The lakes, the rivers, the gorges, the mountains. It sounds so enticing. The south is like a totally different country. A plain with fields of corn and barley. A real farmland. The coasts are more green than gold. They even have a beach on the southern tip of the peninsula. The climate is even-tempered, just like its people. The fact that they live on a peninsula explains their isolationism."

``And if we don't hurry, we'll never know." They rushed out of their rooms, to the cab, to the airport, to Rumesia.

Fazo was pleasantly surprised. Not more than an hour into his stay in Haltern, Rumesia's capital, and he had already gotten a feel for its flavour. The airport was spacious and clean, the highways were ultramodern, even the cabbies were pleasant. On the cab ride out of the airport, Fazo gazed out into the majestic landscape. To the south, he could see the wide open expanses, the flat plains rich with autumn's harvest. To the north, he saw the snow-covered peaks, distant in the morning haze.

Ajan did not sleep quite as well on the trip as Fazo had and her lack of enthusiasm was proof. She longed to be in the warm air of the jungle, rich with its humidity and greenery. When they arrived, she imagined that she was on some alien planet with no atmosphere where the people had to live within an artificial environment inside of a geo-dome. Still, it was far from artificial. The cab passed onto a narrow country lane which reminded Ajan of Coastal Central. Her spirits rose. She began to look about her for the hovel on the rocks of which she had such fond memories from the Beaches. Instead, she saw quaint little homes with thatched-roofs and impeccable gardens. People were walking through the streets, pushing their strollers, stopping to chat with others. A dog ran by followed by a boy and its leash. A group of young girls laughed and smiled as a young man walked past them. Children were playing jumpsies in the yard and the mothers were sitting on the porch swings, nursing their babies. She spotted a couple exchanging their goodbyes in quite normal fashion, venturing to kiss each other in front of strangers. Mind you, the kiss was brief but the loaded looks that the two partners were exchanging dispelled all doubt in her mind as to the emotional frigidity of the Rumesians.

It was a wholesome, almost Central image of an upscaleneighbourhood, but in Rumesia, it was considered low class. The most charming of houses was the apartment that Ajan and Fazo were to rent for the remainder of the term. The dark brown bricks of calcium and clay stones were haphazardly cemented together to form thick, solid walls that formed a perfect square. The house was topped off by a classic thatched-roof, complete with bird's nests and chimneys. The windows were large but gave little hint of what was inside. The yard was again well groomed with healthy evergreen shrubbery, light green bushes, and a silver-maple whose leaves had begun to turn into a fiery shade of crimson.

They walked into their new home in awe of its beauty and simplicity. The house was a duplex. Fazo had the downstairs while Ajan and Riza would share the top. Riza was a secretray at Rumesian Mining, Ajan was told. Both Ajan and Fazo had a few hours to spend to rest but neither of them had any desire to sit about so Ajan challenged Fazo to a game of tennis.

On the way back, Fazo kidded with Ajan about his victory and she reminded him that the margin was ever so slight that she could have easily won. He gave in and admitted the truth in her statement but stood tall as he put his racket away in his room.

``When do you think Riza will arrive, Ajan?" Fazo asked.

``She's already here, it's just that she had to go to school today. Her note said six and it's already five-thirty so I'd better get myself ready to meet her."

``You don't strike me as the type that would go to great lengths to make yourself look perfect, Ajan..." Fazo commented.

``Well, look at me now," she said, pointing to her dirty hair and soiled tennis clothes. ``Do you think I should meet her like this? She'll think I'm mad!"

``But you wouldn't want to mislead her would you?" Fazo joked, dodging a shoe that Ajan hurled at his head. She then swung her arm at his chest in vain as he quickly caught it. The other arm had the same fate as Fazo grabbed Ajan by the wrists to restrain her and held her tight, close to his body. She looked up at him and a lost expression formed on her face as she looked into his eyes. Noticing her expression, he quickly let go and pushed her away so as to make their playfulness seem sibling-like and not flirtatious. He was scared of developing any serious affection for Ajan lest it would have negative effects on his casework.

The lights flickered as the power shut off. The house was filled by the orange glow of the setting sun. ``Hello, is anyone there?" Fazo heard someone yelling from a distance. He went to the other room and saw that a woman who was most probably Riza was tapping at Ajan's door.

``I am afraid she can't hear, she's in the shower," Fazo explained. ``You must be Riza, pleased to meet you. The name is Fazo." He extended his hand.

``Oh, you shake hands. You can't be Rumesian! Hi, that's right my name is Riza. Do you know Ajan?"

``Yes, very well," Fazo replied, ``Well, we've known each other for only four weeks but we're pretty close. I hear you're studying at the University here?" Fazo said, trying to figure out by her appearance whether she was an undergraduate or graduate student.

``Yes, I am at the Business School here. I'm also your new assistant at RM."

``You are?"

``Yeah, I temp there to make money."

``Industrious of you. So you're my assistant. You know what I'm supposed to be doing? I guess it must be important if I need an assistant."

Riza smiled ``And Ajan, is she here, now?"

``Uh-huh. I'm sure you'll like her, but remember one thing: although she claims she isn't, she's mad, quite mad, off and on, but mostly just plain old mad!" At that moment, Ajan walked down the stairs and greeted Riza with a smile and Fazo with a sneer.

``Don't mind him, Riza. He loves to tell stories. Hi! My name is Ajan." She extended her hand.

``Wow! I'm being spoilt: two handshakes in one day!" Riza answered with a laugh. Ajan's face turned serious:

``Are people really so cold here?" she asked Riza worriedly.

``Oh, we're not that bad. Don't worry!" Riza reassured them.

``Well, I'm starving!" Fazo piped in. ``Ajan, we both knew you were at the top of the stairs when I was telling Riza about you being mad!"

``Fazo!" Ajan threatened with her hand held open and her teeth clenched, pretending that she was going to slap him.

``I like you two! You're... how can I say it?... real! I'm sure we'll all have a great time!" Riza said while Fazo playfully pulled on Ajan's hair to lead her into the kitchen.

``Now make me dinner!" he yelled, pretending to be the sexist husband.

``I'm tired of slaving in front of a hot stove and cooking all day for you. You do it! I'm going out!" Ajan yelled back.

``I'm calling Mama!" Fazo threatened.

``Hey, that's my line!"

``Anyhow, sorry we don't have food ready for you Riza. We just played some tennis and we didn't have time to get the spaghetti sauce warm yet." Fazo explained to Riza who seemed surprised that he was serious.

``I think the spaghetti is about ready, Fazo!" shouted Ajan from the kitchen. ``I'll put the sauce in the microwave to make it warm up faster!"

``No!" Fazo yelled, ``I forgot to tell you! The lights went out and the spaghetti probably needs a few more minutes." By this time the lights had come back on and the alarm clock was ringing annoyingly. ``I'll get the clock, you warm up the sauce!"

They went on to prepare a lovely dinner for their new housemate who told them about the story of her life. For the first time in what seemed like days, both Ajan and Fazo were quiet, fascinated by Riza's adventures in Rumesia. When they finished their dinner, they watched a little television and went off to sleep, ready to face their new challenging assignment.

The next morning, at half past eight, Fazo walked into the Ministry, ready for anything. After two dry meetings that persuaded him of the imposing heaviness of the Rumesian business culture, Fazo sat down for a coffee in the technical department. The engineers' stations around him had simple, Spartan configurations so as to enforce a strict work ethic. A computer and a notepad were the only things visible on the engineers' desks. Fazo started a discussion with one of the mine forecasters. He extended his hand, forgetting that it was uncommon business practice in Rumesia. He began to retreat.

``No, it's alright, Fazo." The man gripped Fazo's hand as if to show that he was welcome. ``The name is Martin." Martin was a well-dressed man of about thirty.

``Hi, Martin. I'm from the consultancy that's been asked to settle the new mine issue. I guess you could say that I'm one of the arbiters. I was interested in getting a feel for what an engineer thinks of the industry, his job, the issue and the Rumesian people. Could you spare a few moments at, let's say, 1 p.m. today?" Fazo asked politely, checking his watch and then slipping his hands in his pockets to make Martin feel this was a request rather than an order.

``I'd love to. Sure!" Martin responded with a candid smile.

``Great, see you later then!" Fazo said as he ducked out of Martin's workspace. He then walked into the conference room and settled in for another meeting. As he was leaving the room half an hour later, Fazo turned and said,

"It will be our interpretation of the value of a job as compared to the value of the wildlife that will eventually decide the issue. I don't pretend that we know for certain how to equate the two; nevertheless, we intend to give the issue of comparison some serious thought before we hear your arguments."

The man inside the room thanked him heartily as he shut the office door. Fazo walked slowly towards his desk where he met his secretary. Riza was the model assistant in a situation which called for an eclectic survey of popular culture and tastes. She was in tune with what Fazo was asking for and had begun her work by combing through the daily newspaper that lay in her desk.

``I need some literature, preferably popular literature on the topic of Rumesian culture in general and their social tastes in particular. I don't know if you may have heard of it but a `What's In? What's Out?' list would be perfect. Also, newspapers, editorials, and year-in-review articles for the past few years would be great."

``Here, Fazo," Riza said, pointing to a page two article. ``This could be helpful. It's a discussion on the virtues of technological development. The issues would be pertinent to this case."

``Isn't that a terribly slanted perspective?" Fazo questioned Riza's objectivity.

``No, you see, it's a forum for ideas, a true debate on the values of technological advance and its social costs. There's a study group meeting on the subject at seven tonight. If you want, I could take you. You may be a little unfamiliar with the city."

``Thanks, thanks very much. I'd better get back to Martin. See ya!" Fazo walked over to Martin's cubicle.

``Hi, Fazo, how are you?" Martin greeted Fazo with a gentle tap on the arm.

``Good, well, shall we get some lunch?" Fazo asked.

``Sure," Martin responded with eagerness. ``I'm not used to eating so late."

``So would you say that Rumesians are unusually environmentally conscious as compared to a world perspective?" Fazo asked.

``Yes and no. I think that we're aware of the destruction of our environment. We'll take many measures necessary to curtail the disaster. In this way, we are like other countries with strong environmental records. You're from?"

``Habsentia," Fazo filled in.

``There's a great example, right. Habsentia has a commendable record as well, but the difference with Rumesians is that it is second-nature to us to be environmentally- conscious. It is not an issue, it's a way of life, it's an essential ingredient in being a Rumesian. We could not even imagine the concept of environmental negligence since it is not a struggle for the ordinary Rumesian to do his or her part. So yes, we are unusually environmentally conscious."

The conversation turned to politics and sports. Martin mentionned that his brother had just been laid off. Fazo asked him if he thought society was to blame or was it his brother's problem. Martin laid the blame on society. He stressed that society should be able to support its citizens with jobs and social services. Joblessness is public enemy number one, he claimed. They would do anything to erase it.

``So you're saying that technological progress could even be slowed so as to employ more people in less technical fields?" Fazo asked.

``Yes," Martin replied, a little ashamed of the implications.

``But, how can you believe in that? You're an engineer. For you, technological progress and scientific discovery must have always been paramount. To discard it on the basis that the society needs more jobs would seem criminal."

Martin frowned, ``You see, it's all based on civic pride. We think in terms of communal good. Even, if only a few people are unlucky, it ruins things for the whole society. We would all rather take a slight cut in our standard of living so that everyone gets his or her fair share. It is part of our culture."

``Is this more fundamental than your love for the environment?"

``Yes, I'd say so. So long as the environment hasn't been damaged to the point where our children and grandchildren could not enjoy it, we believe that the social welfare of a few people would merit a relaxation of our environmental standards."

Fazo knew that Martin had supplied him with keen insight, but the question was far from resolved. The issue of whether the construction of the new mine would lessen future generations' enjoyment of the environment had yet to be addressed. At the end of the day, Fazo felt weary, mentally exhausted from the ethical problems that plagued his mind. He returned home to find that Ajan was not home. Meanwhile, he also spotted Riza waiting outside his door, rocking back and forth on the porch swing. Fazo looked at his watch and realized that he was late again.

``I'm sorry, I'm late, Riza," he apologized. ``Can I offer you something to drink?"

``No, thank you, we'd better be off," she responded. Fazo quickly washed up, dried his hands on his pants, and hopped into Riza's convertible. She then proceeded to untie the bandanna in her hair and sped off with a frightful screech. Fazo was not concerned, just surprised by the extent to which Riza had let her hair down.

Riza had not been exaggerating when she told Fazo that she knew the city of Haltern. She knew precisely which roads to take so as to minimize the traffic. So good was she at this that Fazo barely saw any cars on any of the roads that they took. And yet, traffic was fierce on all the other roads.

Riza was an excellent driver, one of those who did not really need to abide by the highway code since they were so efficient at avoiding accidents. She rarely observed the speed limits since they were ridiculously low; but, out of courtesy to the other drivers, she did religiously follow all the other rules. Her agility allowed her to do three or four things at once including cueing the cassette player to the right song, re-adjusting the side-view mirrors, and activating the air-conditioning, all the while indicating a left turn and overtaking another car at 140 km/h.

Confident that she could handle the burden of yet another task, he struck up a conversation.

``Yeah, I'm really excited about this case," he said.

``Why? Are you getting something out of it. I know that it's part of your school and all but what's in it for you?"

``I get a percentage of the cost of the entire project dependent on my performance."

``They pay you? How much?"

``That's not so important. What matters is how I work with everyone. If I do well, I can get placed on a good assignment next term. And I guess the money's good."

``Yeah, a 1 percent commission would be worth a ton! You could take a trip around the world."

``Suppose so. There is some risk. A third of the new students at Thought School don't qualify for the next term."

``They're asked to leave? Wow." She sat quietly for a few minutes. Fazo changed the topic.

``You know," Riza began, ``I'd like to think that we're treated as equals here, Fazo but the truth is, there are far more men in higher management positions. The chance of a woman graduating to an important position is far less than fifty-fifty."

``That's pretty much a standard problem across the world these days. What I would like to know is how men and women inter-relate with each other. Is it more of a segregated society, is it permissive, is it couple-oriented, or is it individualist? Do you understand?" Fazo asked quite patronizingly.

``Yes, I understand," Riza replied. ``The most important thing about the relationships here is a sense of trust. The other remarkable thing about the relationships here is that they tend to be more systematic and predictable than in other countries. People mostly marry into their own social and economic class; even though a class system doesn't overtly exist, we are all aware of the fine differences between the classes. Also, though marriages are not arranged they are somehow suggested. There are fewer interracial marriages and fewer `passion' marriages than elsewhere. We marry in order to procreate and to perform our civic duty. There is love, but it is balanced and tempered by our love for family and for ideals of society. Love is something that tends to grow after marriage in Rumesia, a sort of side-effect from living with someone."

Fazo had heard of similar societies. Still, he had not expected an industrialized and modern nation like Rumesia to have such traditional views about marriage. He was not alarmed or impressed; rather, he was subdued and just listened attentively to Riza's monologue.

``We probably don't expect as much from our mates as you do, Fazo. I have heard of the everlasting, passionate love affairs of the Central Republic. They're not for us. We are taught to consider every human being as having equal value. In some ways, it would be inconsistent to put so much stock in one human being, one's mate, and to somehow lessen the importance of all the other people in your life. When a man and woman start courting as we say here in Rumesia, the woman does not absolve herself from her friendships with other women. Men do not give priority to their girlfriends over their sports buddies. In Central, there is this notion that all else must take a back-seat to love. Ironically, in Central, we would be most likely to find love in a back seat. In Rumesia, all people are considered worthy of one's affection and care."

``Riza, people from Habsentia and Central do not have much love for their fellow man. We try to concentrate our love on the few individuals whom we see as essential to our well-being: friends, family, lovers. This `nastiness' is a product of our untrustworthy society and in some ways, it nurtures one-on-one relationships to an extent that Rumesians will never understand. There are many tradeoffs between the two schools of thought and I don't pretend to say that I know which is right, if it is even possible to pass a judgment like that. We can all learn from each other's practices, and one day, maybe, we'll settle on...actually, now that I think about it, we'll probably never solve the mystery of love." The talk was beginnig to get far too abstract and unsubstantial and Fazo knew it. He remained silent for the remainder of the trip.

The lecture raised some quetsions in Fazo's mind. When does a technological advance's social gains outweigh social costs? Fazo knew that the fundamental comparison must notice that some technological advances do not increase the standard of living as dramatically as one might think. In some circumstances, it may actually deteriorate the way we handle our lives. It would be a shame if we relegated certain human tasks to a machine because it can do it faster. We need to know that a human being is serving us.

He looked over at Riza's face. He saw in it a bewilderment that is usually only present in small children. It was as though Riza was seeing something completely new to her and she was wondered by its disparity from what she expected. Fazo asked, ``What's wrong Riza?"

``Maybe the Rumesian way of life isn't the only option. There are alternatives."

``Never underestimate the importance of the alternative, Soo said." Fazo looked brightly at Riza and continued, ``You know what's right for you."

``I..." she said quietly, as she sat quietly in the lounge chair outside the lecture hall. "I don't really know, Fazo. I think I...I am just not used to...." she stuttered.

``What is it? You can tell me..." Fazo went on, prompting her to spill her secrets.

``I just feel that maybe, just maybe, I've been doing things wrong. Maybe I have been missing out on life. I mean you're human, too?!" she said looking at Fazo with a long stare.

``I like to think I am..." Fazo answered, trying not to be insulted or amused.

``You see, that talk we had on the way over made me think about whether or not I should subscribe to the Rumesian ideas of love. There is so much more to gain from love if one lets oneself believe in its power."

``Well," Fazo added, "you know what they say. You get what you put into it. That applies to love as well as to many other aspects of life. Effort is rewarded. We have active aspirations and fantasies. They enrich our experiences."

Riza continued, ``I don't know if I'm prepared to accept everything that Central culture has to offer just yet but at least now I'm starting to wonder if I have been missing out on this for no good reason at all." Fazo wondered what she was talking about. ``Have I been blinded by this wave of civic propaganda? Has the society led me down a road of temperate comfort as opposed to a more rocky path with pitfalls and treasures abound? Do I really want to live a safe, comfortable, clean life?"

``Riza these are questions that most every good person asks themselves at least once in a while. There is a strange desire to be a non-conformist in one's youth, especially if the society is crippling with its restrictions," Fazo preached.

``Yes, but this is me! I have never been in doubt of the system. In fact, in Rumesia few people even notice that there is anything wrong. We have few rebels or radicals. The word conformist is inutile in the Rumesian culture since it is understood. What I don't understand is why am I now so blasphemous? What is wrong with me?"

Rather than try to explain to her that she was not in the wrong, Fazo thought it best that she reason things out for herself. He did not know Riza that well and did not want to seem to be anti-Rumesian, so he kept quiet.

``Did I really think that I could be happier if I espoused love with my arms open as opposed to with my hands tied?" Riza was speaking softly, almost to herself. She then looked over and continued, ``You see, Fazo, I have been seeing this man Kurt the last few months, and well, frankly, I have been really restraining myself from getting seriously involved. You see, the way the courting goes on, we just exchange ideas and habits so as to measure the two individuals' compatibility. Lately, more eligible men have shown interest in me and by Rumesian custom, it is my prerogative to let Kurt know that I am no longer interested. However, I feel that I don't really want to let him go and I can not imagine why. I did not really understand what Kurt had that was more attractive to me than the others. Now, maybe I realize that subconsciously, I really like Kurt. No, even more, I think I love him. And the problem is, I don't know what to say!"

``I do. You sound like you're in love. And, by the looks of it, you'll probably learn a lot of things about how good it can make you feel." Fazo knew he was talking far too much as a father and not as much as someone who knows. ``Just try to enjoy the time you have with Kurt as much as you can. Don't hold back with your emotions and most of all, try to do what comes naturally. You are human and you have instinctive reactions to love. Follow through on these instincts instead of checking your emotions."

Riza looked gratefully at Fazo as a tear came to her eye. She rubbed it away, a little more comfortable with the display of emotion than she would have been. Riza creased her lips and fought off further tears, brushing her fist against her face. ``Thanks, Fazo." Nothing more, nothing less transpired in the car ride home as Fazo gave Riza time and silence to deal with her newfound ideas.

Fazo slowly paced up the walk. He lost himself in his thoughts about love and friendship as he stopped short of the porch. He peered out into the red sunset. He gazed into the sky, not seeing anything at all, still pondering his favourite topic.

Could love really strike at first sight? He had always doubted that he could fall in love from the moment he met someone, and above all, that anyone could find him attractive enough to be instantly smitten by him. Was it more a measure of one's willingness or desperation which led them to fall for someone?

His method for finding compatible women was flawed. Rather than try to attract a woman, he would just make friends with them. With time, the strongest of friendships became prime candidates for romance. Fazo broke out of his meditation and storming inside the house, he bellowed out to Ajan, ``Hi, honey, I'm home!"

Ajan and Riza were becoming close. A strange tension had been brewing in the house with regards to the work. Ajan and Fazo had both been given greater responsibility than either of them had expected.

Three weeks into the term, Ajan was working on the case late into the night. She decided to take a break and walked at a brisk pace between the snow-covered spruces. She stopped to throw herself into a drift of virgin snow near the house. Spreading her arms and legs about she formed an angel. Lying still, staring at the star-lit sky, she thought about her work. She was having a hard time incorporating her work in with everyone else's. She did not want to seek help but she knew she needed it. Fazo had Riza and she had noone.

The snow reflected every bit of light around, making it seem like an overcast morning in May even though it was three in the morning in October. Fazo could not sleep and saw Ajan lying in the snow, looking quite dead. He raced out after hastily putting on a pair of boots and a parka. Throwing himself at her feet, he put his arm under her head, cradling it, looking for a whisper of breath. Expecting to see blue cheeks and snow-covered eyebrows, he saw her rosy face smiling back at him.

``What are you doing? You scared me!" he exclaimed.

``I was just thinking. What are you doing awake?"

``I couldn't sleep."

``Here," she pointed to a spot of clean snow near her. ``Make an angel. It's relaxing." He turned over onto his back and gave the snow wings. ``Feel better?"

``Much. Thanks," he laughed.

``What did you do today at work?"

``I spoke with one of our managers. We're supposed to make a presentation soon."

``You know I never understood why they would ever think that we know what to do. Why is our opinion so important? We're just little students who don't have much stake in the matter."

``Not much stake. Hey that's not true! First of all, we'll get paid royalties if the project takes off. That's a lot of money to poor students like us. Secondly, if we don't do an adequate job, we may be kicked out of Thought School."

``It's so subjective. Who's to say if our job is adequate or not? What special skills do we have that we are supposed to demonstrate to show our capability?"

``Beats me. That stuff we learnt in orientation, I guess." Fazo looked at her and smiled.

``Sh! Hear that? It's an owl."

``Where?"

``From over there," she pointed to the woods behind their house. Suddenly a raccoon poked his head out of the woods and strolled across their path. Rather than being scared, Ajan laughed and began contorting her face. ``Look!" She scrunched up her eyes and turned her hands into paws. ``Don't I look like Mr. Raccoon over there?" At the sound of her voice, their furry friend raced back into the woods. Ajan imitated his movements, the way he scurried on all fours, racing through teh snow as though it was air.

``I thought you only imitated mimes," Fazo laughed. She giggled as she turned back into a woman, now only inches from Fazo's face. Digging her mittens into the snow, she shovelled a blizzard into Fazo's face, making sure to shove balls of snow down his coat. ``I come out here to save you and this is the thanks I get." He turned to chase Ajan. Once he caught her, he wrapped his arms around hers and meniachally laughed, ``I think it's time you got your first snow job!" He threw her into a pile of snow and playfully pushed her head into the snow. She jerked back, exhilarated by the cold crystal slivers of glass that poked at her skin.

``Your turn." Fazo fell back into the snow and lay dead. She straddled his chest with her legs and delivered a first-rate snow job. ``Had enough?"

``Yuth," he spat out snow as he looked up. He smiled at her as he licked the snow off his lips. ``This is your first snowstorm isn't it?"

``Uh-huh. Isn't it magical?" She pranced around and finally motionned to Fazo to come in. He did and dried himself off in front of the wood stove. Ajan walked into the room, her hair dripping wet from the melted snow. ``Will you help me with my work?"

``I thought you would never ask," Fazo answered.

For the next few weeks, Ajan spent many hours every night with Fazo, trying to put her findings into a format which would be easily understood. Her abilities as a researcher were impeccable. She was not prepared to cut corners but Fazo helped her in the fine art of simplifying technical findings. Fazo's rapport with Ajan allowed him to communicate freely with her to the point that she could learn from his perspective. His work and his affection for Ajan were steadily mounting and got in the way of his instruction. As the days passed and the study sessions crept later and later into the night, Fazo and Ajan often found themselves a hair's breadth from each other, staring into each other's eyes, neither willing to break the ice of professional conduct.

One evening, Ajan complained of a sore neck. Fazo offered to rub her muscles, quickly finding the knot in her neck. After a while, he grew tired and sat beside her to rest. He seemed tired so Ajan took his head in her hands and rested it comfortably on her shoulder. Fazo lay still for a few minutes while Ajan stroked his temples with her fingertips. When he stirred again, he turned his head upwards, letting Ajan's beautiful hair brush against his face. Although Fazo had been strong in resisting the temptation, the darkness, the smell of Ajan's hair, and the feel of it across his face made him lose his inhibitions. He was moving closer and closer to Ajan. Finally, he could feel the soft tips of her hair against his cheeks and the whisper of Ajan's breath against his ears. He pressed his lips onto her cheek. Releasing them after a few seconds, he looked into her eye, closed his eyes again, and kissed her again on the cheek, lower. Ajan did not react, clearly aware of what Fazo was doing and clearly unwilling to seem too eager. He did not care that she just sat there, statuesque and pristine. He moved his kisses until they found their way to her lips. She kissed him back gently.

Ajan had known for some time that they were attracted to each other and yet she never dreamed that it would actually come to this point. She did not think that she could forget Patrick who was now just a faint memory. Ajan could understand Fazo better than any other man. He seemed more of a man than the others, perhaps because he acted less like what she would expect from a man. This paradox was there but rather than address it, she let herself be absorbed by his charm. To her, Fazo represented danger and excitement. His outlook on life and love was fresh, unspoiled. He did not shield himself from his emotions and let his own feelings come through. He had an uncanny way of making her feel feminine. Still, he was capable of treating her as an equal in their professional life while still treating her like a woman when they were alone.

Fazo was a lot less conscious of his affections for Ajan. Wrapped in an untouchable screen of professionalism and friendship, she used to be unattainable and unaffected by Fazo. This was no longer the case.

As days passed, Fazo would inexplicably oscillate in his role from Fazo the friend to Fazo the companion, to Fazo the boyfriend. He wore many hats and exchanged them well, without seeming inappropriate or obtuse.

``Why? You don't want to see a movie?" Fazo asked Ajan one night after work. He looked at his watch which read seven.

``No. Let's do something a little more interesting. Tiger Mountain has night-skiing now. We haven't been in three weeks."

``Has it been that long?" Fazo asked.

``Don't you remember? The Saturday after..." She paused.

Fazo looked puzzled and then figured it out. ``After our first kiss."

``Yeah," she smiled and Fazo tucked his arms around her waist and kissed her as he did that night. This time, she was far more receptive, more eager, more emotional. Her cartoon-character smile and her glazed eyes tempted Fazo once again and he moved his lips to hers. He quickly moved his kisses around her mouth to her chin and to her ear.

``You know," he said softly between kisses. ``You..." he kissed her again, "have...the most obvious look...on...your face.....just before...you want to be kissed." He took the opportunity to firmly kiss her on the mouth. He withdrew and took a deep breath. He traced his nose along her cheek, tickling her to distraction. His tongue ran the contours of her lips and then the ridges on her ear. ``Has anyone ever told you..." he set himself up for a meaningless nothing, ``that you have the most beautiful..." At this point it didn't matter what he said but as his eyes were peering at her lips, the decision was made, ``mouth." He could feel her anticipation of the compliment. He knew she was satisfied when she fell limp in his arms. He secured her more tightly and propped her up against the wall.

``Oh, Fazo." Her first words in over half-an-hour invited Fazo to continue his hypnotizing act.

``May I kiss..." again he felt her anticipation, ``your beautiful mouth." He enjoyed seeing her eagerly reward him for the compliment with a quick nod of the head. He touched her chin with his index finger, which closed her eyes. He moved his finger to her mouth which soon parted her red lips. He softly pushed his finger which she accepted with a wet kiss. He retreated his finger and moved his head closer. His breath, he was sure, she could feel against her face. Her eyes remained closed. Fazo was enjoying tantalizing her and tried to let it go just a little further. After he moved his nose up against hers, he turned his head very slowly. He had to refrain from a laugh as he could feel her head inching forward to receive his kiss. He withdrew slightly and then pushed forward and put his lips on hers. Pleased with her reaction, Fazo remembered the exact sequence of things that he did so that he could store it in his memory and perhaps elicit the same response some other time. She embraced him with all her might, running her hands through his hair and pushing him over onto the couch. Quite passively, Fazo received her affection. He smugly smiled as he turned her over onto the couch and installed himself on top of her.

In order to maintain a certain order in the house, Ajan and Fazo did not tell Riza about their new relationship. Fazo did not have any objections but Ajan felt that the strain of always knowing that other people were aware of her was too much for her to bear. When the clock struck ten, Fazo heard Riza's car pull into the driveway. He looked over at Ajan asleep on the couch underneath his quilt. He knew that she would want him to wake her but he was growing a little tired of keeping things so secretive. Still, he himself could see potential problems so he quickly obliged her.

``Ajan," he whispered into her ear.

``Yes," she answered dreamily, not opening her eyes.

``Ajan," he said more forcefully. ``Run upstairs now, Riza's here."

``Huh!" With those words, she jumped up and ran upstairs, quilt and all. Fazo rearranged the room and made his way to the kitchen as Riza stumbled with the key. She walked in and heard Fazo singing in the kitchen.

``Will you clean this place up, Fazo? It's a mess!"

``Sorry," he said from behind the wall, smiling mischievously as he heard her walk up the stairs to her room.

After a week, Fazo began to tap his own emotions and put his feelings into writing. His poetry and letters to Ajan varied from childishly sweet to remarkably poignant. Sometimes he would hit the mark and move Ajan to tears, other times to laughter. He felt a strong outpouring of emotion and tried his best to transform it into words. The mere cloudiness of his feelings left the reader in some doubt of his true feelings and coupled with his imprecise use of the language, it often lead to a inexplicable train of conflicting emotions. Still, his prolific writing skills helped him produce many attempts at capturing his emotions. Finally, he succeeded and presented this poem to Ajan as a gift on the anniversary of their first month of finding each other's hearts.

Despite the innocent and even adolescent nature of their personal lives, Fazo and Ajan had been able to make significant contributions to the case. Fazo had spent a lot of time with Martin, Riza, and a few other Rumesians in an effort to gauge this sensitive topic of environmental protection versus social negligence.

One day after work, Ajan and Fazo decided to take a walk in the nearby woods. The chilling wind was buffered by their thick down coats. The sun shined helplessly and not a one bird was in sight or earshot; just the soft whispers of boots brushing through granular snow or kipolah, as the natives called it.

``You know they have seventeen different words in their language for snow!" he told Ajan.

``Seventeen. Like ice, hail, snow, sleet..."

``I suppose. I don't know for sure. There's a word for the puffy white powder after a fall. Then there's the soft kind that makes good snowmen."

``What do they call the brown kind?"

``You mean slush? They must have a few words for that. But you know, you don't see much of it out here. It's just pure, fresh snow."

Ajan picked up a handful which slipped out of her gloves. ``White sand."

``'Cept you can eat it!" He took his glove off and reached into a snow drift to get some refreshment. ``Ooooh, cold!" She put her arm around his waist and gave him a hug. ``Look over there," he said, walking towards a fallen tree. He jumped over the log and saw the marks on the wood. ``A beaver. And its tracks. It can't be far. Let's go." They ran off towards a frozen stream in the distance. The tracks led into a den.

``They're hibernating, let's not disturb them." Ajan walked through to the other side of the woods and onto a path. They walked glove in glove, barely sensing the other's hand in theirs.

Fazo shook his head. ``What's wrong?" she asked.

``I don't really know what to do. It's all so beautiful. It's theirs."

``What's theirs?"

``Rumesia. It belongs to Rumesians. I shouldn't have a say as to what they do with it. Who am I to decide? How can I place rules on their social ideals." Fazo picked up a twig and hurled it at a tree.

``Just try to figure out how much this is worth..."

``Worth!" he cut her off. ``I'm tired of seeing how much things are worth! It's pristine, natural. It's not a gold mine. It has no monetary value!" His sarcasm made him bitter. ``I suppose they want me to say that one deer's life is worth 1000 squirrels' and a square kilometre of snow-covered fields 20 000?"

``Puts a different perspective on the term snow bank, eh?" she joked. Slightly annoyed by the pun, Fazo pushed her gently. Losing balance on a patch of ice, she slipped onto the ground. ``Are you happy now?" Her glacial look chided Fazo.

He smiled at her and whispered, ``Gitza." She understood it as a native apology and thawed. Removing the glove from his hand, he caressed her crusty cheek. He ran his hands through the snow-filled tufts of hair that stuck out of her winter bonnet. They said nothing and listened to the eerie silence of a winter's day.

``So quiet that you can hear the snow fall,'' he finally said. ``If there was a mine three kilometres away, we could probably hear it."

``It is a shame." She looked at the glistening stones in the rock faces and then at a faraway deer. ``I know it's hard Fazo, to try to put a price on beauty, but it's your job."

``I know. I get paid to do this. I feel like Nature's pimp." Fazo stopped and sat in shame.

``Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I'm in this too. You should feel honoured that the Rumesians find you qualified enough to help them with this decision." He knew that she was right. Nature was not being prostitutized, just borrowed. He did feel somewhat flattered by the responsibilities endowed upon him.

Fazo spent the next two weeks shuttling back and forth from the mine site. He felt it imperative to gauge the workers' attitude towards the job and the prospect of being unemployed. He had met a few men in their forties whose sense of civic pride was unquestionable. Their devotion to the cause was extreme and their desire to contribute immeasurable. To these people, losing the ability to contribute to the society would be as bad as dying. It was imperative that they be employed, at any cost, most certainly to them at the cost of the environment.

``We need to work, Mr. Mandluk."

``I understand. But have you been there? Have you seen how beautiful it is?"

``All of Rumesia is beautiful. That is why we want to serve it." The proud man looked vulnerable, insufficient as he pleaded with Fazo. ``What of my son? What will he think if I do not work? Where will he learn the sense of duty?"

``You will work. Just somewhere else."

``Fazo," he said quietly, "I have tried. There is nowhere else. You must know that!" His eyes cried out to Fazo as he walked backwards slowly to the other men. Fazo felt saddened and shed a few tears as he drove away, observing their despair, if not their poverty.

Fazo heard an equally convincing counter-argument when he interviewed some of the older families which had been living around the projected mine site for centuries. One sunny afternoon, he rented a Jeep after a bush plane dropped him off at a local airstrip. He was immediately awed by the raw beauty of the countryside.

A rock, a tree, a mountain, a stream. A frozen pond, a wind-bent bush, a lonely moose, an unwarming sun. A fresh fish lying by the road on a snow bank. A pair of snowshoes carelessly thrown aside outside a front door. A one-page newspaper telling of an upcoming wedding. An ancient pair of boots hanging from a frozen, rusty nail. A pair of mountains that not even Olympians could ski. A forest of Christmas trees too big to be put in any house. A mirror lake, frozen so thick that a bomb could not pierce it. A cold so numbing that it makes one realize why God invented fire. Such is life in a northern town.

Finally, Fazo thought, a place where man was but a piece of the puzzle, one animal amongst others in the wild, struggling against Nature's power. It would be wasteful, almost against the spirit of the cosmos to destroy or even taint this wonderful land, especially for the sake of a few jobs or a social ideal.

In a valley between two peaks, he got out of his Jeep and walked to a cluster of six houses assembled around a general store. He walked around the virgin snow, afraid of damaging perfection. The door of the general store swung wide open as a husky man walked out with his arms full of groceries, mostly tin cans and cereals. Fazo went inside. The saleslady greeted him with a smile.

``Welcome."

``Thank you," he replied as he rubbed his hair after taking off his hat. ``I was wondering if I could talk to you about this town of yours."

``Okay,"

``So how long has it been here?"

``A long time."

``...and that moutain?"

``It's been here longer."

``No," he smiled. "What's it called?"

``Cain."

``What, like Cain and Abel?" he scoffed.

``Yes, that one's Abel," she pointed to its twin to the south.

``What do people do here?"

``Live."

``I mean do they fish or hunt or mine? Do they go into town a lot or live in the woods?"

``Mostly fish. And hunt. We don't tear up the mountains, though."

``Why not?"

``That would be jumpalah"

``Jumpalah?" he didn't understand the local expression.

``It would be like killing a songbird for waking you up in the morning."

He thought about what she said and looked over at the town. ``Then why build roads and houses."

``This isn't a road. It's just loose rocks. It was always there. It was a flat range before. The riverbed was empty. The old people, they came here and decided that they wanted to share in its glory."

``They just settled here to hunt and fish and make babies?"

``No, to pray. Here, we are at peace with nature. We are at One."

``Then why the town?"

``Another tribe came and settled just across the river. The two mixed and now we are one."

``Rumesian?"

``We are all Rumesian. Aren't you?"

He nodded no and her expression seemed to say ``Pity." The value of such a place lay in its tranquility, in its ability to elicit deeper thoughts in those who live within it, in its spiritual openness, in its virginity. Before too long, Fazo too questioned man's right to lay claim to every inch of the Earth.

When he returned to his home, he was at a loss to decide one way or the other. His emotions were really quite overloaded these days and his passion for the Earth, the Rumesian ideals, and Ajan completely drained him. The time he spent with Ajan tended to be silent these days; he would just sit in her arms, pondering the issues while staring into space. One weekend, they borrowed a friend's cabin and bathed in tranquility.

``Why are you so quiet?" she asked him as she turned her finger through a strand of his hair. He peered out the window at the faraway mountain and sighed. ``Is it me?"

``No."

``Then? You're in your pensive mood again?"

``So sue me." A smile pierced his lips. He cupped her chin with his hand. Silently, he asked her to move closer. As she did, he closed his eyes and kissed the tip of her chin. Surprised, she begged for another kiss. He complied.

``We've been away from the house all weekend, you know."

``So," he said as he took her arm in his.

``We went away last weekend and now this one." He could feel the guilt swell up inside her. He often noticed that she behaved like a scared child, wary of the punishment she would receive if she was ever found out. All pleasure was sinful and demanded recompense.

``We only have two more months here. I wanted to enjoy it."

``That's true." She looked through the window of the cabin and spotted a doe at the edge of the woods. Her fears evaporated. ``Look!"

``It can't see us. It doesn't see the danger."

``We're no danger," she objected.

``Sure, we are. We may not have the barrel of a gun pointed at her, but we may be directly responsible for destroying her home."

``What did everyone say about your interim report?" Ajan's voice resounded with anticipation.

``They liked it, I think. I guess I'm more confident now that they trust me. They believe in the numbers that I came up with and I should have no problem convincing them to do the right thing." He sounded confident.

Her face beamed with pride. ``And what is that?"

``I don't know." He stopped breathing and listened to a bird call. ``Do you?"

``No clue." A pause. ``...yet." Her confidence inspired him. He turned his body around and looked her in the eye. He saw an intense willingness to be included in his passion. He saw hope in her stare, hope that was inflamed to desire. His passion spread from the beautiful landscape which surrounded him to the beautiful woman who was about to surround him.

About a week later, Fazo was speaking with Riza about the Rumesian way of life. ``Where do the children get their instruction on how to be a good Rumesian? How are they taught that taxes are good and that pollution is bad? Where do they receive this sense of compassion for one's fellow human that seems to be so hard to impress upon children?"

``I see what you're saying, Fazo," Riza responded. ``If you could spend some time with one of the moral instructors from primary school, you would get a better feel for what society wants its children to think! That's a great idea!" She made some calls.

Fazo could not imagine what it would be like to be eight years old, let alone what it would be like to be preached to for an hour a day on issues such as civic pride and environmental consciousness.

``Well, Fazo, he can only see you during class time. He invited you to join his class in their discussions."

``So you're suggesting that I sit in with eight year-olds?" Fazo asked jokingly.

``Actually, they're seven."

Fazo could tell that she was absolutely serious and began to regret his curiosity about being a Rumesian child. It would seem that he would get his own chance to live the part.

``You'd better hurry! The judge's class begins in half an hour at the day-care centre at the University. Here are the directions." She passed him an electronic map of the downtown core of the city of Haltern and pointed to their office building and to the day-care centre. Automatically, an illuminated pathway lit up on the map, showing Fazo the best route as to how to get there. ``It may not be the fastest route, but at least it's the most direct!" Fazo had forgotten to whom he was speaking and smiled as he walked towards his car.

By the time he reached the classroom, the Judge had already arrived and was calling roll. He noticed Fazo's arrival and appended Fazo's name on to the end of the class list. Fazo was off guard and hesitated before finally muttering, ``um, here."

``Who are you?" a little devil asked.

``I'm ... a new student."

``Aincha a bit old?" the young one asked in a sing- song.

``Nah. I'm eight. How old are you?"

``You don't look eight."

``Oh yeah, that's right," Fazo rolled his eyes. ``Yesterday was my birthday! Today I'm nine. He held up his hands and curled his thumb onto his palm."

``Wow, you really are old! I'm only seven." The little boy showed six fingers. Fazo took one of his fingers and pushed it up. ``Oops, I forgot." The boy stood on a milk crate and like Caeser announced, ``Look, he's my new friend. He's nine!"

Three other kids looked up at Fazo. He quickly sat on the floor to make himself less noticeable. Another one asked, ``Are you allowed to walk to school by yourself?"

``No, my sister has to take me."

A girl then jumped in, ``Does she play with dolls? Does she have any Mary Maples?"

``What's that?" Fazo asked her.

``It's a doll, stupid. Like Ofra Oaks. You must have seen Penny Pine. She's my fravourite!"

``Does she have red hair?"

``No, silly she's green! Mary Maples is red." Tired of his ignorance, the girl sat back down.

``What did he say?" Fazo asked a boy with glasses who was intently listening to the judge.

``He said that nature is tran-san-sentidel. I think that means that we're not supposed to litter. Geez, we learnt that in grade one!" He threw his arms up in mock frustration.

``Oh, yeah, how boring. What else did he say?" Fazo prodded the little Einstein.

``He also said that if a place is pretty, then we should do our best to keep it looking pretty so that other people can see it. So if we see a shiny rock, we can take it, but we can't take a tree 'cos someone will notice."

``Oh," Fazo thanked the little boy with all the answers. At the end of the discussion, Fazo approached the judge and thanked him for his patience and hospitality. He said goodbye to all his new friends, one of whom invited him over to his house to go sledding. Although tempted, Fazo said he couldn't come right now and took down his phone number.

When Fazo returned to his car, he took out the futuristic map that Riza had given him and pressed down on the youth centre and then on his house. What lit up was the seemingly shortest path. Fazo noticed that the bottom right hand corner of the map had a clock and calendar. He thought that it was possible, but unlikely that the program actually used this information and the traffic patterns to find the shortest paths. To test it out, he reset the clock to a time in the middle of the night and pressed in the two endpoints again and to his amazement, a completely different route appeared. Enchanted by the efficiency of Rumesia, Fazo vowed to impress some of its riches on Habsentians. ``Nah," Fazo said to himself, ``things shouldn't run too smoothly."

He then went on his way, stopping to refuel the car in an ultramodern gas station. When he finally made it back to the house, he had gotten a little sick of the overwhelming sense of order that existed in Rumesia and decided to put a little disorder in his house. He spread out the newspaper into every section across the living room and took out some snack food and soda and placed them on the coffee table. To complete the picture, Fazo threw his jacket across the coach and left his hat on top of the television. Just then, his housemates came in to the house. Ajan immediately noticed the state of the living room. Riza did not.

``You know Ajan," she said, ``the house doesn't really look lived-in! Don't you th-" and she stopped with a gasp as she turned her head and saw Fazo's contribution to the decor.

About a week later, Ajan woke up one morning from a nightmare. She was sixteen years old and she was in her parents' house.

``Mom," she cried out as her mother walked in through the door.

``Ajan, I want to speak to you!" her mother said sternly.

``What is it?"

``Who is this Patrick?"

Ajan shuddered in fear. ``No one." As she turned away, her pony-tail bobbed around. She caught it in her teeth.

``I saw you two at Massimo's restaurant last night."

The hair in her mouth turned to spaghetti and she was instantly in the restaurant opposite Patrick.

``Ajan, why have you lied to me?" Patrick looked sadly at her.

``What do you mean?" she said, now in her twenties.

``I know your beau. Fazo's his name. I am going to kill him."

``No, don't!" She cried out loudly turning people's heads everywhere, people who before that instant weren't there.

``Then say you'll wait for me."

``I will. Now tell me about your trip." He began to speak and Ajan dropped her knife. After she bent over to pick it up, she looked across the table and saw Fazo.

``Why do you have a pen in your hand?" he asked her. She looked at the knife which was now a pen.

``Sorry." She looked down at the purse in her lap and saw Fazo's face in it. Suddenly, she was no longer in the restaurant and she was in the cabin in the woods and Fazo was lying in her lap.

``Ajan, I am so happy with you," he said as he pulled her closer with one arm and reached around her back with his other, trying to unhook her.

``That's what I mean!" Her mother's voice echoed in the cabin. ``You go away for three months and this! This is what happens! You were never like this as a child." She is again sixteen and in her parents' house, fully-clothed and quite alone. Her mother disappears and she's suddenly floating through the air. She falls into a spider's web. She looks down in her hand and sees the pen, which looks more like a knife, and then looks up and sees the giant spider. At this moment, she wakes up with a start and shakes herself loose of her nightmare.

``I'm alright, I'm alright," she said to herself. She brushed the spider webs off her brain and continued to think in a full voice. ``I'm a twenty-two year-old woman. I'm intelligent and decisive. People say I'm effervescent and good-natured. Fazo finds me extremely attractive with my longer hair, my fashionable clothes and my make-up. I am a woman. It's okay to need to belong. It's okay to need someone." Her attempt to convince herself fell far short of subduing her fears.

That morning, she regretted some of her more liberal attitudes towards love and felt like she was betraying the puritanical upbringing given to her by her parents. There was really no middle road to follow since even the most innocent of relationships with Fazo would be a monumental infringement on her parents' moral values. Ajan did not want to sacrifice her life for the sake of principle but she understood the value of their teachings. This day, she sat in deep thought, trying to evaluate whether Fazo was a worthwhile candidate for such sincere attention. She analyzed the situation quite like her mother would have, trying to assess Fazo's potential as a husband and as a companion for the rest of her life.

Rehearsing out loud in the shower, she pondered her decision, ``I do love Fazo, but he's not really suitable. He's often too exuberant and he's too unrestrained to be a good husband. His eye wanders. He can be so immature and he's so stubborn, he won't change. It would be better off, for both of us, if I ended it now. I'll get over it soon enough. Better now, than later when I'll be too emotionally involved to let go." She walked out of the shower, got dressed and walked determinedly downstairs.

By her borrowed logic, all this made sense. The challenge was convincing Fazo of her determination to this decision.

``Fazo, I need to speak to you." Ajan spoke slowly, enunciating well, so as to calm her racing heart.

``Sure, what's up?" Fazo asked, taking her hand and sitting her down in the living area.

Ajan hesitated. ``What would you think if I told you I wanted to have a perm?" She took a swab of her hair and twisted it around her finger.

``I'd hate it! But seriously, what did you want to say?"

``Fazo, I can't see you any more, like before." Fazo looked confused. Ajan knew she hadn't expressed herself exactly the way she would have liked but did not know else to say it. ``I mean, I don't think we should be romantically involved any more."

Silently, Fazo placed his hands squarely on his knees and took a long, deep breath. His eyes twitched and his feet fidgeted, but he remained silent. Ajan did not expect Fazo to accept the decision without a fight and acted awkwardly, even guiltily as she watched Fazo's movements. She bent over and took his hand from his knees and pressed it firmly between her palms. She looked even deeper into Fazo's eyes, offering no explanation. She knew she was ending their relationship without reason or warning, but she had no words of solace to give him.

Fazo did not quite know what to say. He stared into space, then down at his knees. He then put his head in his hands for an instant and quickly lifted his eyes to look at Ajan. She looked troubled, but not troubled enough. She was taking the whole thing a little too lightly. His tongue was tied, his eyes ready to explode and his mouth felt tortured with the idea of not being able to kiss Ajan's lips again.

He got up and paced around the room, scratching the back of his head in an effort to stimulate thought. His stomach felt empty as though he had not eaten in days, even though he had just finished off a roast beef sandwich. He could not really measure how much he loved her until that moment. Even now, he thought, his hurt and disappointment may have been exaggerated for effect. He took a breath as though to speak but no words came out of his mouth. He rubbed his eye as he turned his back on Ajan so as to not let her be witness to his tears. He quickly re- established some emotional control and sat back down on the couch.

To him, Ajan was the most remarkable, most different woman that he had ever known. He had ghoulish visions of himself, alone, desperate, detached from the world. His mind had been closed and his creativeness exhausted. His passions stuck in his throat as though impeded by a cube of ice; he found no outlet for emotions. Regret filled his days, fantasy his nights. Only the simplest of pleasures could he still enjoy, so desensitized he had become to matters of the heart. Fazo was quite adept at imagining this scenario, because it was not the first time that he had suffered from such heartbreak. Still, every time it had been different and he expected that now his maturity and the sincerity of his emotions would make this rift seem to be the greatest of them all.

Fazo still did not utter a word during these seven minutes which seemed eternal to both him and Ajan. All the world and his place in it were being examined, as though Fazo was reevaluating his very existence. Quite confidently, Fazo concluded that if the grand total of his thoughts and experiences on this Earth could be examined in such a short period of time, this necessarily means that his day-to-day existence has little or no bearing on the Universe. Let alone the meaning of his presence within it. Defeated, Fazo rose to his feet and uttered the words that broke the ice.

``It doesn't really matter, anyway, does it?"

``What doesn't really matter, Fazo?" Ajan looked confused.

``The fact that we are no longer as one. In view of everything, our union or disunion does not bear any great effect on the Universe, the people around us, or even to our personal destinies. We shall both still die and still remain to be meaningless independently of whether we are together or not." Fazo cleared his head of the enigma, the mystery of Ajan, that lay restlessly in his soul.

``Whatever do you mean? Weren't you happy when we were together?" She still looked confused.

``The real question is: weren't you?"

``Yes."

``Then?" Fazo asked. He didn't give her time to respond. ``Ajan, few people knew of our union. Few people even cared. We cannot even be sure that our own happiness merits any recognition at all. We can be quite certain that our personal emotions have little bearing on anything outside our own lives, and even then, the drop in my happiness will not significantly alter my actions or my future. We have so little fruit in our lives anyhow. If we are so lucky to taste some, just to have it plucked out of our mouths, we should not complain and wish for it back since the truth is, that fruit could very well have not been there at all."

``Fruit? What fruit?" Ajan whispered to deaf ears.

``If we live our lives by the maxim that we should make the most out of what we have, we still fail. By any measure, we can never make any progress at altering our own destiny since the path of our existence, whether it be self- chosen or not, is randomly littered with experience that does not necessarily enrich us or immortalize us.'' He went on to explain how departed lovers are left with the empty feeling of having felt pain or anger or love but in truth, they have felt nothing that will remain with them. Emotions and feelings are locked in time and do not stay with them outside the realm of their existence within the temporal world. They feel happy at particular instants of time, but not always. Thus, they are still not happy, he concluded.

He stared at her trying to see if she understood. She looked at him and responded, ``I was happy, Fazo. I was happy then. I am not always happy."

``Are you happy right now?"

``No, but..."

``There are no but's," he interrupted. ``I do not instantly bring you happiness."

``I guess not." Thoughts of a magician flashed through her mind. She had to hold back an ill-timed smile.

He spoke of their short-lived love and how it had ended by her choosing or by ``some greater force." It did not pervade his very being. He mentioned how it did add something to their lives, but fell short of transforming them into different individuals. He spoke of mortal and separate entities, and not being at one with each other forever. He stopped and took a breath to examine Ajan. She looked a little disappointed by his philosophical and unemotional acceptance.

``Fazo, please, let me explain. I don't think you are right for me. I love you, I do, and I know many reasons why; but for some more obscure reason I feel like I should let you go. Do you understand that this has no bearing on how I feel about you as a person?" She started to cry softly, hoping that her tears would break Fazo out of his shell.

``I do not feel rejected or angered. I feel alone and I am reminded of my mortality once again. I regret that I will not feel the happiness that we shared and I do not want to see you go but...but..." Fazo stumbled as he plopped himself down on the couch next to Ajan. He held his hands in his face so that she could not see his eyes which by then had started leaking profusely. His head trembled and his body quivered in the cool breeze. Ajan gently pushed his head onto her shoulder and laid it to rest. She could feel his regret, his loss and rather than try to assuage him, she took these emotions upon herself and wept right along with Fazo.

Within a few minutes, the tear ducts had dried and Ajan had regained her composure. She arose quietly and walked away, leaving Fazo to deal with their separation. They both knew that Ajan was not about to change her mind and Fazo, feeling much better after his tears, stood up tall, brushed his hand through his hair and went upstairs to his room to wash the dried emotions off his face.

They no longer spent any time with each other. They both, nonetheless, continued with their work-duties and their personal lives. Riza had begun to suspect them, but she was not sure. One day, while Riza was folding some laundry, Ajan asked, ``Do you think Fazo is cute?"

Riza was surprised by Ajan's frankness. She always treated Fazo as a friend first and a colleague, nothing more. She had not passed a judgment on his attractiveness as a potential boyfriend; but now, under scrutiny, she responded somewhat defensively, somewhat in jest, ``What do you think?"

``That's not fair! I asked you first! I just want your honest opinion."

Riza saw that she was trapped, and had to contemplate her options. She could lie and say that she thought that Fazo was cute only because Ajan wanted to hear it or she could be truthful and give her opinion which would potentially end Ajan's interest in Fazo. Finally, she responded apologetically, ``He's not my type."

``Maybe not, but in the opinion of other women? I mean,...well, do you think that... would someone like....." Ajan paused as she tried to articulate her question deftly. ``Is he my type?"

``Do you think I don't know that you like Fazo? Of course you do! You don't need me to justify your feelings so why ask?"

Ajan shyly backed away and sat on Riza's bed. ``I want to know if I did the right thing."

``What do you mean?" Riza replied, somewhat alarmed. ``What did you do?"

``I broke up with him yesterday for no good reason at all."

Riza was startled, but not too surprised. ``First of all, I didn't even realize that the two of you were seeing each other. How long has it been?"

``Five weeks and one day."

``That long!" Riza said, a little insulted that she had not heard about it sooner and even more disappointed in herself for not having found out about it. ``Were you happy? Did he not treat you well? Did he deserve to be cut loose? Did you just lose interest in him, I mean, with Fazo it could certainly happen."

``I know you think that Fazo isn't anything special Riza, but to me he is. He really made me happy. He is considerate of my feelings and speaks to me with great respect and attention. He needs me and I thought I needed him but...."

``But...." Riza went on, suggesting that there was something unethical or wrong about Fazo's conduct.

``But, nothing! That's the point! He did nothing to provoke me. I just felt that he was not the type of man that was in for the long haul."

``In other words, you could not see him as your husband."

``Precisely."

``Ajan, far be it from me to defend him but....Does he make you happy? Does he give you any trouble, whatsoever?" Yes...no, Ajan's nods' responded. ``Then why do you think that things could never work out between the two of you?"

Ajan looked at Riza confused, ``He does some things which are exciting and outrageous as a boyfriend but as a husband...like the time we went away two weeks ago to the mining site. He threw me into a lake while we were canoeing between the islands. I could have frozen! He went in after me and made sure I was okay, but, sometimes...I wonder if he...I guess he did build a fire on the island and made sure we kept warm but we were without food, except for a chocolate bar and some peanuts and... he didn't have a map...and... You see, I question his maturity and his, well.... his rationality."

``He doesn't strike me as madcap. Is he irresponsible?" Riza asked.

``But his constant convincing makes him seem a little insincere, sometimes. I worry that he may, one day, either get bored of me or, worse..."

``So you thought that you should break things off before he has a chance to hurt you?"

``That's right," Ajan responded, regretful that she had not phrased it that way.

``I'll tell you something about men like Fazo. He is not the type to leave you for another woman. Nor is he the type to get bored with you. He just may become less and less special to you as time goes on because you may feel that his strong feelings for you will weaken."

``So I could always expect him to be loyal and truthful, but not necessarily as devoted."

``That's my opinion, but, well, Fazo is quite capable of anything," Riza concluded, raising her eyebrows.

``Thanks for the advice!" Ajan got up and walked out of the room to her own room and sat quietly on her bed, staring into space.

Fazo did not know what to expect from his life next. His mother had called and told him to look for a ``pretty wife." Would Ajan be acceptable? Definitely, he thought; but he had not given up; he chose to ignore her as a potential girlfriend. In fact, he did not even venture to think about any women at all. His emotions were glacial and his mind serene without the perils of a frivolous love, or so he thought. He kept himself at peace with the world by immersing himself in his other passions. He spent a great deal of time watching the World Loki Championships on television. The rest of his spare time was spent in mindless work and chores that did not allow his mind to wander through the unpleasant memories of the past few days.

One day he succumbed to the temptation and lost himself in his existential introspection. Why should love be so important to me? It has little effect on my final destiny. This romance is all just an act, a sort of plea for attention. I just simulate sensitivity just to better my chances of being with a woman. When it ends, I just close up my emotional outlets and remain indifferent. He turned to the television again. In reality, in the midst of an affair, Fazo often became confused as to his true feelings, but subconsciously, he did not allow himself to open up his raw interior. Still, everyone who knew him, including the women, would have the feeling that he was sincere and open.

This magic-act of allowing himself to feel emotion, only on demand, was often a pitfall since he could never really ascertain how much true love he had for a woman. When he was happy, he would try to let down his guard, and it would be stuck. Even worse, sometimes when he thought the drawbridge closed, he would get hurt by a woman, quite unexpectedly.

Fazo had a strong belief that Ajan still loved him, and wanted to return to him. This was a base from which to launch his emotional campaign to retrieve her love. He did not accept the solution that she genuinely needed another man. He did not consciously deliberate his case but as he sat down in the lounge to have a soft drink, he began to ponder his alternatives. On the one hand, he could be direct and appeal to her feminine side by taking her into his arms and kissing her firmly. This would serve the dual purpose of eliminating the need for conversation while reestablishing the groundwork for the relationship. Or, he could weave an argument based upon his merits. The only drawback to this plan would be that it threatened to make him seem conceited. He finally decided to just show her how happy she was when they were together.

``Fazo, we should talk." He turned around to see Ajan leaning in the doorway, her hair falling graciously on one side. Her arms were folded across her chest and the faint glimmer of a smile rested on her lips. Her eyes gave some indication of tears but of that he could not be certain.

``Well, sure." Fazo plopped up a cushion on the couch and placed it for her. He knew that Riza was not expected back for hours. Rather than sitting beside her, he chose to walk around the room, pacing slowly so as to keep his emotions in check. The movement also got his blood flowing in his brain to stimulate thought necessary for his argument. He peeked out of the corner of his eye at Ajan who looked back at him, now with a definite smile. ``She is so cute!" Fazo had to restrain himself from falling at her feet and begging for another chance.

``Well, talk!" Ajan said, after waiting for about three minutes for Fazo to start.

``You're the one who said we should talk!" Fazo replied, smiling.

``I know, but I just wanted to give you a chance to convince me that I did the wrong thing." Fazo did not show his emotion but her words reassured him of his success. He now narrowed his choice of strategies to two. He could convince her with words or with a kiss. Regardless of his course of action, he knew that it was about time for a typical Fazo smile. ``That's better," she said.

Fazo finally sat down beside Ajan and looked into her eyes. The setting sun had just bowed down behind the houses across the street and left the room in darkness. Ajan lost herself in Fazo's eyes and when she saw him close his eyes, she closed hers too, expecting a kiss. Instead, Fazo slid his arms around her waist and gave her a big hug which literally took her breath away. He moved back and looked into Ajan's eyes. All he could see were his own. He then gave her a peck on the lips and took her hand and dragged her out onto the porch. They walked to the swing, sat down and watched the lingering sunset, both of them wondering just how long it would last.

When the dust settled at Rumesian Mining, the management was faced with a new report from Fazo defining conditions by which the program could be continued and a report by Ajan detailing the environmentalists' findings. Ajan had summarized more than two years of environmental studies into a report which outlined the various disturbances to the environment that would result from the project. Her report dealt with everything from elk population to fish mercury levels to the number of trees that needed to be destroyed.

After many hours of rewriting and compacting the environmental engineers' data, Ajan was convinced that the damage to the ecosystem would be too severe to accept the project. She understood the importance of the jobs created by the mine. She had to find a way to keep the mine on schedule.

Fazo's work was not yet completed but the report that he had submitted was quite clear in its recommendations about which environmental effects were irrelevant and which were not negotiable. The focus of his report was on the aesthetic distinction between two scenarios. The first was an ecosystem whose wildlife population and forests had been significantly depleted by a scaled-down mine, but by careful landscaping and artistic work, the aura of the beauty of the land had been preserved. The second scenario was similar to the first except that the mine had been constructed, in its entirety and at the expense of the visual and spiritual feel of the land. He had even consulted a mystic who had a keen sense of aesthetics.

Certainly, Fazo and Ajan felt pressure to find an adequate solution and quickly. She more than he felt this pressure since her supervisor had not been as impressed with her work as either of them had hoped. Fazo had done a good job keeping the superiors abreast with his findings and preparing them for his somewhat ambiguous reports. Ajan did not want to submit a piece of work until it was done to her satisfaction, which was often well beyond the quality that Fazo would settle for. Unfortunately, she had pushed her deadlines back so far that the supervisors felt a little impatient to see results.

After reviewing the two reports, the supervisors held a meeting in which they suggested that unless new solutions could be found in the next two weeks, negotiations would have to begin to find alternatives for the new mine site. He said that he planned to help initiate a search for a more compatible community or to redistribute the focus of RM's operations into areas which could use further manpower. He closed remorsefully by pointing out that the prospects for success in that plan were not good.

Ajan and Fazo felt compelled to do everything they could to help, not only because this plan would somehow make their previous work seem meaningless, but also because they felt that they owed it to the people of Rumesia to help them in exchange for their hospitality. Neither of them considered the idea that a resolution in RM's favour may bring them more success in procuring the cases of their choice in the following terms or more money. Somehow, they knew that the work had not been accomplished. The buds of a new plan began to grow in their heads.

Later that night over a midnight snack, Fazo asked Ajan about her findings. ``Did you find that 60 percent of the trees could be saved?"

``No, I said 45 percent."

``Didn't I read 60 percent somewhere?"

``No, I don't remember that. The report that I have been working on for the past week was the most recent study based on a formula to minimize the number of casualties in critical areas of the food chain. Remember that the final elk population reduction was 30 percent. That was too high, remember?"

``By whose standards?" Fazo asked.

``Well, yours! I mean by the standards that you had determined were the ethical limits."

``I never said that, people just assumed it."

``So you mean to say that a 30 percent decrease in elk population would not destroy the ecosystem?" Ajan asked.

``I don't know!" Fazo laughed. ``That's your job!"

``Well, I didn't figure that out. It is conceivable that a reduction in all the populations of animals in the ecosystem may result in a stable, mind you, leaner food chain."

``But, you see, the key number in the ecological report from my point of view is the tree destruction number," said Fazo.

``Because of the landscaping potential, of course," Ajan said. ``You mentioned how important the aesthetic appeal of the land was but I never dreamed that by saving as many trees as possible, it could retain its beauty. I always thought that the drastic reduction in animal population would be challenged."

``Not if the spirit of the land is kept intact." Fazo smiled as he realized that they were onto something. Ajan smiled too and jumped up to give Fazo a hug and a big kiss. ``I love you," he whispered in her ear.

``I love you, too!" she replied, twisting his hair through her fingers.

``Let's get to work!" Fazo suggested. They worked long hard hours that night and the night after and at the end of those two days, they were ready to give in.

``I'm tired, Fazo," Ajan said as she rubbed Fazo's arm, pleading with him to give up and pay some attention to her.

``Persistence and patience. We're not through."

``But, but," Ajan pleaded, ``I want you to give me a kiss and then to read me some of your poetry and then- "

``Ajan, my love, spend just a little more time today and I guar-" Fazo was interrupted by Ajan who kissed him hard on the lips. He dropped his pen and his papers as he finally gave in to her pleas to stop. Somehow, the importance of the project dwindled away in Fazo's mind. The pressure from RM had taken its toll on the both of them and they both benefitted from the time alone.

The next day, they spent the whole afternoon in Ajan's office, calculating probabilities and risks, speaking on the phone with landscapers and artists, and getting the final word from the mine engineers. They set up a meeting for the next morning in which the engineers would give specifications on the size of the mine complex, above-ground. Also present would be the landscapers who would try to preserve the image of the land, given the engineer's architectural plans. Finally, the artists drawings would be passed along to environmentalists and mystics who would try to determine if the land could maintain its aurora. Mind you, Fazo and Ajan realized the extreme ambiguity involved with this sort of guesswork, but they thought that this potentially wasted effort was worth more than no attempt at all to save the new mine.

The next day went off as planned and the initial results were promising. The plans made it through the three stages, finally passing the mystic's inspection for environmental correctness.

They worked around the clock shuttling the plans back and forth from the various inspectors, trying to negotiate better settlements in the limited amount of time that they had. At one point, they thought they had reached an impasse when the mystic deemed that the tree level had been made too low and the environmentalists concluded that raising the tree level any higher would endanger the stability of the ecosystem. No one was able to budge and Fazo and Ajan were at a loss about finding a solution.

``Who cares about a bunch of trees anyway?" Fazo said to Ajan as he threw his pencil into the garbage can at the other side of the office.

``Don't say that, Fazo. We've come so far."

``Really. Who does this `mystic' think she is anyway? So what if there aren't enough poplars north of the site? I won't miss them."

``Whatever happened to the `I wouldn't touch a thing' Fazo?"

``He's fed up with it all."

``The environmentalists told us that we need those poplars or else the squirrel population would decrease. And then the mountain lions, then what? We have to find a way."

``How about just planting the trees on the roof of the mine site?"

``Don't be silly," Ajan frowned. ``The deadline is almost here. We have to find a solution."

Fazo threw his briefcase across his desk in disgust. He pouted as he rubbed his temples. Eliciting no sympathy in Ajan, he became even further annoyed. She walked slowly out of the room and shut the door behind him. For a few moments, Fazo sat in state. Tired of his inactivity, he turned to his computer and began typing away.

Dear Angelica,

I'm tired, I'm fed up with her. She infuriates me like you wouldn't believe! All I've done this past week is look at trees, trees, and more, damn trees. Poplars, oaks, and spruces. I can't even look at my desk anymore, it reminds me of an oak. Thinking about it and almost everything in my life drives me up the wall. Even things I used to enjoy. Take Ajan. She used to be sweet and kind and concerned, now she's sappy, boring, and nagging. What happened? I know, I know: it's just you, Faz. Faz haz had enough!

He stopped and reread the letter, so far. He licked his lips, drew a deep breath and started typing again.

So how's Jodoum? I hope things aren't still rocky between you two. I hope he's changed. You deserve better, you know. That concert you were telling me about in your last letter sounded amazing! Did you go with him?

The work here isn't that bad. I am. I should be more considerate. The Rumesian society is a little stifling and Ajan isn't exactly letting me breathe. But she does take good care of me. We had a couple of great weekends in the country. Actually, even the cities feel like the country. The place really is serene. I have been under a bit of stress these days and I have been targeting Ajan, quite unfairly, I'm sure. It's only been three days. Last weekend, we did have a great time. We spent the evening Saturday running through the streets of Haltern, looking for a leather coat for her. We never found one but we did find a great pair of mocassins, an old fortune- teller, a cool lithography store, an excellent brochetterie, and a lovely little spot overlooking the city.

Funny how writing to you always makes me feel better. I miss you. We really shouldn't avoid each other like we do. A weekend every six months just won't do. Master the moment. Surprise me.

Love,

Fazo

He contemplated his signature and added an ``XOX" for good measure. He had something more to say but he hated P.S.'s so he added a line in the middle which read: ``If you get a chance, send me that picture of us at the amusement park." He sent the file to the printer, wrote her address on an envelope, picked up the piece of paper from the printer tray and pushed it into the envelope. Walking back to his office from the mailroom, he bumped into Ajan.

``There you are!" She looked Fazo over. ``Why the big smile?"

``No reason."

``Martin wants to see us immediately. It looks good."

``What looks good?"

``You'll see," she smiled mischievously.

``It's not my birthday..." he thought out loud.

``The whole world does not revolve around you, Fazo Mandluk." She was genuinely disgusted. He could not care less as thoughts of returning home filled his head.

``We need to redesign the above-ground portion of the mine so that it does not take up as much land space, right?" Martin said as Ajan and Fazo sat down. ``Seeing how much work you and all the others have been putting in of late, I and a few of the engineers, have done a little overtime to help out."

A week later, Ajan stood up in front of the commission and presented the final proposal. ``This rescue plan, complete with blueprints and design specifications, was passed by the environmentalists and the mystics, approved by the engineers, and applauded by both management and the workers. It is the solution to RM's dilemma." A generous ovation followed Ajan's talk as did scores of congratulatory cheers from semi-sincere well-wishers.

The supervisors were so pleased with Fazo's and Ajan's work that they excused them from the legal affairs and gave them a week off. When they arrived home that day, they used that first day of vacation to sleep until the spirit moved them to awaken. Seventeen hours later, Fazo made his way down to the lounge. He wondered where Ajan was while he caught up on the week's news events when out of nowhere Ajan descended. She kissed Fazo and said, ``Good morning. Let's go outside and--" she noticed that she had slept later than she had thought and said, ``and see the sun set."

A little exhausted by the work, Fazo looked through the Haltern newspaper in an effort to find something new and exciting to do that evening. He had not been keeping up on the new music these last few months and had certainly not ventured out to the dance clubs. His supply of compact discs had not been replenished in months and were showing signs of getting stale. Easily, the simplest thing for Fazo to do was to drag Ajan to a club with him that night. She was not at all interested in this type of music, and, in his heart, he felt like going out by himself, or with new people.

He found an interesting concert at the University but he had no one that he knew that would fit into the younger crowd. Riza had come to mind but she and her boyfriend already had plans for the evening. As on cue, Fazo received a phone call from a friend, Laigo, from the Thought School who had finished his case a little earlier than expected.

Laigo was an unusually straightforward and often crude man; a man who some women try their best to avoid. His sense of compassion and equality for women left much to be desired, yet he was somehow curiously able to please women in romantic situations. Many women found him irresistibly attractive, possibly because he was incorrigible, more probably because he was considered by almost all of Fazo's female friends to be gorgeous. Regardless of his appearance, Laigo had a strong, decisive character with an ego to match. His potential for success in most matters was aided by his good looks and confidence and somehow unbelievably, by his brutish charm.

``Laigo, what's up? How did you manage to finish your case so early?" Fazo asked.

``Forget that, Fazo, I'm in town and I thought we could do something special today. Interested in some subversive anti-government tunes tonight?"

``In Rumesia, what? An underground band, where?" Fazo asked a little scared, but mostly excited by the prospect of seeing something interesting. Fixing his eyes on the clock, he waited for Laigo's explanation.

``There's this warehouse party set up by some of the University students. It's somewhat illegal but the authorities have no clue as to how to get at them. You see, we all just have to pass by the university some time tonight. If they think that you're the type of guy who'd be interested, they slip you an advertisement for a clothes store with directions to an unspecified location. Someone will be there who'll recognize me."

Fazo started, ``And then we go in, I under-"

``No," Laigo corrected him, ``then we go to that place where they give us yet another set of directions and a symbol." At this point, Fazo was confused. ``You see, then we follow this set of directions and look for this symbol painted like graffiti on one of the doors of the warehouses."

``Sounds good!" Fazo said, noticeably excited.

``Do you know any babes who might be the type to get interested in this sort of stuff?"

``In Rumesia, are you kidding?"

``Fazo, you're so naive, so blind! Don't you think that an underground exists? It's just covered up well here in Rumesia. Whenever you have a large concentration of people who have artificially stringent moral codes imposed upon them, you will always find a niche of subversives who fight against this conformity. It's not a political movement, by any standards, rather, a social one. It is done in an attempt to mobilize the masses towards further social experimentation." Laigo continued in his drawl. Laigo's voice was slow and deliberate and let the full power of his emotions come through in every syllable.

``When are we heading out? Where do you want to meet?" Fazo asked, still preoccupied by his businessman-like tendencies.

``I'll come get you late, 'round eleven. Be ready and wear black. Later." Fazo then heard the dial tone and hung up. Looking for something to do, Fazo had never expected to find this. He had been hoping to see Laigo for a long time and was quite suprised to get a call from him, let alone his suggestion. Understandably nervous and concerned about the illegality of his evening's activities, Fazo started to pace around the room. He then put the radio on and tuned it for what seemed like an hour before finding a faint signal on a student-run radio station. The discussion was very topical and critical of the social system in Rumesia. They stayed clear of political discussion, most probably because they, like everyone else, were satisfied by the government. Their anger was directed at the social establishment which had somehow instituted its social morals without legislation of any type.

Fazo began searching through his wardrobe for the appropriate clothing. Before he knew it, it was fifteen minutes to eleven. He quickly rushed into the shower and ran right out and got dressed rather quickly.

Laigo rang the doorbell at quarter past eleven, just as Fazo had finished drying his hair. They rushed out after Laigo dumped Fazo's executive raincoat back in the house. Laigo's convertible had a dull, classic look that made it seem like it had just stepped out of a comic book. Laigo told Fazo to hop in and he, taking this order literally, straddled the back seat and jumped directly into the passenger side of the front seat, sliding his legs over the trunk. Laigo opened his eyes wide and got into the car through the door and drove off towards the warehouses.

When they got to the designated area, they were given directions to the fishing district in the older area of Haltern. While driving through cobblestone roads the like of which Fazo had never seen in Rumesia, he noticed an interesting tribe of youths clad in black, walking about the waterfront. The scene had the appeal of the most exciting of undergrounds without the drawbacks of crime or drugs. There existed a communal satisfaction with the quality of life, so much so that the social order had been maintained.

When they finally arrived, Laigo spotted the inverted pyramid symbol on a green warehouse door and parked his car in the shadows of a deserted alley. They stepped out and walked towards the entrance, catching up on the more recent developments in their lives.

``I've been seeing this woman from the government of Laconia this term, Fazo. Her name is Melinda. She is gorgeous and alert, a real sharp, bright person. Her raison d'etre is to challenge other people's misconceptions about social conventions. She really knows what makes me happy and she knows how to please me, if you know what I mean!" Fazo smiled and said nothing, hoping that his good friend Laigo would go on, and he did. ``I think the one thing that is different about her is that I feel like pleasing her. For the first time in my life, a woman's happiness brings me satisfaction."

``Are you living with her?" Fazo ventured to ask.

``Yeah, yeah. We moved in together about one month into my assignment. I have another case in Laconia all set up for next term so I'm all set."

``Sounds like it's getting serious."

``Usually, I just don't think that far in advance but she has had a greater effect on me than all the others."

Fazo knew that Laigo kept himself abreast of interesting and attractive women. Laigo had a good natured composure and a furiously active imagination. His political and social awareness made him an upbeat, interesting person to speak with. Undeniably rich in experience, Laigo tried not to extend his relationships to long-term sentences. He did not consciously apply himself to making his women happy, he just did, without having to try. Just being in his presence was enough for most women. Remarkably, even men enjoyed Laigo's company, as Fazo could attest.

``Are you seeing anyone, Fazo?" he asked Fazo, expecting a no.

``Well, yes I have been seeing Ajan, remember her?" Fazo asked.

``Yeah, sure, I know her. We met at Thought School just before you left for Rumesia. It was only two days, but I thought you two were just friends?" Fazo nodded no. ``Frankly, I didn't really think that she was your type. You're too restless to be tied down to someone as stable as Ajan, but if you're happy." Fazo said nothing. ``Why are you so quiet, Fazo? You aren't really happy are you?"

``I am, but she's too set. Not just in her ways; her life is set. I don't like that." Fazo resigned himself to his depressing words but woke up at last when he saw a petite, fair-skinned brunette with thick dark lashes and short and shiny black hair.

He turned and watched her walk away until Laigo told him, ``What're you lookin' at her for? She's very..." Laigo looked for the right word, ``...standard!" Upon hearing that, Fazo perked up and brushed his hair from his eyes so that he wouldn't miss a thing. When he got inside, he realized that his long hair didn't make much of a difference, so saturated was the air by smoke from the dry-ice machines. Putting his hands over his brows to shield his eyes, Fazo peered out onto the dance floor to see a black and silver continuum of people, rippling like a wave to the rhythms of the neo-modern dance beats. He got adept at identifying when one person ended and another began after spending three minutes eyeing a clone of the woman he had seen just moments earlier outside the warehouse. The music was outrageous and languid, quite in keeping with the spirit of the evening, and more than acceptable to the thirsty ears of Fazo.

Laigo led Fazo over to a group of Laigo's friends. They greeted him with handshakes that made him feel seventeen again. In fact, the average partygoer was barely twenty, quite fresh from the university classrooms. He and Laigo chatted about the state of the universities for a little while until Fazo's attention was diverted by a woman whose beauty exceeded the last two that Fazo had noticed. He walked in her direction and stopped short of her as she began to talk to a girlfriend of hers, gesticulating with her hands to make herself heard over the crashing guitar. Keeping his eyes slightly diverted, Fazo maintained a check on their conversation. He turned away for an instant to look at Laigo when she brushed up against his shoulder.

``Hi! Not from 'round ear, are ya?" she said in a cute drawl.

``Nah, M'Habsentian," Fazo replied, putting on a drawl of his own. ``I like your accent," he said in his regular accent.

``I like yours too, that's pretty good!" she said, slapping him lightly on the chest. ``Like to 'ip-'op to the music?" Fazo graciously accepted her invitation to dance and lead the way onto the dance floor. Jostled by everyone and elbowed by the taller members of the crowd, Fazo and his dance partner hopped through an industrial mix of Lopa's best and darkest underground bands. As though they were unleashing part of their primal selves, the two moaned and screamed, waving their arms about like ragdolls, and stomping to the electric beat. When they were sufficiently freed of inhibitions, they meandered towards the bar and bought some drinks off a man who ran this party of semi-controlled ecstasy.

``Your name is..." He looked at her lips.

``Maddie. 'Nd yer Fazo?"

``How did you know?"

``I o'rerd yer tawkin' to Laigo 'n'der cornar."

``You know Laigo?" Fazo asked, surprised.

``Yup, I do. Sawr you and I thought yer were cute so I asked Laigo for yer name. Then I bumped yer!" she said, laughing while rubbing his arm where she had hit into him. The two of them talked for a few minutes in the party and then re-engaged in the dance until they fell to their knees in exhaustion. Crawling through the crowd, they escaped through a back entrance to an abandoned railyard which was littered with garbage dumpsters and damaged canisters. Maddie told Fazo about herself and her experiences in Lyzencia, a suburb of Lopa. Occasionally, she'd stop and pivot around at the sound of an explosion. Firecrackers were being set off at regularly intervals by a band of pyromaniacs who preferred to be called the Pyrotechnicians from Hell.

After she became accustomed to the sudden noises, Maddie continued her tale of how she moved all across the world with her rich family, constantly meeting the brightest of children in every new community. As she grew older, she cultivated a disdain for the pretentious bourgeoisie of which she was a part and began to seek out the company of more rebellious, alternative friends. They introduced her to many things, some good, some bad but most of all, they gave her a more real sense of what the world was really like. Her passion for life, she said, was rooted in her belief that life does not get any more real than on the inner-city streets of Lopa, of Fireas, or of any other cosmopolitan metropolis.

This tale of lost faith and altered judgment struck a chord within Fazo's heart, so anxious was he to experience what she had. His lifestyle sometimes encouraged real exposure to the very essence of modern life, but he fell short of experiencing its passion to its full potential. Either it was his own inhibitions or those of his friends which had always held him back but that day, Fazo felt as though he had tasted reality in its most black form and liked it. He was not ready for the sugary-sweet institutions of marriage or commitment and desperately wanted to arrive at some understanding as to what motivated people, all people, to get up and live from one day to the next.

By the end of the evening, Maddie had given Fazo clear indications that she was attracted to him. Fazo did not resist, so charmed was he by Maddie's poignant blend of youth, rage, and compassion. Near four-thirty, Laigo interrupted Fazo and Maddie as he signalled to his friend that he had to leave. Fazo gave Maddie a long, sweet kiss goodbye and went off towards his friend, several paces ahead of him. ``I didn't think you'd take my advice to heart!" Laigo said, laughing.

``Well, Maddie was there at the right time. I learnt a lot from her," Fazo said with a smile, pregnant with meaning.

``Understood," Laigo smirked, ``I'll drive you home. I hope you don't wake Ajan up!"

``She lives upstairs," Fazo told him.

``Oh, so, anyhow, you'd better wipe that lipstick off just in case."

Fazo wet the end of his shirt and rubbed his lips until they reacquired their natural pink colour. As though he felt no guilt whatsoever for what he had done, he casually asked Laigo about his affairs in Laconia. They talked and talked until Fazo finally got home at around six. He waved goodbye and stumbled off to his bed to catch some sleep, thoroughly exhausted, both emotionally and physically, by the night's activities.

Listlessly, Fazo pushed himself up out of bed later that morning. His eyes were sore and his feet even bruised from the previous night. He heard a knock on his door and instinctively said,

``Come in."

Ajan walked in and turned her eyes away as she saw Fazo sitting up in his bed without a shirt. ``Fazo!" she cried.

``Calm your hormones." He reached for his robe.

``We need some milk and vanilla extract. Can you go to the store and get some, no one else is home?" she asked, expecting a yes.

``Can't you get some? I've got a headache that you wouldn't believe," Fazo complained, rubbing his head with his left hand while picking out a shirt with his right.

``I don't have my glasses with me and my contact lenses are in the enzyme. I can't drive!" she explained, pointing to her eyes. Fazo did not even bother to look at her as he shuffled around the room in a semi-stupor.

``Alright, let me take a shower first, alright?"

``You'd better!" she laughed, holding her nose. ``And wash all your clothes while you're at it!"

Fazo realized that his room smelled of the fishery and quickly heaped his clothes into the hamper. He ran into the shower and stayed under the steam for twenty minutes until every last hint of the fish smell was gone. After wiping himself dry, he got dressed, again primarily in black, and ran downstairs to get out to the car.

``What! No kiss!" Ajan asked as he put one foot out the door. She puckered up and closed her eyes waiting for Fazo. He saw her in her apron and shower-cap and turned away.

``Not now," he yelled as he ran down the porch into the car. Disappointed, Ajan looked out of the window as Fazo jumped into his car and rode off at an incredible speed with a formidable grin on his face. Sensing that something was wrong, Ajan began to wonder. She went upstairs and stuck her head into Fazo's room guiltily. Tiptoeing unnecessarily past the bed, she sifted through his clothes, trying to find a matchbox, a receipt, some clue as to where he went last night. She smelled the odour emanating from the hamper and searched inside. To her absolute dismay, she found his coal black shirt with multiple lipstick stains on both the inside and outside of the shirt. Trying desperately not to rush to any false conclusions, she carefully replaced the shirt and went downstairs to sit down.

After ten minutes of paralysis, she lowered her head into her hands and realized that there was really only one explanation. Rather than confront Fazo with the evidence, she thought it best to just ask him to break off their relationship. She could claim that he was not happy or satisfied with her. As she thought about this picture in her head, she became sad and let out a few tears. After a few more minutes of self-pity, Ajan realized that she too had been dissatisfied with Fazo's unenthusiastic behaviour of late. She herself had been spending an inexplicable amount of time thinking about Patrick and what could and may still be. Reluctantly, she came to the conclusion that it would be unfair to both of them to continue the relationship, and without putting any blame solely on Fazo, she thought that she should let him know.

The rest of the day seemed endless to Ajan as she waited for Fazo to come back. Looking back at the last four months, she realized that true happiness had eluded her and in its place was a makeshift contentment. The work on which she had been working so hard did not seem to bring as much satisfaction to her as she had hoped. The company's argument, although it pretended to be based on ecology and social welfare, was really rooted on one thing, money. This did not sit well with Ajan who continuously sought to distance herself from the material world. Her worst fear was that Thought School would be nothing more than a training ground for businesspeople, a sort of leadership workshop for corporate positions. Bent on changing the world and ameliorating the standard of living of the average individual, Ajan did not want to tolerate schemes that would just increase the disparity between rich and poor. Her personal happiness was not defined in terms of money and she saw no reason to take a position that she didn't really like only because it pays better.

Ajan knew that because of her success in Rumesia, she would have the case of her choosing. A more human, less technical case was what she was looking for; an assignment which would bare little reward other than the peace of mind that comes with knowing that she had helped people out. Luckily, the second term's Case Register had a greater variety of interesting cases for Ajan than the first. She had just received the package in the mail that day and started to leaf through the book, eager to find a case which suited her. Definite in her mind were two things: one, the case must be socially responsible and two, it mustn't be interesting to Fazo.

While she was folding her clothes, the telephone rang. At first, Ajan did not even realize that the ringing was the telephone but when the sound finally registered in her head, the ringing stopped. She went back to her laundry when the phone began to ring again. She put down her clothes, rushed over to the phone and answered with a friendly hello.

``Oy, is Fazo der playz?" asked the female voice.

``May I, may I know who's calling please?" asked Ajan, wary of his endeavour the previous evening. The woman on the other end of the line sensed Ajan's discontentment and perked up her voice.

``Just tell Fazr that'er I'm realler sorry dat his sure-ut was ruined. Playz tell'm dat Maddie called to apowl'jayz." Maddie feigned sympathy and remorse as she could sense the suspicion in Ajan's voice.

``I will," Ajan replied. ``By the way, what did happen to his shirt?" Ajan asked, trying to seem curious without prying.

``Laiger gave Fazr a shirt 'za preznt 'r Fazr left der shirt he werz wearn'n Laiger's 'partm'nt. At the ender of der nayt, we were all hav'n a naytcap. 'Ile cleaning up his coffee taber I sawr dat der were some lipzdick mocks and some spilt drinks on der taber. I just pickered op what I'er thought wasr rag, but what werz act-joulie Fazer's shird and clayned the taber. I'm 'frayd I ruined it. I werz so 'bear'ssed when Laigo found'er Fazo's shird on der floor." Maddie used every shred of acting skill that she could muster to disguise the truth. Luckily for her, Ajan was more than willing to buy the excuse and quickly put suspicious thoughts out of her head. Maddie apologized one last time and hung up while Ajan plopped down onto the couch and smiled after exhaling a long sigh of relief.

Fazo opened the door to Laigo's apartment which had been left unlocked. He tried looking for Laigo but no one was in sight. He yelled out, ``Hello, Laigo? Anybody home?"

``Fazo?" answered a faint voice, coming from another corner of the apartment. ``Come on in and sit down on the couch. Can I fix you a drink?"

``Yeah, sure." Fazo lounged back on the sofa and put his feet up on Laigo's infamous coffee table. He smiled as he leaned back and stared at the stucco ceiling and the strategically located glow-in-the-dark star stickers. ``That Laigo! Always interested in things out of his reach!" Fazo muttered to himself as he thought of his good friend. On many occasions, Fazo remembered trying to dissuade Laigo from over-exuding his masculinity in an attempt to pick up a woman well beyond him in years, sophistication, and income. They were just teenagers then, but Laigo had not changed dramatically. Although he had matured, his tastes were still exotic and whimsical to the point of being impossible to reach.

Fazo felt comfortable in Laigo's presence. A certain sense of satisfaction pervaded Fazo as he sat in the room by himself, waiting for his good friend to bring him a drink. He knew that they would talk incessantly about good times and bad. They would conjecture about future days and reminisce about times past. Somehow time would stand still when they were together, frozen in the eternal mystique of adventure. Whether it was today or eight years ago, their experiences would never change.

``Fazo, I have to ask your advice," Laigo asked in a serious tone of voice that suggested that he actually needed counselling on an affair of the heart that Fazo may be better suited to answer. Fazo was more sympathetic towards women and Laigo knew it.

``Shoot," Fazo said.

``You see, my new girlfriend Melinda and I are separating for the next few months and I feel as though, well, I feel as though, for the first time in my life, I feel as though, after these three months, I will still want her and no one else. I cannot even imagine myself being unfaithful." He looked at Fazo to see if he understood. ``There I go again, using terms like faithful that I thought only applied to marriage. What's wrong with me, Fazo? Am I so shallow that I don't realize that I am hung up over this woman to the extent that I don't want anyone else?"

``You'd better start from the beginning and tell me about her." Fazo said in a soothing voice, prompting Laigo to settle down and collect his thoughts.

Laigo began less emotionally, ``You see Laigo, I was introduced to her by a group of my friends and she immediately made an impression on me. Funny thing is, she didn't even notice me! You know what I mean... Time passed and we saw each other only as part of a group. We talked more and more and it went so far as to develop into, well, a friendship," Laigo explained somewhat incredulously. ``When the dust settled, I realized that she was someone in whom I could confide. She listened to what I had to say and didn't see me as anything but a friend, or so I thought. After some time, I could not help but feel a need to confront her about my romantic intentions towards her. I seriously feared a rejection along the grounds of, 'Laigo, I like you, but as a friend.' It was really bothering me, Fazo." Laigo had true grief in his voice.

``You?" Fazo asked. ``You were afraid of rejection?"

``Yes, even me!" Laigo continued. ``She balked at first and said nothing. I apologized for ever bringing it up and asked Melinda if she could forget about it so that we could maintain our friendship. She still said nothing and I went on and on until I again conceded that I wanted more. Finally, she let out her emotions and greeted me with a warm, tender hug that seemed to say, 'It's about time!' I felt the beginnings of something lasting, but I did not want to take a chance so I pushed the issue that evening."

``You what?"

``I wanted to hold her and just let her know that I wanted us to be together. We kissed and got close and just got comfortable with each other as boyfriend-girlfriend. I was worried that she might change her mind the next day even though I knew that there was no chance of it.

``As weeks passed, we grew closer and closer, kindling our romance with the genuine and rich friendship that we shared. Melinda knew much about me and kept me very, very happy!"

``I can imagine," Fazo interrupted, grinning from ear to ear.

``No, no! It's not what you think! We didn't sleep together or even think about it. The relationship was wholesome and meaningful and merited careful seasoning and brewing time." Thoughts of potato chips and beer passed through Fazo's mind. ``She brought me pleasure by the little things she did for me and just because, I guess, because I loved her. One day, very early in our relationship, I realized that she was more in love with me than I was with her." Nothing new here, Fazo thought to himself. ``It made me feel irresponsible and prompted me to take a good hard look at Melinda. After some reflection, I knew that she was much, much more than a passing fad. Since then, she and I have been on the same wavelength, and very happy."

Fazo asked, ``So what is the problem?"

``I miss her," Laigo said in an embarrassed, quiet tone of voice, rich with feeling and emotion. His face turned slightly pale and his lips quivered ever so little. One could even imagine the beginnings of a tear in his eye as he looked at his friend for support. Laigo's hands were tightly fisted around his coffee mug, clenching at something he didn't have. His right leg shook with nervousness while his face appeared lost and hurt, as he peered out into empty space.

``You have been bitten, finally, by the bug..." Fazo responded with a mischievous smile.

``What are you talking about, Fazo? What bug?" Laigo asked.

``Love. It's what you have been searching for, albeit subconsciously, for the past few years. Laigo didn't you realize that your promiscuity was just a substitute for love. Although you have had many intimate moments with women in the past, you really never felt true intimacy that can only come from a deep-rooted love. It's as though we have been given two reasons to seek out women, for procreation and for love. Obviously the two are very inter-related but they are not the same, contrary to what you, and many people believe."

``But, Fazo, where does it leave me? I miss her. For the first time in my life, I feel as though I cannot be myself without the company of another human being. It's cruel, these feelings. It's as though, as though, I'm somehow linked to her."

``It's not all that strong, rather, it's somehow very much psychological. If you can control your feelings, you can still love her and cherish her just the same, but not necessarily miss her to the extreme that you now do."

Laigo did not believe Fazo's last response and added, ``All I know is that I've been writing her every other day this week and I keep waiting around to see if I have received mail. And I haven't. It makes me sick, literally. I just wait by the mailbox, with a knot in my stomach in expectation of something that never arrives."

``Expectations are dangerous things. We should all keep our hopes and dreams in check just in case they ruin our real life."

``So are you saying that this isn't real?" Laigo said loudly, a little disgusted with Fazo's insinuations. ``I'll tell you! WHat I am feeling is every bit as real as the pain someone feels when they've been shot. It's real. I can feel it. It's not in my head or my heart or anywhere else. For me, this is reality and my existence is tempered by her, whether I like it or not. I cannot do anything about it and I cannot even begin to understand what you are saying, in relation to my situation."

Fazo could tell that he had somehow offended his friend and decided to be quiet for a little while. He tried to think of what else he could say to change the topic and to get Laigo's mind off his problems, but he himself couldn't help but be reminded of Laigo's pain. He knew that it was ridiculous and completely avoidable, but he did not see what he could do to help his friend. ``You don't seem to be affected. You had a great time at the party and when I saw you the other day with your friends."

``Yeah," Laigo replied, ``but that was because I had other things to do, to keep my mind busy."

``So you do admit that it was in your mind!" Fazo pounced. ``You admit that while you were having a good time at the party, you forgot about Melinda!"

``Momentarily, but not for the whole evening. It would have been nice if she had been there, but... Speaking of that party, you really had a good time!" Laigo smiled as he stared at Fazo who looked away guiltily.

``Yeah, I guess I did." Fazo paused and Laigo looked deeper into his eyes to incite Fazo to elaborate. ``Maddie is a very interesting and attractive girl. She is in many ways just like me, except that she is not afraid to break free of all social conventions and speak her mind truthfully. I like that."

``Apparently," Laigo joked. ``Does this mean that you and Ajan are no longer?"

``I don't know exactly what it means. I don't think this should have any bearing on my relationship with Ajan, don't you think?" Fazo looked hard at Laigo, expecting him to sanction him and to even make him sound heroic. Fazo knew very well that Laigo had always been very much the type to encourage people to sample the diversity of the Earth. He had never exhibited monogamous tendencies and always advocated a more free and uninhibited style of living. Unfortunately for Fazo, Laigo's recent love affair made him a little less sympathetic of covert affairs.

``I don't think that you can expect to go on with Ajan the way you have been Fazo. It wouldn't be..." and Fazo feared that Laigo would be completely transformed and say 'right' exhibiting true moral maturity, ``...wise. You obviously aren't happy with her."

Fazo knew that Laigo was right because he could feel that Ajan was not satisfying his needs. Fazo needed someone with whom he could feel more comfortable in one-on-one situations. She left him always with the impression that he was somehow forcing her to like him as though he was a magician who had her under a spell. He could not isolate the true cause for his malaise, but he could tell, especially now after Maddie, that the time had come to cut the strings that bound him to Ajan.

That evening, Fazo returned home to find Ajan asleep on the couch. He hadn't missed her all day but the sight of her sleeping so serenely on the sofa made him feel irresistibly drawn to her. It was as though the sleep had captured the cute childlike nature in Ajan and had frozen it for Fazo to see. He quietly moved next to her on the couch and deposited a soft kiss on her lips which stirred her.

``Oh, it's you!" she said, somewhat relieved. ``Hi!" she said, drawing out the vowel sound with a yawn and a stretch. A warm smile filled her face as she stretched her arms around Fazo and gave him a strong, possessive hug. Not quite aware of her feelings, Fazo got up quite abruptly and went to get some water. She followed him and put her arms around his waist. As he turned around, he could see that she wanted him to kiss her again. After taking a sip of his water, he set the glass down on the counter and gently placed his right hand on the back of her head. With his other hand on her left shoulder, he moved close up to her and kissed her, applying pressure both with his lips and with his hand. After some time, he retracted his lips and stared at Ajan whose eyes remained closed. She was limp, even weak as she rested in his arms. He carefully walked her back to the couch and told her to lie down. He sat next to her head and told her that he was going to go out with Laigo. She still did not respond, entranced either by his kiss or by the feeling of relief of what the kiss meant to her. Passively, she accepted Fazo's excuse for not spending more time with her and drifted off into sleep. Aware of his opportunity, Fazo shuffled out of the room and into his car.

When he arrived at the bar, he saw Laigo in a corner table on the terrace. Fazo pushed his way through a crowd of people who seemed to be so laid-back that they wouldn't even notice a bomb. When he finally sat down, he looked across the table and saw his friend in a sort of trance. ``What is it with people today?" Fazo thought to himself. He looked out onto the street and watched the passers-by looking quite alert and lively and he stared at Laigo who still looked fazed. ``That's a neat trick." Fazo said to him. ``You look plastered even though you barely took a sip!"

``What?" Laigo asked, breaking out of his spell, ``Oh, right. I'm sorry. I was just thinking about Melinda."

``All right. Before we go on, why don't you just tell me the whole story. I don't want to go on passing advice without knowing the particulars."

Somewhat reluctant to talk, Laigo said, ``As you wish..." and began his story. ``When I was a young lad-``

``Not the whole story..." Fazo laughed.

``No, no. It's part of the story. When I was a young lad, I remember one day when my father introduced me to some friends of his. They had a beautiful daughter of about twenty years whose beauty was beyond description. I was only nine but even then I could distinguish between good looks and true beauty. My father, as you well know, has a marvellous aptitude for capturing beauty and taught me at a very early age.

``This woman of twenty years was real, a living example of what my father explained to me as a mixture between true external and internal beauty. He said that the eye was able to perceive one's inner self if one trained it. To him, a woman's intelligence and character were easily read from their looks not by inferences about dress or style but by subtle things such as posture and the way she holds her head when she listens. He also said that a woman's voice will let you in on many secrets. The words she uses and her intonations give great insight as to how she perceives herself. Anyhow, I didn't understand it when I was nine, but I still maintained that image of that woman in my head for years and years.

``This year, when I arrived at Laconia, I met Melinda and from the first time I met her I was overcome by her incredible likeness to this woman of years past. She held her head at the same angle and used the same vowel sounds to show her emotions. Melinda was crisp and fresh and yet, I thought that I had seen that face before. As I got to know her, I got more and more aware of all the unexpected subtleties to her character that made her all the more beautiful to me.

``Like I was telling you, we started seeing each other after that evening when I admitted my true resolve. At that moment, she still struck me as a mystery, a veritable vision out of my dreams that needed to be explored and unravelled. Every facet of her personality became apparent in the most intriguing and novel ways. It was as though I was getting to know her at ten times the speed that one usually does. Our time was spent those first few weeks in constant dialogue. We talked until our mouths could not form words any more, so exhausted were we. The time was perfect for our discussions. I worked quite happily during the day, full well knowing that I could talk and talk with Melinda when I got to her house.

``One evening in particular sticks in my mind. It was three weeks into our relationship and we were sitting on a cliff on a warm September evening. The sky, the moon, everything contributed to the evening; but, all we really needed that night was our larynxes. We sat on a mat and talked about our childhood. That was the night that I told her about my experience as a nine year-old with the beauty. She was really flattered that I held her in such high esteem. We talked, or rather, it was I who did most of the talking that night. Finally, I lost my voice and she just sat there and told me that I didn't have to say a thing to make her happy. She just sat there and read my face as though she could feel what I was thinking. I drove home alone after dropping her off and I went to a cove near my house and sat there, just staring out onto the black sea until the birds awoke and the sun rose over the horizon. It was so gorgeous, and by morning, I was so drained, that I just went home and fell asleep for the whole day.

``She was quiet, content. I didn't have to talk but I did. If she felt lonely, she would let me know, flirting with me ever so slightly to get me to make her smile. You know, I barely touched her for that whole first month. We just talked and talked without ever pausing to kiss; but, believe me, it was not a platonic relationship. There was a deep sense of attachment that grew between us that was not impeded by our lack of physical interaction. She and I knew that we each felt very strongly for each other and we just felt like time was best spent getting to know each other more and more.

``We didn't really go out anywhere to see shows or to be with other people. We just sat alone, often in the most scenic places that you could imagine, like specks against the majestic Laconian seascapes. Sometimes, we would just forget about talking altogether and I would just listen to her create. She could create verse as though it was stored in her memory. It rang out into the air, sounding every bit as beautiful for its sound as for its meaning. Loaded with emotion and insight, she recited long, drawn out poems that questioned our very existence. A fervent believer that life was just a collection of instants, she gave me a cynical, even bleak perspective on our existence that made me want to show her that even though we may be mired in our insignificance, our actions could be overwhelmingly meaningful and enriching to our souls.

``With this brewing within me, I felt an urge to prove that the empty instances of time that made up our lives could be filled with incredible pleasures and happiness. So frustrated was I one night by her cynicism that I grabbed her in my arms and interrupted her in mid-sentence with a long, passionate kiss. She and I had never kissed quite like we did that night and its effects on her were immediately noticeable. She quieted down and confessed to me that she had never felt so attracted to a man. Her previous attitude towards me reflected the chasm that admiration and respect had carved between us. She did not feel it proper or even possible to feel attracted to me because she was so deeply drawn to my inner self rather than my exterior. It was the most wonderful of feelings to hear her admit this to me, believe me.

``After that kiss, she felt as though she had no reason not to deny herself. She knew she was a victim to these attractive forces like everyone else. Melinda never felt that I could be so attracted to her so when I finally admitted my intense attraction to her, she was drawn to me as though it permitted her to reciprocate. We kissed and held each other all night that night. We didn't talk, we didn't even stare at each other, we just made up for five weeks of unexpressed raw emotion. Mind you, we kept a check on our emotions to a certain extent as I made it quite clear that we should not extend the evenings activities to one of our places.

``So for the next few weeks, our relationship was much more normal, yet it seemed to be so much stronger and deep-rooted than a typical six-week relationship. We grew closer and closer as we got a better feel for what made the other happy. Then, I asked her..." Laigo stopped and took a few sips of his beer. Fazo had been attentively listening to his story, trying to recreate the scenario and to compare it to something that he had experienced but he knew that all his prior relationships had fallen far short of the intense love that Laigo was now experiencing. After taking a few sips himself, Fazo perked up.

``You asked her what? To marry her?" He looked down at Laigo's finger for a ring. He nodded no and sat back in his chair. ``Then what did you ask her? Did you ask her to spend the night? Or had you already-"

``No, we hadn't and no, that's not what I asked." Laigo knew how much Fazo liked riddles and held back to give him another chance.

``Well then," Fazo looked perplexed and stared around the bar. He then started counting on his fingers and said, ``You asked her if you could move in with her!"

``Yup." Laigo had faith in Fazo's guessing ability and conceded defeat. ``You got it. So I asked her if I could move in. Like I said, we had never spent a night together and she was more than a bit shocked when I proposed this to her. I reasoned it this way. We were always trying to find time to spend with each other but the fact that we lived so far apart impeded us. I made it clear that I would not impose on her space and that I would arrange to move my bed and desk into the spare room in her apartment. I really did not want to do anything to make her uncomfortable, it's just that I wanted to live with her. And so did she."

``She said yes?" Fazo asked, not at all surprised considering how attractive and persuasive Laigo could be.

``Yes she did and I respected my promises and made her feel very comfortable about the whole thing. We talked in the morning over breakfast and we talked at night in front of the fire. We went out a bit more often and saw interesting exhibits and sights and we generally had a good time, all the while trying to fully enjoy each other's company -- that is until our two month anniversary.

``At which point she could not bear the sight of you in the morning and kicked you out, right?!" Fazo laughed, teasing his friend. He nodded no. ``No, really, she took one look at you one morning, and well, one thing lead to another, and you ended up taking the day off, right?" Fazo postulated quite seriously.

``It was a Saturday."

``Ah-hah! I knew I was right!" Fazo laughed as he noticed Laigo blush slightly and look away. ``Well, the woman did resist you for two months. That must be some kind of record, right?!"

``Fazo, I wish you wouldn't go on about this. Women are perfectly capable of respecting their better moral judgments in my presence. It was really a fault of circumstance that morning that our guard was down. I was as much to blame as she was, if blame is to be placed. It is perfectly natural for two people who care for each other to feel a mutual attraction that can cloud one's judgment."

``This sounds so very surprising coming from you but I know perfectly well what you are saying, Laigo."

``Good," Laigo said, drawing a deep breath from the clean Rumesian air. ``I know it sounds fantastic but the rest of that month seemed like a complete blur to me. We were like newlyweds, unquenchable, insatiable. It was, well, memorable, and somehow not very memorable at all. Few episodes remain in my memory from those days, even though they were more recent than my first days with Melinda. What I can recall now is just emotions, feelings, and sensations from that time period as though the actions lived only in the present. In retrospect, I'll never forget those sensations, but I tell you it was not precious."

``I wouldn't know..." Fazo admitted, listening to Laigo as though he was hearing about his own future.

``I guess not," Laigo said. ``It's a fleeting experience like comedy. You can remember that you had a great time, that you laughed so hard that you felt a wrench in your stomach when you heard the comedian's stand-up routine. Still, when it was all over, you were hard-pressed to remember even one of his jokes, but you can always recall how thoroughly entertained you were by his act. It's the same idea."

``Oh!"

``Anyhow, those days continued until the day I finally left. These last few weeks I could feel a sense that I grown very, very accustomed to her presence. It was as though I was relying on her for support every moment of the day. We knew each other so well and so thoroughly that we were always able to make the other happy.

``We didn't talk as much about philosophy or poetry or even existentialism. We went out a lot more and we talked about everyday things like work and our friends. Still things were settling in." Laigo stopped to take a sip.

``That sounds very normal, Laigo. You can't expect to converse with her at such a high level forever."

``Right! So that's where I stand right now. Accustomed to her to the point where I really, really feel bad in her absence. I go through my days knowing that I am not really whole. Possibly, I'm just in love, like you say."

``That's what it sounds like. I envy you," Fazo said. ``I can tell that you're genuinely happy and very much in love. It's what we all hope for even if we don't say it. It's cruel but love is addictive and potent. It can cloud your judgment but it can also make you feel great for no reason at all." Fazo looked at Laigo who seemed to be still unfocused, unhappy after letting out his emotions.

``Then, Fazo, why do I feel empty, even alone?" Laigo asked.

``I don't know. Maybe you don't eat enough. Go watch some sports on the television. Spend more time with your friends. When you go back to Thought School to do your mini-course you can benefit from the facilities there. You'll be rested and focused and you'll come back a whole lot stronger for next term."

``But," Laigo asked timidly, ``will I feel the same way about Melinda after seven weeks apart. More importantly, will she?"

``I'm sure you both will, give it a little time at first, but you'll be alright. There's a saying, absence is to love like wind is to fire. It puts out the small one, and lights up the large one. If your love is strong, and I know it is, you'll have to call up the fire department to douse it when you get back to Laconia!"

Laigo finally seemed to relax after Fazo gave him that piece of advice. Although unexperienced himself, Fazo knew some things about how to make people feel better, especially when it came to things like love.

Politicking for more hands- on management of the mine, Fazo found himself in sharp contrast to Ajan. She was steadfastly sticking to her position that the satisfaction of the workers was paramount and that by offering them a share in the company, the firm could ensure more productive operations in the new mining project all while eliminating the hard-handed approach that Fazo was suggesting. She thought that her approach could also help lessen operating costs by cutting down the number of managers and overseers that are usually required.

Fazo's arguments were not as firm. He believed that the workers could benefit from a more methodical, clear-cut schedule of progress and would be encouraged by the attention and importance that the firm was according them. He stressed that recognition and management could go hand in hand, especially in such a positive work environment like the one at Rumesian Mining.

Just when she thought she had the argument won, Ajan was upstaged by a young man from the mine. Sitting quietly on the panel, he had been taking notes attentively as he listened to Fazo, Ajan, and the others discuss potential plans to improve the efficiency of the new mine operation. Then unexpectedly, he spoke up and offered a new plan which called for a bonus system based on group goals. Achievements in reaching desired levels of productivity would be recompensed equally among all group members. This lowers the management necessary to oversee the project and gives the workers incentive to work with their managers and to work more productively. Unanimously adopted by the council, the young man's motion passed into being and the meeting was adjourned.

``I'm sorry if I spoilt your plan," the young man told Ajan.

She looked desperately towards him and despondently replied, ``Not to worry..." and her voice trailed off as though she had been deflated.

``Is there something wrong?" the young man asked Ajan as they walked out of the boardroom into the parking lot. ``By the way, the name is Daestrom. Jean-Luc Daestrom," the handsome young man said extending his hand.

Ajan barely noticed the extended arm and apologized, ``Oh, I'm sorry. Your name is Jean-Luc, is that right?" he nodded and she continued, ``I guess my mind was on other things."

``I'd like to thank you for offering such excellent suggestions. I realize that you have really no stake in this matter and I appreciate the amount of thought and passion you brought to this discussion. I was afraid that the management would once again gloss over such issues. It was about time that people realized that this had great importance." Jean-Luc spoke eloquently and quickly, using impeccable rhetoric and intonations to make his point. He went on to give Ajan a brief history of previous settlements in which the emphasis had been placed on throwing management at worker problems. Until recently, he said, people never questioned the motivation of the worker, always assuming that they would produce with the unquestionable efficiency so typical of Rumesian society as a whole. He stressed that no matter how organized the culture, the people would always be less predictable.

``That's something that I've noticed here," Ajan remarked. ``People are strangely affected by this social climate to experiment and dabble in things that they would usually avoid. It's as though the soporific effect of the organization must be counteracted by an adventurous spirit in one's personal affairs. Rumesia has been quite an interesting discovery for me. I expected to find a place in which I would not find anything attractive and instead, I feel as though, in some peculiar way, it suits me." Ajan stopped to take a breath in the underground parking lot filled with exhaust fumes. ``Would you like to join me for lunch, Jean-Luc? You must know some nice little cafe where we can people-watch and talk." Ajan smoothly introduced the question in a way that it demanded to be answered in the affirmative, almost daring Jean-Luc to propose a lunch spot that was to her liking.

``As a matter of fact, I love this little cafe on the outskirts of the city. It's quite a drive but I don't mind if you don't." He looked at Ajan with his eyebrows raised, holding his breath in anticipation of her response.

``I have all the time in the world. My watch has stopped." She laughed and touched Jean-Luc on the wrist as if to ask for the correct time.

``One thirty. Still interested?" he asked.

``Fer sure," she laughed, ``give me a second." She trotted towards a pay phone and called Fazo's office. ``Hi, Fazo?"

``Hi, Ajan, where are you?" Fazo responded. ``You disappeared after the meeting."

``I'm going to get some lunch...um... with a colleague...yeah, so... actually, Jean-Luc Daestrom, so I guess I'll...I'll just see you when I get back tonight, is that okay?" she timidly asked.

``Fine, fine. I have some work to do any how. I'll see you at the house then. Bye." Fazo sounded efficient and busy and not at all upset by Ajan's snub.

``I just thought I'd let you know since you did say that you wanted to go to lunch with me today," she explained.

``Don't worry, luv. You'd better run..." he said.

``OK, bye." She hung up and rushed back to Jean-Luc's car. ``Ready?" she asked him.

``All set, let's go!" Jean-Luc replied, cooly opening the door for Ajan. She hopped in and unlocked his door. He rummaged through his glove compartment and found a suitable cassette to pop into his car stereo. Then, within minutes, they were on the highway, speeding out of town, towards the cafe that never was. Jean-Luc's dream spot had gone the way of a shopping mall and had literally left him out on a lurch. Getting out of the car, Ajan spotted a bed-and-breakfast east of the cliffs. They went towards the small inn and parked in the gravel in front of the porch. The inn seemed abandoned as they stepped inside until finally, they heard a voice,

``Welcome to the Hillsdale Inn. Would you like a room?" asked a woman in her late thirties. ``My, you two make a sweet couple."

``Uh, no thank you," Jean-Luc explained, ``We were just wondering if you had a dining room in which we could get some lunch."

The woman looked at him as though he had just asked a very stupid question. ``You know this is a bed-and-breakfast? You saw the sign right outside? We don't serve lunch. You sure you two don't want a room? We've got this great honeymoon suite with a view of the cove. Interested?"

``Not this weekend, maybe some other time," Ajan told the innkeeper in a tone of voice that suggested that she was actually considering the offer. ``Would you happen to know of a good place to get lunch around here?"

``There's a little diner by the roadside about a half a kilometre away. Just keep going south, you can't miss it. It's called Kipo's."

``Thank you very much," Ajan politely thanked the hostess with a smile. She and Jean-Luc walked out of the inn and made their way down the road to Kipo's. The building looked as though it were made half-a-century ago, and even then in a rush. The metal siding was rusted and the driveway was unpaved and muddy, clearly showing footprints up and down its length. The muddied travellers reached the front door, a little wary of the innkeeper's tastes. As they reached for the door handle, it swung open, hitting poor Jean-Luc flat in the nose. Luckily it was only a thin metal screen door which did nothing more than make Jean-Luc's nose a little sore.

``Are you going to be alright, Jean-Luc?" Ajan asked, suppressing a laugh.

``Yeah, sure. You should try it, it's fun and I probably won't be able to taste the food here now!" Jean-Luc responded as he walked into the diner. The interior looked as though it had come out of an old Central studio set with the white counters and red stools along the service bar and the padded foam booths along the perimeter. The floor was waxed and clean and the grill, although smoky and untidy, did not look overly greasy or unhygienic. Jean-Luc proceeded over towards a booth in the corner but Ajan jumped up onto a stool on the end of the counter and motioned to Jean-Luc to join her. ``Over there?" he asked.

``Yeah, sure. Sit down!" Ajan ordered Jean-Luc as she opened up one of the laminated menus to find that she had chosen one which was stained with dried ketchup. Rather than replacing it, she read on. As she looked at the selection, she noticed that there really wasn't much to choose from outside burgers and shakes so she ordered the standard fare for herself and for Jean-Luc who pretty much refused to soil his fingers by even touching one of the menus.

``So, Ajan, why do you think that Thought School is the right place for you?" Jean-Luc asked her, rotating his stool so that he faced her.

Ajan threw her hair back and adjusted her jewelry as she explained to Jean- Luc. ``I don't really think that it is the right place for me. The jury's still out. I enjoy it, if that's what you're asking, but I don't really think any one place could ever completely satisfy me."

``Then Thought School must be pretty good for you, I mean you get to work in diverse fields and you're never stuck too long in one place."

``How do you know so much about it?" she asked.

``My younger brother is a student there." Jean-Luc explained. ``And, I myself spent a term there before I dropped out."

``You, you were at Influence Road? You strike me as the type of man who is so self-sufficient, so independent that he doesn't need instruction and guidance."

``You're right, I guess. That's why I left it. It was far too structured for my tastes." Jean-Luc casually glanced around the room and saw a lonely truck driver looking at a photograph, presumably of his wife, while sipping coffee from a mug that read, ``Truckers do it all night!" His greasy hair fell across his eyes even though he periodically tried to tuck it into his worn, yellow baseball cap. The only other person in the place was an older man who was sweeping the floor. Dressed reasonably well, Jean- Luc guessed that he might be the owner, Kipo. A mailman walked in, gave Kipo the mail and strolled on out after a quick look around. He wore blue bermuda shorts that were two sizes too tight and had an unbelievably large mailbag strapped across his shoulder. Jean- Luc turned again towards Ajan and watched her nibble away at her doughnut. As though she had a mouth of a baby, she would take a small morsel of the dough and wash it down with a sip of her milkshake.

``What are you looking at?" she asked, joking with Jean-Luc for staring at her.

``You eat so slowly, that's all."

``It's a bad habit I picked up. Excuse me." She looked over at Jean-Luc and popped the rest of the doughnut in her mouth.

``No need to rush," Jean-Luc said, content with the idea of spending the rest of the day watching the tide come in. ``When you're done, let's go to the big cliff."

``Excuse me, but..." Ajan reminded him, ``I do have to go to work!"

``I suppose so," Jean-Luc said sadly, feigning a pout that would put a spoilt child to shame.

``Alright, we'll go. You'll have to drop me back to my place then, Jean-Luc."

``No problem," he proclaimed. Ajan could tell that Jean- Luc was a sweet, harmless fellow whose eloquence and rhetoric would sit very well with employers and the like. His charm was in his flair for understatement. He rarely made remarks that would suggest self-consciousness or even materialism. He kept to himself about personal matters, for the most part. Beyond politics, his favourite topic of discussion seemed to be philosophy. Although at some instances their discussion seemed to dwell on human nature, Jean-Luc would steer clear of using anecdotes and personal references, abstaining from the word 'I' almost entirely.

They discussed various matters of importance and many more of no importance at all. At one time, Ajan was disgusted and annoyed by Jean-Luc's viewpoints but rather than changing the topic, she vaulted deeper into the matter, trying fervently to make her point.

``Do you feel that Thought School is biased against you, Ajan?" Jean-Luc asked her.

``No, why do you think it is?"

``The male-dominated Central society would rather have men in positions of influence than women, probably because they are all so engrained with the belief that women are incapable of making rational decisions because of their tendency to view things under a more emotional light than men. They also think that it would be wise to have fewer international students present and encourage that more Centrals benefit from the teachings at Thought School. These are two distinct biases that run straight through Central society, from the proletariat to the intellectual elite." Jean-Luc sounded concerned for Ajan and was shocked by her naivete. He perceived her as an energetic but unworldly woman whose experiences had not met the harsh realities of Central society. He was not pessimistic about her ability to deal with the new challenges in front of her, rather, he felt that she was somehow less prepared than she should be. If anyone could overcome the biases against her, it would be Ajan, Jean-Luc thought.

``I have to believe that I will be given an opportunity to prove myself just like everyone else. If I succeed, I will be accepted into the society. It's as simple as that. Success breeds respect."

``And contempt," Jean-Luc added quietly as he paid his bill. ``I feel bad for dragging you out here for nothing. Let me take care of your lunch," he said, offering to take her receipt.

``Some other time, Jean-Luc. Some other time." Ajan closed her purse after taking out enough money to pay for the lunch and left the diner. After walking about ten metres, she turned around and saw Jean-Luc daintily opening the door with which he had had so many problems. Finally, he made it through without further incident and while breathing a sigh of relief, he tripped on a rock in the path and stumbled to his knees. He got up with Ajan's help, not at all hurt by the fall, other than the damage done to his ego. When they got to the top of the cliff, Ajan made quite sure that Jean-Luc did not get too close to the edge, concerned that his streak of bad luck would prove to be fatal. There they talked some more, this time about places that they had seen and places they would like to see.

When the sun set, Jean-Luc suggested that they leave. They drove for what seemed to be an hour until they finally reached Ajan's place. She looked out onto the porch to see Fazo reading his beloved sports section while sipping a soda and rocking on the porch chair. While she was stepping out of the car, she said goodbye to Jean-Luc, thanking him for the drive. She really did have a great time, thoroughly exhausted by the incredible amount of talking she had done that day. As she approached the porch, she decided that she wasn't going to stop and walked right past Fazo, only pausing to give a short hello to the both of them. Struggling to get up the stairs, Ajan stumbled through the house until she finally got to her room. She threw herself onto the bed and fell asleep.

Grumbling about the end of their term, Fazo walked up and down the porch. Riza came out to join him.

``Where does it end? Life is always full of tests. Tests in school, tests to get into the next level of schooling. Tests to show that you're done. Tests to show that you're a competent worker. Why do we as a society love tests so much?" Fazo asked Riza.

``Why do you care, Fazo? You're obviously good at taking them or else you wouldn't be where you are today," Riza smiled and rocked back in his chair. ``You've worked hard and now you're enjoying some of its riches. Isn't it nice to know that you can sit here on this porch and have a drink and talk to friends, all while knowing that if you wanted to, you could sleep in all day tomorrow? It's a great liberty that you are enjoying!"

``Could there be any reason to living if you didn't get excited by anything?" Fazo asked her.

``No, I don't think so. At the very least, a man better get excited by his woman or else..."

``Or else, he isn't going to perpetuate himself through offspring!" Fazo interrupted. ``Granted, but can a man live devoid of all other passions? Can he go through life existing for no other reason but to pass on his genes? Conversely, is there any other way to live? Has this unexcitable man realized that there is nothing that one can do in this world to better our standing than to just have children?" Fazo asked these questions, not really expecting an answer.

``Fazo, the end of the world may come one day but to me, the key is to enjoy every day as it comes. Enjoyment comes in many forms, and it's different for everyone. If I choose to do nothing to enjoy myself, I will, and I shall be just as happy and satisfied with my existence as the mountain climber who scales the highest peak or the world leader who solves his country's problems. To me, that is fulfilling my existence."

``So thought and not action is the very essence of existence, according to you?" Fazo pondered.

``Not quite thought, but rather the appeasement of one's self-created goals. On one day, my goal may be to walk barefoot through dewy grass. On other day, it may be to lead my softball team to victory in the city championships. Whatever goals I set for myself, I would want them to be satisfied."

``But where do other people fit in? This cannot explain everyone's goals."

``Of course, it can. For a mother, nurturing and caring for her baby is her goal. For a friend, it may be more important to be there for a friend's misfortunes. Everything can be described in terms of these aspirations," Riza pushed herself up. ``I gotta go, Faz. Gotta bail my cousin out of jail. He got caught at one of those underground parties. I didn't even know they existed until the police told me why he was arrested. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

``Alright," he responded as he turned the porch light off. ``I have to go start my packing anyway." Fazo searched through the house for his suitcase until he remembered that it was in Ajan's room. He went upstairs and knocked on the door. To his surprise, no one answered. He crept in to find his girlfriend lying face down on top of her bed. As he knelt down to try to pull the suitcase out from under the bed, he accidentally knocked over a book that was lying on Ajan's bedside table. As he went to pick it up, Ajan opened her eyes and saw him but quickly closed them again to conceal her awakening from Fazo. Turning back towards Ajan, Fazo pulled the suitcase clear of the bed. As he did so, he leaned over and tried to kiss her. She backed away ever so slightly as if she were just adjusting herself in her sleep. He leaned further forward and just as he was about to press his lips onto hers, she tossed herself and turned her back to Fazo. Grumbling and moaning in her fake sleep, Ajan tucked her arms in and kept up the charade.

Fazo did not realize that she was awake and just took his suitcase towards the door. ``Where are you going?" Ajan said, just as he was about to open the door.

``Oh, you're awake! I didn't realize..." Fazo said as he put his suitcase down and sat at the foot of the bed. Ajan sat up and brushed her hair away from her face.

``Fazo, I was awake. I didn't let you kiss me because I think it's time you and I gave up on our relationship." She put it so bluntly that Fazo was shocked even though he could see it coming for days.

``Do you really think that we should stop seeing each other? I still..." he paused, ``I still like you." He pleaded in a voice that made her think of those days when they had nothing but each other.

She looked at him and drifted back into the past. ``There was a time when there was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more than to feel you deep in my heart. It was as though all I wanted was never ever to feel us breaking apart. But now, all that I feel is memories. The present isn't creating any memories for us, Fazo, our love lives in the past. So pristine, so delicate was our love, unprepared for the rigours that we put it through. It had to shatter, you forced it, and I forced it." Ajan drew a deep breath after rattling off this wave of emotion. She turned away from Fazo and wiped a tear from her eye.

``You know, Ajan. I wanted to be with you night and day. I didn't know where I was going, I didn't care about the future. I was lost in the eternal present, rich with pleasure and happiness. You meant everything to me, but as the time went by, we realized, I realized that every day could not be such. I guess I never thought of us beyond tomorrow." Fazo apologized for trying to make every day that they had spent together more meaningful.

``We knew deep down that we weren't right for each other. We made ourselves happy with each other's company and affection. I always knew that this relationship was not going to yield an eternal love. I just wanted to be happy in the present. Like you did. Fazo, I still like you very much." Ajan stopped and wiped her cheeks. She sobbed and went on to say, ``I don't despise you for being the way you are. In retrospect, I realize that you are better suited to be my friend than my husband," she sobbed, ``and that's why I hope you will still be close to me." She bit her lip, quite nervous and quite upset by what was transpiring.

``Ajan, we can be closer than ever because, like it or not, we had to get involved. It was inevitable. It was good while it lasted, but, now that it's over, we can build on our past experiences. We can develop our friendship without having the heavy cloud of desire weighing us down." Fazo stopped and put an arm around Ajan. Little did he know how much those words he had said had hurt her. She still cared for him a great deal and secretly wished that he would refute her claims and offer to help work things out. Like a fool, she presented him with an escape hatch out of which he could crawl out scathe-free. Desperately, she had been clinging to the hope that he wanted to be more than just friends, that his love had not yet been exhausted, that his heart was still with her. Now, she knew for certain that he was no longer her man.

She stepped away from Fazo after giving him a long hug. She turned her back to his outstretched arms and stared out onto the window and began to cry. Her tears were soft and sweet at first, but they soon turned hard and salty, bitter with disappointment and resentment. Upset was she by Fazo and by his lies, so certain was she now that Maddie was not just a passing acquaintance. Her tears flushed the emotion out of her soul as she bitterly wailed and sobbed, squeezing a stuffed animal against her wet cheeks.

Fazo stood there motionless, becoming more and more aware of her resentment. He could see that she knew more than she had let on and that somehow, he had committed the most horrible of crimes by not telling her the truth when it first became clear to him. Rather than spoil a reasonably good thing, he chose to ignore the misfit that existed between them and ventured out to find other accompaniment. Unaware of Ajan's hurt, he ignored her wishes and lead her down the false road of aspirations until she could no longer be fooled by his act. Thoroughly ashamed, Fazo opened his mouth but nothing could come out. No tears flowed, no heart ached, he just felt for her and felt badly about himself. Realizing that he could do nothing but stare at Ajan weeping away her miseries, he stepped out of the room and sat himself down on a chair in the hall from where she heard him say, ``I'm sorry."

She threw herself deeper into her rage, punching the bed with her fists and kicking violently. Her mouth lay open against the bedspread as her teeth clenched at the covers as though they were Fazo's skin. When she finally exploded, she launched her stuffed animal at her dresser table knocking over the four small gifts that Fazo had given her for their four anniversaries, breaking one of them. The sound of the porcelain doll shattering across the wooden floor made her regain control of her senses. She thought again of the doll, the symbol of her relationship, so fine, so delicate, and so apt to break. Rather than sweep the floor to pick up the pieces and put the doll back together, Ajan just put on her sandals and walked out into the hallway.

Fazo was sitting with his hand in his head, now crying slightly after realizing how insulting he had been of Ajan. She stood in front of him, waiting for him to look up. Finally he did, and she smiled and offered him her hand. He got up and gave her a great big hug and dried his wet eyes. They said nothing for a few moments, just standing in each other's arms. To break the silence, Ajan said, ``It's over. Let's just try to forget all about it and when I see you again, we'll be close friends again, alright?"

Fazo realized that Ajan was being far too kind too him but rather than put up a fight, he just gave her a soft goodbye kiss on her forehead and again apologized, ``I did not think about your feelings and I am so very sorry that I hurt you. If you should ever be so generous as to forgive me..." he sobbed, and dried his eyes, ``I would..." At this point, he pressed his face into the shoulder of Ajan's blouse and held back his tears.

Fazo helped Ajan clear up the mess she had made. He scurried down the stairs and sat himself down for the meal. When it was over, Fazo went to finish his packing and Ajan sat by the window, waiting for Riza to come home.

When Riza's car finally pulled into the driveway, Ajan noticed that an hour had passed. ``You're here!" Ajan said as she gave her friend a big hug.

``Could it be that you've been waiting?" Riza asked sarcastically, smiling at Ajan. She then realized that Ajan did not look well, as her depression and misery had chiselled her face and drained it of its rosy colour. ``Did he..." Riza did not finish the question as Ajan nodded yes.

``To tell you the truth, it was me. I ended it but he accepted it all to easily. I was right, he had been seeing that other girl and he didn't love me..." Ajan wept again as Riza tried to comfort her. Her friend led her to her room and sat her down. There, Ajan told Riza all about what had happened and cried once again as if to expunge the emotions out of her system once and for all.

The next day, everyone in the house woke up bright and early to say goodbye to Fazo. His flight was to leave at seven in the morning and he was going to the airport at six. While all his housemates were in their dressing gowns, Fazo was in a blazer and tie, dressed as though he had an important lunch date on his return in Central. He kept his suitcase leash in one hand while in the other he held his briefcase. With his raincoat strung through his arm, he walked out to the cab to put the things away. When he got back to the house, he gave Riza and Ajan kisses and walked slowly away towards the cab. As he closed the car door, the cabby rushed off and he waved goodbye to his friends.

When he arrived at the airport, he checked in and sat himself down in the airport gate area. He spent a little bit of time reading the newspaper and then went off to make a phone call. Although it was early, Maddie was awake and Fazo gave her his new number and wished her the best of luck. Considering it was over the phone, Maddie was quite touched by his words and promised to visit him within the year in Central.

Fazo looked again at the Register and reread to himself the assignment that he had decided upon. It was a job that gave no clear definition, but was rumoured to be the best position in the Central Republic. Eager to spend at least one term in Central, Fazo decided that this would be the one. After a great success in his first term, he thought that there was no better opportunity for him to choose the case of his liking than at present. Staunchly sticking to his decision, Fazo had not even considered other cases in the Register. Finally, the plane began boarding and Fazo proceeded to find his window seat in the last row of seats on the plane. He peered out of the window for one last time at Rumesia and closed his eyes and went off to sleep.

PART THREE

The sun fell over the undulating shoreline, lighting up the crests of the waves like white pearls on a sheet of glass. The clean, white sails of the boats whipped furiously in the stiff easterly wind that blew across Central. The trees swayed back in forth in the breeze, waving to the seafaring boatmen as they sailed across the great river. Seagulls circled the shore, keeping away from the giant silver bird coming from Rumesia.

After sleepwalking through the check-in procedure, he opened the door to his temporary room and threw himself onto the bed. Sleepy and tired, he rested on the bedcover for fifteen minutes. When he came to, he felt incredibly hungry and shuffled off downstairs to get some food at the cafeteria. Juxtaposed on the serving tray were roast beef and broiled chicken. Fazo chose the latter and some vegetables and found a quiet place in the dining hall to sit. He ate very quickly, not having anything to read or anyone to talk to. As he got up, he dropped his tray on the ground, making a loud clatter. He picked up the tray and the plate, neither of which were damaged, and put them away on the dishwashing trolleys. He picked up his jacket and strolled out of the hall.

When he got upstairs, he felt lazy and read through a catalogue. He then decided he wanted to watch television. Not having one in his room, Fazo phoned the receptionist and asked for the location of the television lounge. It was in the basement and the elevator had broken so Fazo was forced to either give up on television or run down seven flights of stairs. Undaunted by the exercise, Fazo ran down and plopped down on the cushions to watch a sitcom. Not even aware of his own existence, Fazo lost himself in the inane comedy and drifted into a coma-like state.

After three hours of mind-numbing ``entertainment," Fazo pushed himself up and hiked towards the stairwell. Thinking that the elevator may have been fixed, Fazo pressed the button and was pleased to see the doors open in front of him. He stepped inside, pressed six and waited.

The next morning, Fazo woke up very late. He was used to receiving phone calls in the morning, but he had no clue as to what his phone number was. Looking at his watch, he noticed that he had slept thirteen hours and that it was one thirty in the afternoon. Stumbling out of bed, he looked at himself in the mirror and made his way to the bathroom. He walked down the hall about five paces to get to the bathroom. After stepping into the shower, he heard a knock on the communal bathroom door. Fazo yelled out, ``Come in."

``Too late, I'm alreday inside," the woman began to hum.

``What's that?" he asked.

``It's an old Rumesian folk song. Pretty short on lyrics but otherwise I like it."

``Could you, um, pass me the towel?"

She looked at Fazo's towel hanging on the hook near the sink she was using. ``What towel?"

``I thought I brought one in here..." Fazo sounded confused, ``You don't see any towels around."

``Nope."

``Then could you pass me the pair of jeans over by that bench," Fazo stuck his head out of the shower and pointed to the bench near her. His towel was not in view.

``Listen, use my towel." She threw him her handtowel and stuffed his towel under her jacket.

``Thanks," he unfolded the miniscule towel and wrapped it around himself strategically. She snuck a peek. A giggle escaped. She washed her hands and walked out smiling at Fazo. He tossed away her towel and began to put on his jeans. He heard a knock.

``It's me again. Say, you want to trade?" She poked her arm in. It held his towel. ``You dropped it oiutside the bathroom."

``Come in."

Her eyes strayed from his face as she guiltily handed him his towel. ``Nice jeans. They from Lopa?"

He put on his sweatshirt. ``No." He stared at her to try to get her to confess. ``Thanks for the towel." He threw it back to her.

``Anytime," she said as she walked out.

After getting dressed, Fazo rummaged through his bag to look for something to eat. Since he found nothing, he put on his topsiders and went downstairs to the cafeteria where he bought a chocolate croissant and a newspaper. He sat down by himself at a white plastic table stained with coffee mug marks. The newspaper was unfolded. Reading each section in turn, Fazo finally reached the comics. Half way down the page, he broke into a hearty laugh that he couldn't control.

``Most people don't laugh out loud to the comics," said the towel woman as she passed by his table.

``Calvin was very funny today, did you read it?" he asked her.

``No, I don't read the comics," she said as she turned her nose up and walked away. Fazo paused for a second and then took another bite out of his croissant and started to read the next comic strip. Again, he broke out into a hearty laugh, even longer and more uncontrolled than before. He stopped after a while and chuckled yet again to the last strip on the page. After he was done, he folded the newspaper and put it under the ashtray as he popped the last morsel of the croissant into his mouth. He got up and made his way to the juice bar where he poured himself some orange juice. As he got back to his table, he noticed that the comics page was missing. Looking around, he noticed that the towel woman was herself enjoying the funnies. He walked towards her.

``Your hair's still wet," she told him with a smirk.

``Don't read the comics, eh?"

``You were entertainment enough."

``Glad you enjoyed the show. Same time, same place tomorrow."

``You make it a point to wake up at two?" She looked at the gorgeous sun winding its way down the horizon.

``I guess I shoudl have woken up earlier to enjoy the day. Nothing much to do around here anyway..."

``Nope," she leaned back to catch a few stray rays. Her ebony complexion didn't seem to need it.

``Guess you don't have to worry about skin cancer." He walked away slowly expecting a retort that never came.

Mindlessly, Fazo walked through the compound, staring down at the cracks on the pathway, unaware of the dozens of people walking by him. As each crack approached, he would regulate his stride so that each cement block would take exactly two steps. He made his way to the end of the cement blocks and looked up to see the administrative offices. They were nothing more than two small, brown buildings, hidden because of their lack of visual appeal. When Fazo walked inside, he jumped into an elevator which was just about to close and pressed four. On the fourth floor was the main registration office, and a coffee lounge. When the doors opened, Fazo saw the dingy appeal of the lounge and entered. After ordering a hot chocolate, he sat himself amongst the dilapidated furniture and thought. His first contemplations were about emptiness and loneliness. For some time, these two thoughts filled his heart and did not leave any space for desires or passions. Just then, Fazo felt inspired and took a pen out of his coat and searched for some paper. After managing to convince the person at the counter that he needed some paper bags, Fazo sat back down at his seat and began writing. The words echoed the hollow listlessness in which he was mired, so haunting was his depression. The poetry, if it could be called that, was deep, dark and thoroughly disheartening. Suicidal thoughts mixed with uninspired rambling raced through Fazo's head to find their way onto the page. When he became exhausted, he sat back, finished his hot chocolate and shoved the paper bags into his pocket. As he left the office, he stopped at a newspaper stand and began to read the out of town headlines. As he was crouching down in front of these vending machines, he felt a few drops of rain. When he looked up, the sky opened up and a fierce storm began. The moist air, saturated with the stinging rain made Fazo feel as though he was but a strand of existence against the powerful elements. His instincts told him to run for cover but his depression froze him in his tracks and there he stood, in the driving rain, for about fifteen minutes. Maybe the rain would rescue him from his meaninglessness and snatch him up like so many others. The rainclouds passed and the sky looked overcast as the people started to come out from their shelters. Fazo then proceeded back towards his room. When he got in, he dried himself off with a towel and then undressed and sat on his bed. After putting on some clean clothes, Fazo decided that he had done enough for the day and that he wouldn't go out again.

Stretching out across the bed, Fazo opened up a pack of cards that he had brought with him and began dealing them out. Like a child, he would pick up each hand in turn and play as though he had no knowledge of the other cards. He contented himself with this imaginary bridge game for about an hour until finally, he lost his patience and began to yell at his partner for not bidding properly. He then realized that he was shouting at himself. ``I am going mad!" he said to himself, in a full voice that really didn't sound anything like him. Sweeping the cards off the bed with his leg, he laid back and watched the ceiling for a while. The smallest spots started to form patterns, shapes, and pictures. His imagination raced with images of rabbits and racecars, donkeys and goblets, all were visible, yet imaginary, on his ceiling.

Fazo picked up a novel that was sitting on his bedside and began to read. Stories of laughter and joy. Stories of strife and suffering. He enjoyed them all but none so much as his own pathetic story. Stimulus-free hours passed. Stretching his arms, he jumped up off the bed and rushed towards the door. He left his room after carefully locking it and sat down in the lounge. Three other rooms were adjoining to this lounge area, each one's door was closed. Fazo did not know who lived in these rooms, nor did he particularly care since he knew that his yet to be determined assignment would have him move into another residence within the next week. After another fifteen minutes of pure silence, the door to the lounge area opened and in came a short young man of about Fazo's age with dark wispy hair and thick glasses.

``Hi," he said to Fazo, not really looking him in the face.

``Hi," Fazo replied unenthusiastically. The man walked past him and let out the semblance of a smile and walked off into his room. Undaunted by his neglect, Fazo decided that he was going to introduce himself so he got up and leaned in the doorway. ``My name is Fazo, you are? ..." he asked with a friendly tone of voice.

``Hi, Fazo. Sorry I've been so busy and I haven't come by to greet you. The name is Moussa, it's short for Moussander, but everyone just calls me Moussa."

Fazo replied, ``That is an interesting name, where are you from?"

Moussa looked at Fazo and said, ``I'm Central. Two generations ago my family came over from Binnino."

``Binnino, I have some good friends in Habsentia who are originally from Binnino," Fazo said. ``Are you staying here all term, Moussa?"

``No, I've been here for the last few months, but my new assignment will probably move me around. Actually, I'm still going to be in Central, probably in one of the residences on the South side of the compound."

``Oh yeah? I'll probably be there too! I am taking a case in Central this term."

``You make it sound so unusual, Fazo. Most people I know only take Central assignments," Moussa said, raising his eyebrows.

``Really? You don't intend on going abroad, not even once?" he asked.

``No, I hadn't thought of it." Moussa looked confused. ``Should I have?"

``Well, I just thought that that was one of the best things about Thought School, the ability to learn about other cultures," Fazo explained.

``But I thought that it would be best to stay in Central so that I can benefit from the experience. I don't really need to go abroad if I want to stay here anyway..." Moussa explained.

``You want to work here after you're done, I assume?" Fazo asked.

``But, of course! Where else? I mean Central is where it's at. It's the centre of the universe!" Moussa proclaimed. Fazo looked at him with a sour grin and retreated to the couch in the lounge. Moussa walked over and sat on one of the wooden chairs. Just as he sat down, his phone began to ring. He went up to get it and about a minute later, he retook his position on the chair. ``That was Wayne. He's coming over."

``Wayne is from Central as well?" Fazo asked.

``Yes, he is. You'll like him, he's a very agreeable type," Moussa explained. A silence fell over the room and both Fazo and Moussa stared at various objects in the room, not having very much to say to each other. A few more awkward minutes passed before Wayne arrived. ``Wayne!" Moussa exclaimed. ``I'd like you to meet Fazo. He's from Habsentia. Fazo, Wayne."

``Pleasure to meet you," Fazo said, shaking Wayne's hand.

``Hi, how are you?" Wayne replied. ``You're going to be here in Central this term?"

``Yes, yes I am," Fazo replied.

``Has anyone shown you the ships? We've got to show him the ships," Wayne said looking at Moussa. ``And the docks and the piers. Do you like baseball? We play a lot of baseball around here too!"

``Yeah, I love it!" Fazo answered.

Wayne started again, ``Good, good. We play a lot here, well, actually not all that much but we'd like to play more and if you're around, hey, that's one more player. It's that much easier, you know. It, um, it, could be better if we had a lot more people, but six is okay, but, you know, eight or ten is always better. Otherwise you have to run a lot. You look like you can run. I mean fast, I mean, you don't mind running a bit do you?" Fazo nodded no and Wayne continued without losing a beat, continuing at his frenetic pace, ``Good. So you're from Habsentia? What's it like in Habsentia? Cold?" Wayne let out a maniacal laugh, ``Cold, eh?" he laughed again. ``It's pretty cold here too. By the way, are you hungry, I mean we haven't eaten dinner yet and I could, I could just go over to my room, because it's not that far away, I mean it's right here. We could go to the garden cafeteria. You know the place, Fazo?"

``Yeah, I know it!"

``Good," Wayne said. ``Now, if only I could find my key...here it is, lock your doors and let's go." Wayne motioned to Moussa who shut his door. Fazo just got up and awaited further instructions. Wayne then said, ``Alright, let's go!"

After a miserable little lunch, the threesome of Fazo, Moussa and Wayne sped off to the courtyard to play some baseball. On the way, they collected a few other friends.

Fazo did not think much about his case or any else for the next couple of days. He just hung out with the guys, absorbing the leisure time like oxygen. As hours passed, Fazo grew less and less depressed and more and more relaxed. His empty existence had been transformed into a laid-back lifestyle. His newfound friends brought out the more youthful, competitive spirit in Fazo. He enjoyed playing games and discussing meaningless sports statistics. It was as though life was rich all on its own, little effort was required, and fewer problems were to be seen.

Fazo opened up his casebook to look for a new case on the day before the deadline. He and Moussa had just finished moving their stuff into adjacent apartments in their new South side residence and were now just fixing up their rooms to their liking. For some reason, Fazo felt dizzy, he sat down on his bed and rested for a few moments. After a while, he fell to the ground as he lost his balance. On impact, he bruised his right temple and his cheekbone. He got up and washed off the blood that was dripping on his cheek to find that the cut was only minor. Lying down on his bed, he fell back to sleep.

The next thing he knew, he noticed that he was not alone, two fashionably dressed women stood on either side of his bed. One wore a flimsy, chiffon wrap of dark green and fuscia patterns, with a knot on one side of her waist. Her hair fell loosely to her shoulders, something like straw, only that her hair was as black as coal. The other woman wore a short skirt out of a cottony fabric that covered her left knee but not her right. She wore an oversized potato-sack sweater that accentuated her rugged appeal. Her wavy black hair had red highlights and was tied in a bun on the back of her neck. The black and yellow print that she wore was eclectic and drab, yet brimming with character. This second woman was slimmer and taller than the first with darker skin and darker eyes. Fazo rubbed his eyes and got up. Suddenly the room started spinning wildly and Fazo was hurled into one corner of the room while the two women disappeared into thin air. Fazo woke up with a start from his dream, recalling its contents and looking for any special meaning.

Just then, he heard Moussa knock on his door.

``Fazo are you in?" Moussa asked.

``Yeah, yeah. Come on in," Fazo said rubbing his head. Moussa came in and sat on Fazo's stool. ``I just had the weirdest dream..." Fazo began.

``You just slept through an earthquake, did you feel it? It rattled some of my stuff. Oh look!" Moussa said, pointing to Fazo's shelves. ``Your cards fell off the shelf." Fazo looked and noticed that they were scattered all across the floor, except for the queen of hearts which was on the left side of his bed and the queen of spades on the other side. Fazo got up to pick them up, still a little dazed.

``An earthquake, eh?" Fazo said. ``That would explain the dream, I suppose..."

``Anyhow, I didn't come in here to tell you about the quake. Wayne and I were talking with some of the people at the company that we're working at, and our manager would like to see you. His name is Jabbah. Can you come down this morning? It's not too far and I have a car."

``Now?" Fazo asked, looking at himself in the mirror. ``Give me an hour."

``No. Half an hour, alright?" Moussa said.

``Alright." Fazo closed the door behind Moussa and opened his closet door and stared inside for about five minutes, immobile. He knew not what to wear and finally decided on a beige dress shirt and a fashionable dark green tie with a pair of mustard dress pants and brown loafers. After his shower, he hurried back into his room and got dressed. Looking at himself in the mirror, he was pleasantly surprised that the combination he had chosen worked well together. Just then, he heard a knock on his door.

``Hi, Fazo. Wayne here."

``Oh, hi, Wayne," Fazo replied, opening the door. He went on to fix his tie.

Wayne said, ``Wow, Fazo, you didn't have to get dressed up." Fazo looked over at him and noticed that he was wearing a thin sweater over a golf shirt with a pair of jeans.

``You wear jeans to work?" Fazo asked.

``It's very casual, you know. Feel free to change if you like, we have a few minutes." Wayne said in a suggestive tone of voice.

``No, it's alright. I'll stick with what I'm wearing." Fazo responded confidently, denying any suggestion that he may feel uncomfortable.

``Suit yourself," Wayne punned. ``Look, Moussa's here. Let's get going."

They walked out into the hall and saw Moussa standing next to the lounge table, reading the newspaper. He took a long look at Fazo, then looked over at Wayne and smiled. They quietly walked to Moussa's car and drove to the office which was no more than two miles away. When they arrived, Fazo surveyed the building. It had two large towers, both covered with dark, smoked-glass windows and surrounded by rich white marble tiles.

``This is Jabbah's office, Wayne told Fazo as he pointed out a door that read: ``713 Jabbah Wilkinson". Wayne opened the door and sent Fazo in. ``Wish the Faz-ster good luck," Wayne told Moussa.

``Good luck, keep your eyes open, Faz..." Moussa patted him on the back and sent him in.

``Luck? Why would I need l-" Fazo stopped short as Jabbah walked in and sat himself down behind his desk.

``You must be Fazo. Wayne and Moussa have told me a lot about you."

``They have?" Fazo wondered out loud.

``Oh, yes, certainly. They say that you are an unusual breed." ``Well, they, um, were referring to my, um..." Fazo was a little shocked by Jabbah's words. Thoughts raced through his head as to what Moussa and Wayne had said about him.

``Don't take it the wrong way, Fazo, they had nothing but praise for me," Jabbah continued.

``Praise? They praised me? For what?" Fazo asked perplexed, and uninhibited by the confusion of the situation.

``They say that you may be very useful to us for your people skills. You're the type of man we've been looking for." At this point, Jabbah got up and paced around the room a little, squeaking with every step that he took. He was a large man, not very tall at all but hearty and pleasant looking. He had an authoritative appearance but a youthful, even childlike demeanour that took away from his imposing stature. His hair was unkept and his suit, crumpled and worn, but very much in character. His sanguine complexion and his chubby hands made him look jolly, even playful, a surprising appearance for an executive in charge of recruiting and new ventures.

``What exactly is it that you do here, anyway?" Fazo asked.

``They didn't tell you? We're basically in the business of information. We keep all types of information about such things as the markets, the weather, even sports statistics and personnel files and sell it to potential clients. We're what's called an information service. Sounds interesting?" Jabbah asked, raising his thick brown eyebrows.

``Yes, I see..." Fazo said. ``But, where do I fit in?" he asked.

``Fazo, let me tell you a little more about what it is that we do here. The bottom line is that we want you to accept a position here in the School of Persuasion."

Fazo was wary of Jabbah's offer, ``Tell me more..."

``We started expanding our horizons to the personnel aspect of information services, we needed a whole new crop of bright, people-oriented investigators to gather information and to sell it to potential buyers. The technocratic infrastructure could not support such a sales oriented endeavour so we started a whole new division in the firm and gave them authority to do what it takes to expand business. As the years went on, we became very successful."

``So what's the problem?" Fazo asked impatiently.

``You see, this new group of people have had a hard time integrating with the more conservative, older side of the organization. There has been a lot of company politicking that has lead to rifts in the firm that have stagnated growth. We're at a point where we need total cooperation between all members of the society to better plan for the future. Wayne and Moussa especially have to be able to integrate into the sales side of the office along with a few others, to better understand the up-and-coming needs of our clientele."

``What can I do to help? I don't know the company, nor can I easily step into their shoes, Wayne's and Moussa's, I don't know the system like they do..." Fazo said, still reluctant to see the positive aspects of the opportunity.

``We need you to help integrate Wayne's group into the sales environment. They are much more, what's the word, hip?"

``Yeah, that's it," Fazo chuckled.

``Yes. They're avant-garde and new. Wayne's group has found it difficult to even deal with them on a professional level, let alone a personal and social one. We need you to bridge the gap. To help both sides get better accustomed to each other. We feel that you are right for the job because, you are just like them, or so Wayne and Moussa say, but you understand us, meaning Wayne's group or the old guard."

``But, why me, now? Just me? Alone?" Fazo asked.

``Do you need help?" he asked.

``No, I guess not, well, I-"

``Don't answer yet!" Jabbah interrupted. ``Get your feet wet. We'll introduce you to the company for the next three days. Think about what it is that we want you to do. After every day, we'll chat about what you've seen. If after three days, you're still unsure or dissatisfied by the vagueness of the job, then I won't ask you again, but I'm quite sure that by then, you will realize how challenging and rewarding this assignment might be."

``That seems like a fair deal. I accept your offer," Fazo said, shaking Jabbah's hand. ``When do I get started?"

``Just now," Jabbah proclaimed. ``Here are some of the organization charts and here is a terminal through which you can get character profiles on all the associated personnel." Look through them this morning, we'll have lunch in two hours and then this afternoon, we'll have some formal introductions. Any questions?" Jabbah wasn't really expecting a response, but he received one anyway.

``I'd rather meet everyone informally this afternoon, if you don't mind. And I don't think I'll need to study the files for two full hours, fifteen minutes should be fine just to attach names to the faces."

``Good, then, we'll set that up," Jabbah said, giving Fazo every indication that he would be accommodating to his needs and wishes. ``I've seen your record, Fazo. You were impressive in your work in Rumesia. We really would like you to put your talents to good use with us."

``I'll make no promises, Mr. Wilkinson..."

``Please, call me Jabbah," he interjected.

``Certainly, Jabbah. Anyhow, I thank you for your hospitality. I'll look forward to talking to you this afternoon."

``Good," Jabbah said, ``let's say four o'clock, here in my office."

``Will do," Fazo replied as he walked out of Jabbah's office and slowly paced towards Wayne and Moussa who were waiting for him in Wayne's office. ``I just might be happy here!" Fazo thought to himself as he walked down the hallways, looking at the tastefully decorated walls and the bright, fashionable young people. ``I just might like it!"

New optimism sprung into his head about meeting and mingling with the true Central people. The possibility of dealing with these people, day-in day-out, would really give Fazo a clear understanding of what it meant to be young and Central.

The next day, he met with more people. Within a week, he had gotten to know all the key players in the Sales side of the office. He talked to them about the plans for restructuring the business and they agreed to listen to Wayne and Moussa's demands. All it took was alittle wining and dining, a sympathetic ear and a not-too-forceful request. Nine days later, the two sides met for a meeting which Fazo mediated. They agreed to co- operate on all business matters on the condition that both sides be involved in every major management decision. The deal was set and Fazo walked out of the meeting quite satisfied. He looked forward to supervising their interaction and enjoying the riches of IS's hospitality.

``We're very pleased with the work you've done, Fazo," Jabbah led him into his office.

``Thank you."

``Please, take a seat." Jabbah moved the chair closer. ``We cannot believe that you finished this job so quicly. We imagined that it would take months! The two sides seemed so disparate before. I'm glad you could iron out their differences so effectively."

``It's just a first step! The real work involves overseeing the interaction."

`But quite a step! Now I think that the maturity of our people and my own power over them will be able to handle any further management crises."

Fazo was confused, "And so...."

``And so we would like to extend to you all our thanks and to wish you all the success in your future endeavours." He stood up and extended his hand. ``Don't worry, personnel has arranged to pay you through the end of this month." The calendar on his watch read March 20th.

Fazo got up, shook Jabbah's hand and walked out of the office quite stunned. He packed his affairs together in a box and wrote the final report Jabbah had asked for. A glowing recommendation. Even better than Rumesia. Jabbah's words rang hollow. Without the salary, Fazo would have a hard time making ends meet. The recommendation would not put beer on the table. At the end of the day, everyone in the office gave him a nice sendoff and he slipped out of their lives.

The next day, the warm spring breeze blew Fortune in Fazo's direction. Through an uncommonly bizarre turn of events, Fazo was set up on a blind date. His best friend's brother had promised to find a date for his girlfriend's cousin. She was only in town for a few days, visiting from a West Coast republic. She worked in the human resources division of a large multinational and wore her success well, or so Fazo was told. The only other thing he knew of her was her address at work and that she was blonde.

``Kim? Hi, I'm Fazo."

Kim raised her eyebrows with surprise at his words. She was a tall, slim woman with thick, beautiful blonde hair that fell beyond her shoulders. Her business suit was electric blue and unquestionably expensive. All in all, she was a very attractive woman, almost too attractive thought Fazo, well out of his league. This reassured Fazo and made him feel more comfortable and less intimidated around her.

``Hi, come in." Self-confidently she told Fazo about herself, trying to break the ice by poking fun at these blind dates. The air was filled with words, all seeming to run into each other. Fazo motioned to her to calm down. A nervous smile. A breath of air. She relaxed. She pulled up her chair and positioned her pen as though she was about to take notes. ``Now tell me about yourself, Fazo, anything at all."

``Is this an interview?" he asked jokingly, referring to her stenographic pose.

``No, don't be alarmed. It's just force of habit. I don't like to miss anything important when someone is talking to me." Kim put her pen down and smiled at Fazo, ``Please, go on."

``Well," Fazo started, ``you know that my name is Fazo Mandluk but I would like to be referred to as Fazo. My purpose in life is to be good, in a metaphysical sense. I like to enjoy life's richer moments and pleasures and I am not daunted by the unknown or the untried. My tastes lie in the avant-garde, a few steps in front, or to the left of the mainstream. The single most important quality I think I must try to develop is my sense of awareness to the different cultures of this world. My ultimate goal in coming to this country is to get to a better understanding of what it means to be Central. I believe in passion. A man, or a woman's, life is nothing without it, and yet still, we all die. It is a fascinating contradiction, one that I hope does not elude me all my life."

``That is very interesting," Kim said, fervently taking notes. ``Tell me about how you deal with people: the women in your life, the friends you keep, that sort of thing."

``I try to be a leader, I suppose," Fazo said, thinking to himself but talking out-loud, ``I think I enjoy being on my own but I am the type of person who needs having people around. Whether it be close friends, a group of acquaintances, a bunch of strangers at a dance club or my girlfriend, I like to be in the presence of others."

``And you like to take charge, I imagine," Kim said.

``Yes, I do. What I also like is the ability to deal with people on a very real level. Honesty and sincerity are important to me. I would rather open up and spill my soul to someone, if they're willing to hear it. They must also be willing to give me back something in return. I believe in an exchange of feeling when it comes to relationships, all relationships. Openness is very important to me," said Fazo, quite innocently.

``What kind of things do you look for in a woman?" Kim asked.

``I look for these qualities and more," Fazo went on, not hesitating one moment to question Kim's intentions, so certain was he that she would not be interested in his type. ``I like to find real, honest people whose intelligence does not cloud their vision on the avant-garde. I like women who can inspire me to do better, to expand my horizons, to think in ways that I could never dream of before. I want somebody to make me see things in a different light so that the things I detest, I will almost like. And, obviously, I want someone who will love me passionately."

``You seem to be very in tune with what you want, Fazo. It's quite admirable; but, what is it that you think you can offer to someone else? You seem, don't take this the wrong way, but a little self- absorbed, even selfish and uncompromising. I hope I'm wrong," Kim was confident and sincere as she pointed out Fazo's shortcomings.

``I think that I am often too compromising, a little too comfortable with the idea of pleasing my mate. Still, my self confidence and egocentrism are noticeable, even to me."

Kimberley interjected, ``I too have suffered from that malaise. I have by no means gotten over it. I used to think that the world began and ended with me. The world only existed from my perspective through my senses and my experiences. I realized that there was so much more than just what one person does that makes up this world. We are so very small, Fazo. So small. Do you know that?"

``Of course, I do. I realize it all the time."

``I feel as though most everyone in today's modern Central society has lost touch with reality. In some way or another, the truth has come to hurt too much to bear." She continued, motioning with her arms, ``People choose their own ways to fantasize and escape the real world but few completely forget it when it comes time to reentering the rigmarole. I rarely meet people who are like you, Fazo. Are all Habsentians like this? I have this impression that you see life from a better perspective."

``Maybe they do, but I don't always feel like I fit in there either." Fazo said, ``It's as though, true goodness transcends boundaries and artificial borders. Patriotism and nationalism can only bring detriment to the human spirit in search for the truth."

``And the only way we are to find truth is to divorce ourselves from our materialistic society. It's such a contradiction, a paradox. Enough of that, I hear you are looking for a job?"

``Have been for about five days."

``What happened to your last job?"

``I go to the School of thought. I'm supposed to be on my second of four cases. The problem is, the company that hired me for this term only needed my services for two weeks. They thought that my job would take many months but it didn't."

``So you were laid off." She spoke as though she was filling out a form.

``No, I was a contractor who finished his job well ahead of schedule. The problem is, ever since the economic downturn eight years ago, companies are less likely to keep `extraneous' personnel."

``Did you consider yoursellf extraneous?"

``No, I thought I would be of some help in integrating my ideas. It never quite worked out the way I had hoped. Never mind. Listen, do you know of anything that you may have come across that could suit a person like me for three or four months."

She looked at her page as though the answer would jump out at her. ``You could be a freelance..." A long pause. "A freelance..."

``A freelance what?"

``A freelance...no, just a freelancer." He didn't buy it. ``Paint houses or something. What about your last job? Couldn't you go back there?"

Fazo thought about Rumesia. RM would be more than happy to have him back but he could not see himself challenged. Th enatural beauty was one thing but he wanted to live in Central. Besides, he had no money for the airfare. ``No, it isn't a possibility."

``I wish I had a job for you. Let me give you the name of one of my best contacts." She neatly wrote a phone number on the back of her business card and handed it to him. ``There," she said, washing her hands of the responsibility. ``Let's get on to lunch."

Just as the clouds started shading out the sun, Kim and Fazo finished their lunch, paid the cheque, and grudged back to the office. On the way back, Kim asked Fazo,

``Do you know a lot of people here in Central?"

``I don't have too many close friends, no," Fazo answered.

``That's surprising! You are so easy to talk to. You have the rare ability to know how to listen to people and to encourage them to open up. It's probably because you come across as the type of person who doesn't hide things from anyone else." Kim looked at Fazo with admiration.

``That's quite a compliment, Kim," Fazo responded, ``but I am no different than everyone else. If anything, I think people find it hard to get to know me because I really don't show too much loyalty towards my friends. I am not as available as some of my friends would have liked."

``Are you busy?" Kim asked. ``Do you go out a lot?"

``I do, but with a lot of different people so no one really can say that I see them a lot."

``Do you spread yourself too thin?" Kim asked.

``Well, that's one way of putting it..." Fazo answered. ``I'm also a little too selfish. I do what I want, when I want. It's not that I'm insensitive to other people's feelings but rather that I don't really think that my absence is ever felt by any of my friends. They don't really need me."

``Doesn't that bother you?" Kim continued. ``It's nice to feel needed."

``Maybe it does bother me a little, but not much. For me, if my love interest is the only person that truly needs me, I'd be happy," said Fazo.

``We're back already. I'll walk you to Jabbah's office. Before we go in, do you have a pen handy?" she asked.

``Uh, yeah," Fazo replied. ``What's up?"

``Take this down," she went on, ``7-3-7-8-4-0-9, got it?"

``Four-o-nine?" he asked.

``Yes, that's it."

``That's what?" Fazo said.

``That's my personal phone number," Kim said. ``Area code 609. Call me."

``Uh..." Fazo stopped short and just put the piece of paper in his wallet and followed Kim inside the building. ``Goodbye."

``Don't go just yet." She grabbed his arm. ``I really enjoy what I do. I like helping people. Especially people like you, Fazo. It's easier to find something for someone when you yourself want to help them."

``You don't want to help every client?" he sounded surprised.

``No. It's like I have a personal interest in your case. Every once in a while a case comes along..."

``So I'm a hard-luck case."

``Au contraire. You're what I like to call a fun case."

``A what? A nut case?"

``That too. See finding a job for you is fun. I talk to interesting people. You're an easy person to sell. I don't have to cover anything up..."

``What about that little problem I have..."

``Right," she laughed. ``And I know you'll come off clean at the interview. It's like going to the circus."

``Come on. Even Krusty the clown has skeletons in his closet."

``What's your vice? Bittersweet dark chocolate?! "

``Bangel earrings."

``And dark-skinned tall women with black stockings."

``Not very likely that I'll end up being interviewed by one."

``And if you were," she nudged him with her eyes, ``what would you do?"

``What do you think? Think I would crack."

``No, she would. You'd charm her silly."

``Is that what you think?" he asked.

``Would you sleep with her?"

``Excuse me." He nearly stumbled on the path.

``If she asked you. In a professional situation, do you ever find it hard to circumvent your sexual desires."

``Like now?" The words sat like puffs of smoke in the heavy, steamy air.

``Like now." The tension became unbearable for Fazo. He lifted his eyes and stared at Kim's left earring until he was completely deflated. ``Do you..."

``Like chocolate mousse, yes..." he interrupted. ``Especially with a crisp vanilla wafer in the side."

``Then let's have coffee tomorrow morning, early."

``How early?"

Two mornings later, Fazo walked into Kim's office. ``Hi, Fazo," Kimberley said enthusiastically as she opened up her door. ``I'll be with you in a moment," she yelled out to him as she rested her telephone on her shoulder. She then resumed her conversation, ``Yeah, it's the guy I met two days ago. Remember I told you about him? Fazo's the name. Okay, I don't expect to be delayed another week. Alright, bye." She hung up. As she got up, Fazo noticed that she was exquisitely dressed in a designer suit that perfectly suited her. It was cream-coloured, light, and sleeveless. He found himself admiring it for a little too long when Kim said, ``You like it! It's great for the summer but I like it so much I had to wear it today anyway."

``Yeah, it's...it's gorgeous," he said smiling. ``In Habsentia, we're sort of taught to pay particular attention to our appearance, especially our clothing. That's why I seem to notice what people are wearing more than the average person."

``Certainly more than the average man, at least!" Kim laughed. ``You're dressed very smartly yourself. Very dapper."

``You've seen these before," Fazo said bashfully looking down at his clothes. ``Anyhow, shall we?" he said pointing the way down the hallway.

``Shall we what?" she asked, confused.

``Coffee? You wanted to get coffee this morning, remember?" he said, confidently.

``Of course. I thought we'd go out of the office, is that alright?" she asked politely.

``That's fine with me. I have no job. I mean, this is my job, pounding the pavement, making contacts..."

``I hope I'm not just some contact."

``A very attractive one," he said, letting out a little laugh.

``I haven't found you a job yet..."

They stepped out of the office and walked a few blocks before getting on a tram which took them a few more blocks. Without notice, Kimberley jumped off and motioned to Fazo to do the same, but by this time, the tram had started moving. He jumped, anyway and ran along the street as he came down, almost crashing into an elderly lady and solidly bumping into Kimberley. She caught him, or rather, he grabbed her arms so that she wouldn't stumble.

``Thanks," he said.

``It's right here," Kimberley twirled around and pointing to a small bistro with a striped red and white awning and outdoor seating for about a dozen people. They took a table in the corner of the cafe and looked at the menus. ``I suppose this classifies as a business meeting," she said as she pulled out her corporate credit card.

``I could get used to this! Your only here for another week? Pity." Fazo didn't look at the menu. ``I'll just have a hot chocolate," he said.

``A cappuccino," she told the waitress. ``And a hot chocolate for him..."

``And a chocolate croissant..." Fazo added, smiling at the waitress. She smiled back.

``Right away," the waitress replied. She then accidentally knocked over Fazo's glass. Luckily it was empty. Both she and Fazo reached to pick it up, her hand arriving just before his. Their eyes met and flashed away.

``Fazo, you OK?" Kimberley asked.

``Yeah, sorry, you were saying?" he apologized, unsure if Kim had been talking at all.

``I was saying that what Central needs is a few more women. They have a terribly male perspective; not that the West is female, but at least it's not biased," Kimberley explained.

``I didn't really notice...."

She laughed, ``I'm sure you did. You strike me as the type of man who will always be aware of his surroundings, especially when it comes to women!"

``Maybe, but I haven't been myself lately," Fazo said as he looked down at his feet.

``Something on your mind?" she asked.

``You could say that," Fazo explained. ``Never mind, you're right, the city of Central's business community could use more women and more of a modern, upbeat perspective. But how do you instill that in people who are so overcome by their traditions? They're reserved and guarded individuals. I'm sure you realized that."

Just then, the waitress returned and served their drinks and the croissant. As she was placing the napkins, she smiled at Fazo and walked away.

``She likes you," Kimberley said.

``Who does?" Fazo replied, a little shocked. ``The waitress?"

``Yes, it's obvious. I wouldn't be surprised if..." she turned over Fazo's napkin and saw that it had a name and a phone number written on it. ``I was right."

Fazo said, ``How did you know?" He looked down at the napkin, thoroughly flattered by the waitress's interest, especially because it happened in the presence of Kimberley. ``I...I...don't know what..."

``I take it this doesn't happen to you often?" she said, ``judging by your reaction?"

``And it happens to you?" he asked. ``Of course it does." She smiled bashfully and took a sip of her cappuccino. ``Anyhow, what do you suggest that I do about my situation?"

``Call her."

``No, not about this," he laughed. ``I'm talking about my lack of employment."

``Keep looking," she sighed. ``It just doesn't seem fair does it?"

``What's not fair?" Fazo asked.

``That I can't hire you. You'd be so perfect."

``Well, I have no skills at what you do. Besides, my job is best done with the help of others, not with someone else," Fazo explained.

They walked all the way back to the office after Fazo convinced Kimberley that he didn't want to have anything to do with the tram. She laughed and showed him a shortcut through a park. When they arrived, she said that she had to attend a meeting and rushed off in her car, leaving Fazo at the front door. That afternoon, she called him from the airport.

``Fazo, I have to go back today. It's urgent."

``I understand."

``I'm still looking for you."

``I'm right here. In my house. On my veranda."

``I mean I'll still look for a job for you. There."

``Thanks. Don't lose my number."

``You're sounding like a bad pop song. I'm a head-hunter dammit, this is what I do. I'll hunt you down."

``Go ahead."

``You already made my day. My week."

``Stop," he pleaded without much conviction.

``Bye, Fazo. Au revoir."

Thereafter, every day after lunch, Fazo would sit on his veranda and drink a melancholy martini. Sometimes it would be a double mixed with a little self-pity spritzer or a lazy Mary. Only after he was drunk, could he hear himself think. He would listen to his mind, his feelings. Some days he would hear himself say, ``Are you satisfied?" He wondered if what he wanted was what he was reaching for. Was he learning the art of deceit, if anything at all?

``What is it that you are studying?" his mother told him on the phone last month. ``Does it really come quickly to you? What can you offer..." and the thoughts raced on to visions of unhappy brides, dirty modest surroundings, an unhappy life of poverty. What was it that he was striving for? ``Do whatever you want..." his mother said, ``so long as..." The endlesss list cut into whatever like a sculptor into marble. What beauty lies within? The inner beauty. The veranda welcomed a nap. He went into a house in his reveries. A dream house. A house within a dream. A house with dreams. Where he had no need for dreams. Where he could not sleep. Sleepless house. A house that does not sleep. A brothel. A steamy, dreamy brothel. Where everyone is in bed and no one sleeps. Just like a hospital. Conceived in a sinful dreamy place; born in a pure dreamy place. Full of white and lanolin. And pretty nurses. Who just came from the brothel. Suddenly, he was no longer in his own body but within a woman's. He looked down upon himself and noticed he had no legs. A not-so-little mermaid. He swam into the ocean waving his fin behind him. Swimming in futility. Like sperm. He swam deeper and towards the entrance. Out he came, out into the delivery room lights. It's a boy! He heard yells. He looked down at his son and at a woman beside him who was also on the table giving birth. Two places at one time. No, they were twins, but which was his wife. He looks at the woman closely. It is Angelica. Both are. Now one looks like Ajan. He turns to the woman by his side and kisses her. Full on the lips. While his wife delivers his child. He now wears thick glasses, he notices as he looks into a sink full of water. The water instantly turns to blood. He dips his finger in and brings it to his tongue. Sweet as maple syrup. He pours it on his waffles. Enjoying them on the veranda, while the sun sets.

Suddenly he is in a room. A quiet room except for the sounds of two people in love. Rather in the act of love-making. Voyeurishly, he peeks. It is Ajan's sultry sigh he hears. To his chagrin, it is not him. A man with an upturned nose and a pretentious name. Jean-something. ``Look! That's it!'' he hears himself say. The stunningly good-looking man turns and faces him. The man does not stop what he is doing. Fazo watches on for an eternal moment and turns away. He's back in the ocean, swimming now. Alone. He sees something floating in the water. He looks at the piece of paper. Fresh money. On a hook. As he reaches for it, he is pulled up to the surface. Pushing through a thin layer of frozen ice, he emerges from the heavenly lake that he spent so much time evaluating in Rumesia. He feels the cold air and turns over. Pulling the cover over him, he looks out from the veranda at the Central skyline and waits for something to do.

``Life is like a poker game. It would be simple if you knew what cards everyone held," he had once heard. All he wanted at this time was a clear perspective on life. He wanted to show his cards and to peek at everyone else's. He wanted to be surrounded by honest, real people. He longed to be in the company of someone who let him know how he or she felt. ``Do you feel real? And that's all I'd like to know," he once told Ajan when she used to keep her emotions bottled up. So untrue was her response that Fazo lost interest, lost hope in her.

Never had he felt the presence of a woman who could be certain of her feelings towards him and who could make him whole. He needed to be completed and he offered himself to all that he met, but no woman was able to give anything back to Fazo to make him what he wanted to be. No one woman had ever come close to fulfilling him in a way that most men do not need to be fulfilled. A curious, distinctively real individual, Fazo cared little about impressions and acts. He himself was an actor but he did not appreciate it in his women. He did not deserve much better than what he had, still, he always hoped for more. His optimism may be his undoing, or so he thought, but at least, he would be true to himself.

He could not completely pull the wool over his own eyes. He could always tell that he had not yet found the right woman. Just as he did not give up, his optimism and hope made him keep searching for the right woman, day after day, unless he had someone with whom he was reasonably content.

Taking his second monthly unemployment cheque out of his mailbox, Fazo broke down. Sick and tired of soul searching, he gave into loneliness and depression and sought the company of friends and the action of sports to occupy his time. One day, Clyde hit for the cycle. A week later, Fazo hit a backhand cross-court winner that Indel couldn't have returned. A lazy afternoon of sitting in the outfield, followed by a trip to the shortstop's industrial open house party. The music, the atmosphere, the friends, all contributed to appeasing Fazo's sense of danger and made his dull life all the more palatable.

Days later, he realized that he needed these parties more than he had thought and his current circle of friends, not to take anything away from Wayne and Moussa, were not adventurous enough for his liking. He hooked up with a friend of his from Habsentia. A fellow social-ladder climber. They maintained a furious pace of socializing, not without getting anywhere until one day his buddy fell in love with a woman that Fazo thought was far too unattractive for someone of his friend's calibre. Still, she said all the things that he wanted to hear. Fazo wished him well, and began to search again.

When Fazo went to pick up the newspaper one Friday morning, he noticed that he had received a piece of mail from his friend Laigo. Carefully opening it up so as not to destroy the return address, Fazo's curiosity grew. He had not received any word of Laigo in three months, quite possibly because he had been on the move. He unfolded it and read.

Dear Fazo,

What seems like a year has only been a few months; I have been so involved, so busy with Melinda. These days I am more at ease and I have more time to myself: it's the first real chance I have to telling you about what is going on. Don't worry, nothing drastic happened, we didn't break up, but we almost did. I'll get to that in due time but first let me tell you what happened after I left Rumesia. A few days after I left, I got myself settled into a small studio in Central, five minutes walk from Influence Road. I was living by myself, but I had plenty of good neighbours who were very social and hip. We got along quite well, they're just like us, still, I didn't really spend too much time with them. You see, every day I would go off to the School and sit in on my course. Time would pass reasonably quickly when I was busy or when someone was lecturing or tutoring. Some times during the day, I would have a two hour break which would seem impossible to fill. I know, you must be wondering what is wrong with me, but during those days, I didn't really feel like being social. It was as though I had forgotten how to occupy myself. Regardless, the days did pass reasonably quickly and I would sometimes play a little soccer with some classmates in the evening before returning home. When I reached my studio, I would get terribly depressed and lonely. My neighbours would beat down my door to try to get me out to do things with them. I tell you, I must have turned them down two thirds of the time. On those days that I chose to stay home alone, I would spend hours just dreaming of the past, just thinking of Melinda.

Some days I would venture out into the forest and find myself a quiet dry place in which to sit. I would take out my pen and my clipboard and I would write and write. So many letters, so many words, so many feelings; it was as though the process of writing was therapeutic, the only way to relieve my misery. That's probably why I felt like I needed to write her so often, to let her know about all the little nothings in my life. And the problem was, I was so busy writing that I had no time to ever let anything happen to me! Sure the few times I went out with my neighbours was exciting but I couldn't really fill my letters with that!

One night I remember a bunch of us went out to a dance club. It was a weekday night so I didn't really expect there to be a big crowd but it was so packed. We had to wait in line for forty-five minutes. Anyway, while waiting in line, discussing the ethical implications of euthanasia, a gorgeous brunette jostled my elbow, making me spill a little bit of my beer. (Yeah, this place is so popular that they actually serve you while you wait in line!) She apologized but I told her that she could take comfort in the fact that beer doesn't stain, it just makes you smell drunk. She laughed and we started to talk. She had already been inside and she knew the bouncer so she got me in too. We sat at the bar and she bought me another beer and we talked. I could tell that she wanted me to make my move but Melinda's face kept popping up in my head. I couldn't betray her so I just pretended as though I was really shy. Luckily for me, she didn't try anything herself and we just parted that evening by exchanging phone numbers. You know, Fazo, I really liked her. The problem was that I was too snowed by Melinda to even realize it.

She called me back once but I was busy that night and she took it as a rejection and never called me again. Since then, I was avoiding women like the plague, keeping myself more and more isolated and more and more focused on my writing. The thing that haunted me was that Melinda suddenly felt cold and distant. She didn't write me more than three letters, I wrote her nineteen. She only called me once and almost every time that I called she told me I shouldn't have and asked me why I was calling so much. These were such clear indications that she didn't feel that much for me; but, I was too blind to see them. It was as though I would rationalize some excuse, fabricate some story so as to explain her reluctance to talk to me. Maybe the sound of my voice makes her miss me so much that she gets desperately lonely and depressed to the point that it makes her sick. My ego was super-inflated and at the same time, I was doubting myself. I can tell that I was insecure, even a little unsure of my own feelings from time to time, although most of the time, I knew I was madly in love with Melinda.

Fazo, I really struggled through that time of my life. I'm sorry, I know it all pales in comparison to you. See this is different, you understand. I waited for the postman to come and I jumped at every phone ring. I took special pleasure in writing her and I would reread her letters, searching desperately between the lines for the kind words of affection that weren't in the text of the letter. I could not even notice that she refrained from mentioning anything that made it seem like she missed me. She didn't mention the past or the future. All she talked about was the present, the present which was lonely to me but rather fulfilling to her. I kept asking myself where I fit in. I suppose I didn't; she didn't need me. You know Faz, it's nice to feel needed. I never really knew what it all meant because with the other women, I was always the centre of attention. The relationship revolved around me and I know I didn't give much back to them. Now, I thought, the shoe is on the other foot: I am the recipient of neglect and insensitive letters. I have to swallow my pride and express my love hundreds of times over. That time is in the past now, but I think you get a feel for what I was going through.

By the way, I spoke to Angelica the other day. Jodoum and her are through. She dumped him. She's doing real well at the University and she's thinking of travelling around the world next year. She said she'd visit me in Laconia, to meet Linda. She doesn't call her Melinda for some strange reason. Back to my story.

``I get back to Laconia for this!" I said to her. ``You don't come get me at the airport, and now you tell me you're busy tonight."

``I can't miss this show. How often can I see him sing for free?" Her glance never caught my eye, she just kept unpacking my clothes as though that was supposed to make up for that evening.

``Not to mention those letters!" I looked at this woman whom I could barely recognize. She didn't look as pretty as I remembered her. Pictures can lie.

``You know I don't like to write, darling."

The last word hit me like the sight of a palm tree in the Arctic. Three affectionate terms she had used in the sum of three months of letters and now this. ``Darling," I couldn't help but whisper under my breath. ``Melinda. You know how I feel about you..."

``Yes, I know." She didn't want to hear anything romantic. ``Where do you keep your turtlenecks?"

``Second drawer."

``This one." I nodded yes. She opened it up and found that it was full of old papers and the like. As she took them out to put them on the desk, a condom fell to the floor. She looked down and fighting back a smile bent over to pick it up. She turned her back from my investigating stare. I heard a giggle. The rest of the clothes were unpacked and we enjoyed a drink on the porch before she left for the show. I went to a movie with a friend and when I got back, she was waiting for me. She looked gorgeous. I hadn't forgotten. Nor had she.

Later that week, I lost an expensive pool game at the local tavern. I was so upset and I needed to get revenge on the slimebag. I noticed that his girlfriend had been eyeing me all night. I was just about to steal her away from him, but something held me back. I went home and I knew I had to vent my frustrations, and Melinda was an all-too-convenient target.

``I missed you," she said as I walked in the door.

``What a shock!" She wasn't sure if it was sarcasm or my true feelings.

``I don't see any ball and chain..."

``Like that sapphire ring." I pointed to her pinky.

``They remind me of your eyes." In retrospect, it sounds quite sweet but at the time, it was just a stilted attempt to get me to bed.

``My eyes are brown."

``The way it sparkles," she explained.

``The way it's wrapped around your little finger."

She took a breath and sat down on the chair. ``Be that way, see if I care."

``Right. Time to go into neglect mode. Funny, I thought it was a seasonal thing."

``Back to that..." she rolled her eyes.

``Yes, back to that. You know what you are..." I meant ``were" but ``are" came out. ``A witch!" Her lips disappeared. ``A cold-hearted, wretched spinster who is completely incapable of showing emotion and even more incapable of being real." The tirade laster longer than an episode of ``Knots Landing".

``Get out! Just take your stupid stuff and go!" I can still hear her say those words. Come to think of it, she said it with the cutest little accent, I just didn't notice.

``My pleasure. Wouldn't want to accidentally spill water on you, now would I." She lunged forward with her left arm. I caught her wrist but I couldn't prevent her right arm from tearing three scrapes of flesh from my cheek. A girlish punch landed on my chest. And another and another until I lost self-control. I shoved her. She stumbled backwards but came right back at me. I pushed her away. As she charged again I picked up a glass and threw water at her. Her wet eyes burned with rage. A kick landed on my inner thigh. I spinned and reached around her body to contain her arms.

``You're squeezing too hard!" She tried to bite my hand but I held her tight, a little more afraid than before. After a few minutes of squirming, she stopped. I don't know what I thought it meant or what came over me but I put my lips on her neck and started kissing her. This threw her into a tantrum I couldn't control. ``Get your hands off of me." She threw my arms off her chest as though I was a rapist. Her strength surprised me. And scared me to death. I grabbed a handful of clothes, a shopping bag, and my hairbrush and walked backwards out of the apartment.

I missed her so much that week that I actually came crawling back to her. She opened the door and found me on my knees with a handful of flowers and a brown ring that sparkled more than her blue one. I hadn't tried calling for eight days and I think she appreciated it. I apologized. She didn't even though she didn't have to and we...we....made up. A word to the wise is sufficient, you always told me! Within three days, we were just as happy as we were before I left Laconia, even more so because we knew that we would be together for the next four months.

Fazo stopped reading and said to himself, ``Man, Laigo is a great writer. I have never gotten a letter like this ever before!" The songbird that was keeping him company chirped agreeingly.

The next weekend, Melinda and I went to a party given by one of her friends. I was so proud of her. I would say things like, ``Did you know that Melinda went on a feed-the-poor mission to the poorest countries of Adnasia?"

``Yes, I was with her," her friend would respond.

The next weekend we went to a little cottage in the woods. We never grew tired of each other's company. Melinda made me feel like she wanted to be with me every second of the day. It was good to feel needed again; it made the rest of my life so much more productive and fruitful. It's as though I draw my strength from Melinda's care. I wouldn't trade it away for the world.

Now things have settled down a bit. We don't go out as much and we really don't talk too much either. We spend a lot of time in bed or in front of the television in each others arms. We really needed each other and we are both very happy when we are together. The time passes more slowly now that it used too. We even run out of things to say but I just think that we just prefer to show our affection with actions rather than words. I know this may sound fantastic to you Fazo but one day you'll understand that this sort of relationship is OK, even healthy.

So here I am, I have more time to myself. I am at peace with myself and I am content. Melinda and I insulate ourselves from the outside world and enjoy each other's company. It's quiet, peaceful and it makes the rest of my life more enjoyable. Don't worry, it's not as though I'm settling down, it's just that for the first time in my life, I can understand why I would, which I haven't.

What else do I have to tell you? Not much, I guess. Hey, what's new with what's her name, Maddie? I heard a rumour about Ajan. Apparently she's with some guy, Jean-Pierre or something. No, Jean-Luc, right. Do you know him? Who are you seeing now, anyway? Maybe if you're good, Uncle Laigo will come for a visit. Did you know that I wanted to go to Adnasia one of these days? I wanted to know if you had time to go with me. Do you? No matter if you don't just now, we'll wait a year. Anyhow, I think I'll sign off. I'm sorry that I haven't written more regularly, you can expect a letter from me every month from now on.

Until then, Fazo, take care.

Your buddy,

Laigo.

After hearing mention of Ajan's name, Fazo began to remember some of the good times that they had had, running through the streets of Haltern, enjoying ice cream while watching the sun set across the bay. Then like all good memories, it was gone, replaced by the dreaded dullness of reality. Fazo wondered whether the rumour was true. A little green, he searched through his papers to see if he could find the napkin with the waitress's phone number. It was lost. Disappointed that he had not had a greater effect on Ajan, he tried not to think of the situation. He was hurt by her ability to get over him so quickly and move on to the next one. He himself had gotten over her, he was not in love when they broke up, still, he was alone now, while she wasn't.

Brushing off his emotions, Fazo turned himself to the work at hand. Which was to find work. Or ways to make it seem like he was trying. He enjoyed his favourite television sitcoms. Thoroughly engrossed in his almost mindless form of entertainment, Fazo sat back and laughed when appropriate, full-well knowing that the television insulted his intelligence. Leaping out of his chair, he got up and gave Wayne a call.

``Wayne, you in?"

``I'm on the phone, aren't I?" he said sarcastically.

``I guess. Listen, do you want to go out and get some ice cream?" Fazo asked, desperate for company.

``Uh," he hesitated, ``sure, why not? Bocini's?"

``Of course," Fazo replied, ``I'll be down in a few minutes, we'll meet at the front door."

``Sounds good," Wayne ended as he hung up.

After brushing his hair back and changing into a more respectable shirt, he looked into the mirror and closed the light as he locked his door. For some strange reason, he really wanted to spend some time with Wayne. He felt like all he needed was to be an ear for the evening and Wayne was the perfect person to let him just sit back and listen. Just then, Wayne turned the corner and greeted Fazo with a warm smile.

``My you're looking mighty dapper..." he said to Fazo.

``Why, thank you my good man, and you, `` Fazo paused.

``Yes, I look like a slob, but what else is new."

``Well..." Fazo stopped in mid-sentence, slightly embarrassed. As they walked out the front door a short, dark-skinned woman passed by and said hello to Fazo.

``Who was that?" Wayne asked.

``Who, her?" he said pointing back at the attractive girl with his eyes.

``You know her?" Wayne asked, a little shocked as he unconsciously wet his lips.

Fazo laughed at the sight of his salivating friend and said, ``Relax, Wayne, she's taken...come to think of it, she is very beautiful isn't she?" he said more to himself than to Wayne.

``Oh, you hadn't noticed?" Wayne asked. ``Fazo, the only guys who wouldn't notice her beauty are gays and guys who are taken. Wait a second, is there something you're not telling me, Faz?"

``I'm straight, Wayne," Fazo replied placidly.

``No, I know that! I mean, are you seeing someone and not telling me about it?" he asked.

``No," he said.

``You know you can tell me. I expect you to. You know that if I was seeing someone, I would..."

Fazo interrupted, ``Yes, you would tell me everything about her, make me meet her, give you suggestions and advice as to what to do every step of the way. It's not as though I have all the answers."

``No, Faz but you know so much more, you've had women as friends. They let you in on secrets that we guys without sisters and close female friends don't know," Wayne said.

``I don't know that much more than you do. Let me put it this way. It's as though you know addition and that's all. All I know is addition and multiplication. We both have tons to learn. Understand?" he asked.

``But we know the basics?" Wayne asked perplexed.

``Yes, Wayne, we can tell them apart from us!" Fazo laughed and patted his friend on the back. ``Let's get some stuff!" They walked on quietly for a few minutes until Wayne stumbled and fell off the sidewalk. ``What happened there?" Fazo asked.

``Oh, nothing, I was just thinking about how I can become more worldly. I realize that you have seen so much more of the world, you know about other people and you know how to deal with them. And you're not special, most people are as knowledgeable as you. What do you think?" Wayne looked over at Fazo and asked him for advice but Fazo didn't really know what he was asking.

``What is that you want to know, Wayne. I was just brought up a little different than you. I was taught about other lands, other people. Why don't you tell me why you think it is important to be more informed about such things?"

``What I used to think is that people who brag that they have travelled extensively and that they know many languages are all collaborators, somehow developing a ruse that would make it seem socially correct to be worldly. I thought it was a ruse, a ploy, a falsehood. I didn't think that it was terribly important. I mean, if I was good at geology, I would go around professing the wonders of geology and trying to make people believe that it is the most important science there is. You see, that is how I read these people."

``Wayne, you talk as though these people are some sort of elitist group. Anyone and everyone should take interest in the diversity of cultures on the planet. What is it that we need when we go from one place to another? We need to know how to communicate, how to abide by new customs and laws and how to be diplomatic. We have a responsibility to behave in a manner which is suitable."

``Alright, let me finish. That was before...now," Wayne hesitated as he thought his words over. ``Now, I believe that it is important to be able to understand other people not only to be able to better communicate but also because it is in our best interest to know how to deal with these people so that they look at you in a different light. Too often, too many times I have been regarded as a typical, uninformed, ignorant Central technocrat. I want to break the mold."

``We all do," Fazo said.

``What do you mean, we? You're not implying that you also have this problem?!" he asked.

``Believe it or not, Wayne, most people would bunch us together. Habsentia is not much different than the Central Republic. You think in a way that is very similar to the way I do. I may know a little more than you do but our political ideologies are not that far off. Our liberal, individual freedom thinking is very particular to this part of the world."

``You're a liberal, a socialist, Fazo, how can they say that about you."

``Well, I'm just as competitive and capitalistic as the rest of you," Fazo said making reference to most everyone around them.

``Enough about you, let's talk about me. What can I do to help myself?" he asked.

``Don't feel as though you are in the wrong. In fact, you have a lot to offer to these people. I believe that if we achieve a balance between the International socialist perspective and the Central capitalist machine, we would be best off. What is it that appeals to you in their thinking, Wayne?"

``I would want my ideal country to promote socialist traps to catch the people that fall through the cracks of society. I like the idea of a more civilized, cultured environment, rich with tradition and the diversity of peoples. I especially like the most casual way people deal with each other. Most Adnasians have the wonderful ability to make friends with each other very easily. They are warm, friendly and sophisticated. I also admire how men and women are treated equally."

``Hold on, Wayne, most non-Central women are inferior to men in social position in their respective countries. It is not an enviable situation to be in!" Fazo pointed out.

``Well, on the highest social level, these people relate with women without creating a gender gap. When me and my friends speak with women about certain issues, we often alienate them. We are not chauvinist. It's as though we are all so acutely aware of their femininity; whereas, a man from Laconia would be able to deal with a woman or a man equally well. It's as though women are more receptive to them.

``On another level, look at how they deal with intellectual ideas. They seem very normal; we don't. We look like stuffy intellectuals who are unable to deal with any of the world's problems whereas they are viewed as the next generation of leaders. They know how to deal with people, how to manage, how to succeed in today's dog-eat-dog world. And you know, Fazo, they're quite capable of talking intellectually, on our level. They know about everything from the latest technologies to metaphysics.

``As a sum, our gang does not amount to much more than a collection of isolated experts, whereas they are a group. We can content ourselves with our own little pleasures but we lack the real sophistication of social consciousness and alertness that they share. So in a country composed primarily of them, people communicate with each other on a variety of levels. They live and breathe all the nation's political problems and discuss with equal ease the newest trends in technology or pop culture. Fashion, film, literature --everyone is equally suited to discuss all aspects of twentieth century life. That's what seems so appealing, Fazo."

``So in Wayne's world, people are very well-rounded, up-front, social, and chic. Sign me up for a condo there, will you Wayne!" Fazo laughed. ``It sounds wonderful, truly, but there is so much more to life. You have very many things in your personal exchanges that they lack. Think about what you would not want to give up in exchange for some of their popularity."

``It's not a popularity issue, Fazo. We're not in a high school where the most popular people are most successful and best-treated. I guess they are more superficial and image-oriented than we are..."

``Is that a good thing?" Fazo asked.

``No, I guess not, I wouldn't want to give up the ease with which we talk. Moussa and the rest of us, we know how to just hang out. The thing is, I'd rather watch a basketball championship game than broaden my horizons by watching a foreign film about the miseries of nineteenth century children."

``So would I," said Fazo.

``No, you wouldn't, you like that stuff, you hate basketball!"

``I don't hate it, I just think that it's biased towards tall people..."

``Well, you can't deny that you like movies about depressing people. You love depressing films about death and misery. You've got quite a 'Misery loves company' crowd going there! Getting back to the point, you take an interest in these sort of things and well, I don't and I'm not going to get up to speed with this sort of stuff just so that I can talk with you about artsy trash."

``Agreed. That is a big problem with keeping one's self well-rounded. Sometimes the pressure to keep up with what is popular or in will make you extend yourself beyond the realm of things which you find interesting," Fazo stated.

``At least I don't have to worry about depressing films getting too popular!" Wayne laughed.

``What do you see as the single-most appealing or heroic aspect of their lifestyle?" Fazo asked.

``That's easy. The ease with which these types attract women. They have the ability to generate these strong electromagnetic field which attract the femons, particles only found in women. They, the women I mean, can't help but feel irresistibly drawn to these men. Now all I have to do is plug myself into the wall so that I too can reap the wondrous benefits that electromagnetic radiation can do for you!"

``Your knowledge of physics astounds me, Wayne! As for your mastery of the subtle art of human sociology...Where do you get this stuff anyhow?" Fazo asked.

``Oh, it's on late-night television, you know the commercial programs the small stations run to offset operating expenses. I watched a thirty minute show that demonstrated this technique!" Wayne laughed, ``Alright, seriously, what can I do to help my chances?"

``Your chances of finding any woman, the right woman or a reasonable facsimile?" Fazo asked.

``The last one."

``Well, there are two ways, Wayne. Either you somehow trick your mind into believing that you would be satisfied with any woman who gave a hint of understanding you or you relax your standards. You know what they say, every woman looks the same in the dark!"

``Fazo! I wouldn't expect that from you!" Wayne was utterly shocked.

``It's just a joke!" Fazo laughed. ``I didn't really mean it to demean women."

``Still, Faz, you shouldn't joke about such things. It only perpetuates myths and stereotypes about women that have contributed to their oppression for the last two centuries." A stern expression came over Wayne's face. After a few moments of silence, he began again, ``Besides if my standards sank any lower, I'd be dating sperm."

``You have a lot to offer to women, Wayne. First you should build your confidence. Then remember to be yourself. I'm sure that many women would admire you for your noble stand on woman's rights."

``I suppose so. I'm not that concerned about attracting women, though, Fazo. I'm more concerned with fitting in."

``I'd better get going. I don't want to miss my bus to Timmins."

``Who's in Timmins?" Wayne asked.

``Laigo. He's on a three-week business trip there. He's not too pleased about it."

``Yeah, Timmins is a drag."

``No, I think he doesn't want to be away from Melinda." Fazo smirked. ``Besides, it'll be long hours. Hope he has time to see me."

``It is a big city. Thirty years ago it would have been boredom come to life. But now at least you got company. Three million strong."

``Leaving?"

``Uh-huh, I'll be back soon." Wayne said goodbye. After a long day at work, Wayne returned.

``Guess what?" Wayne said, teasing Fazo.

``What?" Fazo said as he rushed around his room throwing his most necessary belongings into his travel bag. Rumbling through his drawers and closets, he would take a shirt out, put it to his chest and either throw it back or stuff it into his case.

``I met someone today," Wayne continued.

``That's nice," Fazo responded, not quite listening to what he had said. ``You met someone!" he suddenly realized what he had said. ``As in a..."

``Yes, her name is Martha."

``How did you meet her?" Fazo asked as he threw a red shirt onto the floor and then picked it up and hurriedly stuffed it into his bag.

``Moussa and I were waiting in line at the cafeteria in front of Mariana and Martha. Anyhow, I was explaining to him that the most effective way of upgrading the environmental consciousness of the general public is to engage in a program of education that involved coming up with creative solutions to our waste reduction problems. Martha, I didn't realize, was listening in and commended me for me ideas. Anyway we sat down together and began discussing the situation, or rather, Martha and I began discussing it and the other two felt utterly bored. Moussa took out a pack of cards and asked if they played bridge. As it turns out, they did and we played for what must have been three hours. I think Martha and I have a lot in common, Faz."

``Well, where did it lead, Wayne, that's the important thing!" Fazo pointed out.

``We're seeing each other tomorrow night, I was hoping that you would drop by and introduce yourself. I want her to think that I have interesting friends."

``Well, I'm flattered but as you can tell I'm packing away!"

``Where are you headin'?" Wayne asked.

``Timmins. Remember?"

``Why are you going again?"

``Laigo's there. Weren't you listening?"

``But, Martha's here!" Wayne urged Fazo to stay.

``No can do, Wayne."

``What if I told you that Martha's best friend is coming along and that she broke up with her boyfriend and Martha mentioned that she was interested in you?"

``Then you would be lying."

``How would you know?" Wayne asked.

``I saw her kissing her boyfriend in the park today. Nice try, anyway," Fazo responded.

``They're engaged, too. Anyhow, let's go. We're late! You're doing a horrible job at packing that bag. Did Ajan spoil you or what? You have absolutely no clue as to how to do that do you?" he said.

``Not true, I'm just in a rush! Anyhow I'm done," Fazo said as he zipped up his bag and slung it across his shoulder. ``Oh, by the way, can I borrow your new car for the week so that I can drive to Timmins? It's only 200 miles."

``My new sportscar?" he smiled and shook his head.

``Oh well, I thought I'd try. I'll see you in a week, take care of yourself and of Martha," Fazo waved goodbye as he stepped into the stairwell.

Wayne just stood there and laughed as he closed Fazo's door, making sure not to lock it just in case he needed his room. Not a moment later, a very attractive young woman walked up to Fazo's door and asked Wayne,

``Are you Fazo?", she said, politely pointing to the door.

``No, I'm afraid not," Wayne said. The woman let out what seemed to be a sigh of relief. ``This is Fazo's room, he's not in right now."

``Do you think you could leave him a message for me?" she asked politely.

``Sure," Wayne replied, ``but..."

``Great!" she interrupted, breaking out into a smile. ``Tell him that Lola needs to see him as soon as possible!" she said with emphasis on the word ``soon``.

``I'll do that!" Wayne said, stuttering.

``Thanks," she bounced away gaily and Wayne took one last glance at her as she turned the corner. Picking up a pen, he wrote Fazo a little note. It read as follows: ``Faz, Lola needs to see you as soon as possible. Why are you so lucky? You know sometimes I feel like I am a child who has been excluded from a game that everyone else is playing. They say I don't fit in, or that I'm not old enough. And then, sometimes, when they actually grudgingly let me in, it's as though they make up the rules as the go along, doing everything in their power to ridicule me and to hamper my development. Why are children so cruel? And why aren't I allowed to play? It's not fair, Faz... Yours truly, Wayne."

Wayne slipped the note under Fazo's door so as to make it seem that his room had been locked all week. He thought about what he had just written and realized that chances are, Fazo would not quite understand what he had said. Wayne thought that Fazo could not appreciate the ostracism, the ridicule that he, Wayne de Cavrignac, had to endure for being special. It was as though society rejected him for not fitting in, for not being beautiful, for not being cool. Things had not changed for him since high school, he was still mistreated and felt left out. Undeserving of any special attention from women, he fell behind his peers in social development, especially with respect to girls. He could never catch up to the other boys, terminally ill with immaturity, he couldn't charm any girls at all, ever. Fazo did not understand why he felt neglected, left out in this game of love. Maybe Martha would be different, about that he could not tell.

He knew himself, he knew what he wanted, and toned down his aspirations for romance to meet reality. He did not expect much, in fact, almost nothing at all, from women. He contented himself with his sports, his own circle of friends whom he kept dear and close to his heart. With them he shared all grief and all sorrow, and through them replaced the women that never were. So tightly bound was he to his friends that he could not live without their support, even for a moment. Suffice it to say that he could not expect them to run off and spend inordinate amounts of time with women themselves. These friends were carefully chosen so as to ensure that they stick together, they all suffered from the malaise, they found each other by some unifying force. Yet, Fazo was amongst this circle of friends and he seemed so, different.

Wayne thought about his Habsentian friend and realized that he had so easily fit into his group for a reason. Fazo, he presumed, also rejected the world of women and popularity by choosing to be with him. Still, he was so very different. Although Wayne had never seen him with a woman, he had the feeling that Fazo was perfectly capable of finding someone at any instant. Why he chose not to was beyond Wayne. All he knew for certain was that Fazo was a very good friend who understood him. They all shared something special, a camaraderie that resembled something out of a secret society. This most uncommon bond, they all knew would outlast any romantic liaison that any of them may ever have, such was the case amongst men of this brotherhood.

Fazo reclined in his chair on his way to Timmins as he tried to respond to his friend's letter. Staring at the empty page, he thought that if he read it over again, he would find some inspiration. Unfolding the dilapidated scraps of paper on which it was written, he read Laigo's letter to himself again.

``Dear Fazo,

I cannot explain to you how happy I have been this last little while. I cannot measure myself how content I am with the world, how peacefully my soul rests in the universe, how gently I pass off into sleep, without a worry in the world. My days and nights are filled with happiness, caring and joy, and most importantly, Melinda. I have never, ever loved a woman as much as I love her, and you know what buddy? I don't think I ever will. It's hard to explain the tumultuous emotions I feel when we are apart. I cannot look at another woman with the old Laigo eyes for she does not suffice to my trained senses. All I want is to grow old with Melinda, nothing more, nothing less. With her, I am happy, and without, I cannot even imagine!

My fantasy life will be suspended for a few weeks while I work out a case in Timmins: I trust you'll visit me while I'm there. It will be around April, so be ready to take a trip! Work even seems more rewarding when you have someone to inspire you to do better and to expect more out of yourself.

Say hello to your mother the next time you speak to her. That is say hello from me. I realize it may be a while considering her travelling and all. I never thought I would ever travel as much as her. We're neck-and-neck in the first to a million frequent flyer mile Grand Prix.

I will keep this letter brief, Faz, I just wanted to tell you about my little trip and to fill you in on how my life is going. Fortunately, there's not much to write. She is dying to meet you, I talk about you quite a bit, old man. You don't know how much she looks forward to meeting one of my closest friends, just so that she can get the low down on what I was like when I was younger. Anyhow, take care, Faz. Stay real.

Your buddy, Laigo."

``What do I say to someone who is so content?" Fazo thought to himself, knowing that their conversation would be as lively as a circus. When he finally reached the Timmins bus terminal, he saw a good-looking man striking a pose. Laigo. He was leaning on his red convertible and wore shades and a dark leather jacket. Fazo stepped off and threw him his bag, striking him in the face.

``Loser," Laigo shouted at him, not letting go of the great big smile that he wore on his face ever since he saw the bus pull in.

``Is that some way to greet someone who just travelled..."

``Yeah, yeah," Laigo interrupted, ``it really is great to see you. You look better, new hairdo?"

``No, new threads," Fazo responded, looking at himself, ``how do you like the pixie look?"

``Suits you. Anyhow, Faz, jump in, we have some serious matters to discuss." His face turned to stone which alarmed Fazo.

``What's the problem?" he asked.

``I'm just very overworked, Faz, I have to spend about thirteen hours at the office per day. It's a tough life. I can't wait to get back to Laconia. The thought of spending another ten days in Timmins is killing me. It's not such a bad place but without Melinda and without any time to enjoy it, I feel trapped. I keep reminding myself that it's almost over but that doesn't help the situation." Laigo complained to Fazo like he could to no one else.

``What's three weeks, Laigo?" Fazo replied. ``Before you know it you'll be back to your happy little life."

``That's one way to look at it," he said quietly.

``Enough about that," Fazo said. "What's there to do here while you're away at the office?"

Laigo began slowly, ``Well, there's not much, except for the downtown museum strip, that's always a lot of fun. There's a trendy strip of specialty shops not far from my office and there's a few really chic shopping malls there too!"

``What are the people like?"

``They're straightforward hard-working, open-minded but conservative folk. There's a good share of cultures here, it gives Timmins a worldly outlook that's sort of lost in most Central cities. It's a little bit like Habsentia, but not quite as exciting. People here seem to be a little more judgmental than most, they live their lives by what other people are doing. Their own personal pleasures are very diverse and extensive, they're just so....busy."

``Busy," Fazo sighed, ``hmmm. Not a laid back bunch are they?"

``No, no. Quite the opposite. A lot of people here are in with our crowd, that is to say that they appreciate alternative music and an active avant-garde lifestyle, but they actively relax. Do you know what I mean? Look at you, when you want to unwind, what do you do? You sit back in front of the stereo or television and vegetate. Here, they go out and smack a ball around for an hour and claim that they're relaxed."

``I'm much too competitive to do that."

``Right... Sports here are just as competitive as you'd ever want, but they're supposed to substitute for that empty time that we need to let our minds refresh themselves."

``So, basically, we're dealing with a lot of stuffed shirts here."

``Not quite, Faz. You'll see what I mean. You're not with anyone are you?"

``No," Fazo replied.

``There's a good chance..."

``I'm not interested, Laigo," interrupted Fazo, ``I'm only here a week and all I want to do is hang out."

``Not like you, Fazo. You have something brewing in Central?"

``No, nothing like that, Juan. I'm just being a bit more patient these days."

``Juan? I haven't heard someone call me that for ages! What it's been about seven years since I gave myself that name!"

``And if I remember right," Fazo added, ``I was the only one who used to call you Juan. Everyone else would just as soon call you something else."

``Yeah, yeah, Faz, so I did steal a few girlfriends away from other guys. Those were my more carefree days. Now, I'm..."

``Don't say married!"

``Well, not yet, anyway," Laigo said bluntly. Fazo was confused and surprised by his friend's transformation. He had never thought that Laigo would be the first to settle down and now here he was, apparently so happy. It reassured him that the power of love was capable of overcoming even the most adventurous of spirits. Funny thing was, at this point, Fazo wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

They arrived at Laigo's spot, a comfortable university residence hall thirty miles outside the city. The room itself was furnished with a desk and a chair and mounds of Laigo's expensive, fashionable clothes. The air was fresh as he loved to have his windows left completely open, all the time. The smell of cedar permeated the whole hall, filling Fazo's lungs with the fresh country air that he had not experienced since he left Rumesia. Installing themselves in front of the television, the two friends relaxed and unwound, chatting sporadically throughout the program. After an hour, Laigo went off to sleep and Fazo watched on, until finally his tired soul got the best of him.

When he woke up the next morning, Laigo was gone. On the desk were the keys to his car and a list of six places were Fazo could go for the day. After getting ready for the journey into town, Fazo sped off in Laigo's car, away from the natural beauty of the campus to the hustle and bustle of the city. As he finally reached the downtown core, he drove around, carefully avoiding the gridlock by turning in random directions. The sight of Burboun Street inspired him to stop, he quickly searched for a parking lot in which to leave Laigo's beautiful car. Considering that it took him upwards of an hour and a half, and much chagrin to eventually arrive downtown, Fazo could understand perfectly well why Laigo chose to ignore the highways and opt for a saner ride into town on commuter rail.

Walking around the streets, Fazo felt very comfortable, very small, yet secure. This being a totally new city to him, Fazo walked with open eyes and with a little caution. Still, in his heart of hearts, it was strangely familiar. It was as though an experience in Timmins already existed for Fazo, possibly in one of his dreams. Twisting through the crowd, Fazo pushed himself into a music store which only dealt with the more obscure, dark bands from Lopa. Pleased to see the interesting crop of new releases they had procured, Fazo spent a good while leafing through their collection all while drawing many stares for not being dressed in black. His red button-down stuck out quite noticeably in the sea of black tights and dyed black hair, perfecto jackets and silver studs. Feeling a little self-conscious and yearning for the gorgeous April sun, Fazo stepped out of the store and onto a street which featured as many strip tease establishments as fast food joints. Electronics, noticeably marked down and cluttered into the display windows were everywhere as were gaudy signs for tourist paraphernalia and sports team insignia. ``To which audience was this mass of commercialism appealing?" thought Fazo. Just then he saw a colourful baseball cap that he had been dying to get. A sale on Walkmans caught his eye.

``Wanna buy a Walkman, real cheap!" the store owner beckoned. Fazo looked away.

``Tee-shats. Getchur dee-zine-ur tee-shats. Won fer six. Two fer ten. Dat's rayt! Toofertan."

``About the same as back home,'' Fazo thought. He looked down an alley and saw a young man flashing a can of black spray paint across the red brick wall. He put it down and picked up another, this one in green. Another colour. And another. He switched between the colours of a palette as swiftly as a soldier loading artillery. Within minutes, he was done and ran off to look for an empty page. Fazo lurked suspiciously into the alley, avoiding a broken bottle of Black Label beer. The entire wall was covered. A twelve by twelve portrait of a black man stared him in the face. Behind the giant head was a savannah with a city skyline in the distance. The only part of the red brick that could still be seen appeared as blood dripping from the man's skull, soaking the green bandage which he had hastily applied as a tourniquet. The image turned Fazo stomach and yet he could not stop staring. He turned the corner and looked into the hustle and bustle of downtown Timmins. He ducked in from the jungle into a dark specialty shop filled with artifacts from the Tropics. Carved ebony figurines, ancient tribal masks. A buffalo skin drum and a green beret embroidered with precious rubies. All in the name of commercialism, all available for a price. The sweet incense of far away lands transported him to a place he could not even dream of, so foreign was it to his imagination. What could lie deep within the darkest jungles of his subconscious? Was it a primal fear of being hunted while hunting or worse still the fear of losing one's identity?

Fazo took a last deep breath of incensed air and walked out to get a fresh breath of carbon monoxide. Unsettling his stomach, the pollution drove him into the nearest refueling establishment. A quick stop of burgers and fries, all lubricated by a Coke. Soon, he was back on the road, back on his trek.

Drifting out of this sector, Fazo found himself at the entrance of a most grandiose shopping mall. He saw an elderly woman a few metres ahead. He stopped and waited, graciously holding the door open for her. She responded with a kind wave. Thinking nothing of it, Fazo walked on his way and accidentally bumped into a toddler walking along side his parents. The youngster, only about three and quite sturdy, fell onto the linoleum with a thud. The mother bent down to help her child up and Fazo apologetically brushed off some dust which had soiled the toddlers jumpsuit. Asking for forgiveness, Fazo enlarged his eyes and raised his eyebrows so as to make himself seem harmless and regretful. The young couple, perceiving his apparent sorrow, took extra special care in making sure that he did not feel guilty and went merrily along their way. As they walked away, Fazo offered to buy the youngster some ice cream but the little one would have nothing of it and quickly fell asleep against his father's shoulder.

Looking up into the mall again, Fazo got a feel for the immensity of this measure of capitalism. The retail outlets were so attractively set up so as to encourage a most pleasant and relaxing purchasing experience. Filled with music and trees, the interior of this mall seemed more of a haven from the commercial streets of Timmins than it actually was. Beautiful women crossed Fazo's path from left and right. After a while, he felt it impossible to keep up with them and found an advantageous perch on a bench overlooking a central artery in the mall. As though he was looking for no one at all and yet keenly examining everyone who passed by, Fazo stared out into the sea of fashionable clothes, trendy accessories, and artificial implants.

Subliminally moved to hunger, Fazo found himself eating once again, this time at a more upscale establishment, all while pausing from his stargazing. Suddenly, he thought of Wayne and of his new love interest. He felt bad that he couldn't be around when Wayne would need him to inspire his confidence. Fazo felt an unusual loyalty to Wayne and Moussa, particularly due to the fact that they had made his last few months so very livable and enjoyable. He tried to recollect what Wayne had said about Martha but couldn't. Feeling all the more guilty, he looked for a print shop and found himself a postcard, a neo-modern satirical farce in which a traditional, homely photo of a traditional, conservative Central couple are talking. Surprisingly, it had bubbled captions that betrayed all sense of wholesomeness and normalcy that the image suggests. Writing on its back, Fazo told Wayne of Timmins and exaggerated the amount of fun he had had. He also put in a word of thanks and regretted that he could not be around to meet his new flame but promised to make it up to all of them when he returned. Buying a stamp from a vending machine, he pasted it on and deposited it into in the nearest mail receptacle, automatically soothing his feelings of guilt and homesickness, simultaneously.

Strolling through the gleaming, artificially lit Utopian palace, Fazo lost himself in his daydream. There he was, sixty miles outside Timmins, sitting in the bus that had brought him here. Next to him sat a man with a baseball cap in his fifties who hadn't uttered one word. Two rows behind Fazo and to his left was a very friendly, talkative man from Central who has made conversation with a group of travellers from South Koochang. Suddenly, Fazo broke out of his daydream and realized that he was not on a bus and that the only thing from South Koochang around was a stereo in the store window directly in front of him. While rubbing his tired eyes, he walked out of the mall and towards the parking lot in which Laigo's car was stashed. He paused momentarily to phone Laigo at his office to try and persuade him to leave work early. He eventually did and got directions to the office. When he got there, he stumbled into the building on someone else's coat-tails and started looking left and right for Laigo's office. Once he found it, he walked straight in and plopped down on the chair. Startled, Laigo dropped his pen onto the desktop.

``What are you... How did you get here so fast? How did you get in?" he asked Fazo.

``I took a back road and I followed a Mr. Miller in. Know him?"

``He's the President, Faz! Did he see you come in here?" Laigo asked, worried.

``What? Are you becoming a stuffed shirt or what? Relax, take a pill. I found a great night club out there, ready?"

``Tonight, why not, let's do it. I'll get a couple of my woman friends to come, alright?"

``You're asking me!?" Fazo said incredulously.

Laigo smiled and picked up his phone, ``S____, you and M_____ want to go dancing this evening?" he said. After waiting half a second, he continued, ``great! We'll get you at nine, see you." He turned his attention to Fazo, ``All set. I needed to get out of here. Thanks for coming, Faz."

``My pleasure. So S_____ and M_____ are friends of yours?" he asked, slyly.

``No intentions on either of them so you're free..."

``I told you Laigo, I'm not interested," Fazo tried to keep a straight face but broke out in a big smile. ``So, I lied."

The two friends walked out of the office and breezed through the light traffic to get back to the cedar park that Laigo temporarily called home. Fazo opened up the evening paper which had arrived while he was away and put his feet out and started reading. Laigo started fixing dinner, combining many exotic spices to form a sumptuous paste to add to the broiled chicken that waited in the oven. Fazo could not believe what he was smelling, never had he thought that Laigo would be endowed with a gift for cooking.

After eating a meal that would definitely rank amongst his ten best ever, Fazo carefully licked his fingers so as to not waste even one drop of his friend's delectable sauce.

``Unbelievable," Fazo reiterated, exuding deserving praise on his friend.

``Enough, already, it's really not that difficult," Laigo modestly replied.

``Unbelievable," Fazo said again, as though stuck in a groove.

``We'd better get ready!" Laigo said as he washed his plate. ``I'll shower first!" Laigo yelled as he ran off towards the shower. Fazo, who was standing up at the time, darted towards the bathroom himself and managed to pass his friend and lock himself in before his friend could get there.

``I won't be long!" Fazo yelled from behind the door as he started the shower with steaming hot water.

``You sure won't!" Laigo said to himself as he walked over to the kitchen and began indiscriminately turning on the hot and cold water until he heard piercing screams coming from the bathroom, pleading him to stop.

When they walked into the nightclub, three things passed through their heads. One, why was it that they made people wait outside for over thirty minutes when the place was so very empty? Second, where was the fresh, innovative music of which the advertisement so highly spoke? Lastly, why was it so expensive? Despite their initial complaints, Fazo gave it the benefit of the doubt. He ventured to the downstairs area and found the new music that he had sought. There were not very many people on this floor either but the fact that it was still only ten thirty gave him hope. Looking around him, he saw that many painstaking efforts were made in an attempt to shape the decor to fit the moods and tempo of the music.

The eclectic, black music of the bottom floor was complemented by the rough, black veneer stools and metal tables, the warehouse style walls and dark, black fixtures. A silvery bar accentuated one corner of the room while modern slabs of black sheet metal divided the area from the dance floor, all while allowing sitting customers to peer through the screen to see the people dancing. A set of stroboscopic lights flanked the dance floor so as to cast twisted shadows of thin, crooked people onto the floors and ceilings. Smoked black glasses held the drinks which seemed to be invisible amidst the spotlights and lasers which so improperly illuminated the seating area. A grill screen divided the rest of the seating area from a lounge in which two black leather couches were placed in a room with a low, black ceiling with protruding gaspipes and halogen spotlights. So unusual was this last room that one had to literally crouch so as to not strike one's head against the simulated steel pipes and the metal rafters which were so low that even the white rabbit would have to duck.

As Fazo went up to the middle level of the bar, he passed a couple of ladies who made him rethink his decision. He couldn't exactly turn and follow them; so, he chose to content himself with a goose-neck stare while he walked up the crooked spiral staircase. This middle level was a more standard, commercial strip. A well illuminated bar with elegant furnishings, it had cushioned stools and dimly-lit serving areas which lay on the perimeter of a two-level dance floor, complete with large box speakers, cannon wave devices, multicolored electric spotlights, disco balls, ultraviolet floor paintings, accelerated strobe lights, mirrored walls and velvet drink-stands.

The surrounding decor included statues, paintings, and art which could be thought of as inner-city modern, raw in form and brimming with hints of genius. An old metal garbage can in the corner of the room caught Fazo's eye. When he looked at it closer, he thought it was an old television. The television was shaped to look like a trash can and inside was a bronze bust of aman with glazed eyes and his tongue protruding, letting slide a few drops of drool onto his unshaven chin. The metal was rough and black and yet the eyes on this bust were shocking in their realism.

Most of the clientele was drawn to this central floor because of its popular music and trendy outlook. The dance beats, although repetitive, did vary enough so as to maintain the attention of most everyone. Popular dance tracks were standard fare, continuously supplying the electric pulsing drums which are said to stimulate our own heartbeats and fool us into thinking that we had a good time. Fazo had learnt this in a human behaviour course at Thought School. So some uses could be found for what was taught on Influence Road after all, he thought. Suddenly, Fazo ducked. He saw someone who looked just like the employment officer who handles his unemployment payments in Central. Paranoia had set in. He thought he even saw the face of a cabbie he had scammed a week earlier to get to the ballpark. Fazo wondered if he would ask him for his money, money Fazo obviously did not have. Not a note to his name, Fazo had mooched off Laigo for the cover charge and a few drinks. Just another six days until the unemployment cheque, he thought. At which point his creditors would queue up from Central to Timmins.

Afraid of being seen by these ``enemies", Fazo trekked upstairs. The uppermost floor featured a more traditional blend of classic rock and roll, with newer tunes mixed in with old favourites. The bar setup was very conventional: brown leather stools over a wooden bartop surrounding an open wooden dance floor with wall-to-wall mirrors in one room. The other room sported a pool table where velvet wall-coverings and pub-style wall-hangings simply decorated the room. Very few people had made their way up to this last floor, keeping its laid-back, down-home atmosphere in tact.

When Fazo finally decided that it was on the lowest level that he would want to spend the rest of the evening, the clock struck twelve. One of his favourite alternative dance tracks came on and Fazo began dancing by himself, alongside Laigo who was also dancing by himself. After a few songs, they sat and discussed the new trends in music amongst their favourite groups when they felt that someone else was listening in. They looked over their shoulders to find S______ leaning over Fazo, letting her hair brush against his cheek.

``You two certainly do have a very focused taste in music!" she said.

``We know what we like when we see, I mean hear it!" Fazo said, staring at her eyes, trying not to be too disoriented by her hair or by her dress.

``I see, and what is it that you like?" she asked.

``I like innovation, imagination, intelligence and inspiration," he said back to her, calmly.

``In your music or in your women?" Laigo whispered to him, chuckling.

``I heard that!" Her ears were as pricked as her nipples. ``In case you were wondering, this is one of my favourite songs!" and with one swift motion, she grabbed one of Fazo's arms and dragged him onto the dance floor. He grudgingly responded by according her this one little favour. M_____ walked up to Laigo and sat on the stool which Fazo had occupied. They spoke softly for a few minutes, taking occasional sips of beer to wet the palette. Finally, after ten or fifteen minutes, the dancers returned to the table to find Laigo tapping his fingers on the table, quite mute. A look of seriousness and depression stuck like mud to his face. Even S_____'s effervescent nature or Fazo's jokes could not remove his grim visage.

``Laigo, do you want to go back?" Fazo asked.

``Oh, only if you folks are ready?" he said, noticing that it was scarcely past one and that the night was still young.

``That's not the point," Fazo said. ``You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Laigo nodded after hesitating. A hopeless expression formed on Fazo's face. ``Is there any point going to a club without the one that you love? Is it that we only go here to find people? People then say that any relationship started through a meeting at a nightclub is meaningless but then again, is that what we seek when we come here?" Fazo paused from his philosophizing. ``No, I just come here to have fun? Dancing to good music, spending time with friends, flirting with the occasional woman, whether she is my love or not, that's what makes a night club worthwhile for me. In the company of friends, listening to good music, hell, Laigo, you're just missing one little thing! She shouldn't mean so much that her absence ruins a perfectly good evening. You don't have to be with someone or actively seeking someone, you know? People..." Fazo brushed his hair back from his head, frustrated. ``People should not have to live their life with this constant pressure of having to be seeking love. There is more to good times than romance, although our world somehow has forgotten that. Or maybe it's just you, Laigo."

``I don't want to sit here and be insulted!" Laigo said angrily, the frustration making itself apparent in his voice and in his eyes, gleaming with soon-to-be tears.

``I am not insulting you!" Fazo apologized, trying to assuage his friend who was obviously an emotional time bomb. ``It's all of us. Loosen up, Laigo. I'll take you home, you'll be alright once you get out of here. You can even call her." He turned to the girls, ``You two can make your own way home in your car?"

They nodded yes and S______ added, ``Take good care of him and deposited a sweet but brief kiss on Fazo's lips. He then semi-dragged Laigo out of the bar and into the cold air. His limbs stiffened up and the sweat on his body immediately evaporated, leaving him with a most chilling feeling. Walking quite independent of Fazo, Laigo brushed a few tears from his eyes and stumbled forward, oblivious to the cold.

``I'm sorry, Faz, if I messed things up back there with whatever her name is..." he said with some remorse. ``I didn't realize..."

``Nor did I," Fazo laughed. ``No matter, I'm leaving here soon, anyhow. Meaningless, transitory romantic liaisons are not really what I'm looking for. It's not really me, if you know what I mean."

``I think I do. You think it's something that I would do." Fazo nodded and Laigo resumed. ``That is, before Melinda. Have I changed so much, Faz? Has she domesticated me? Have I lost the fire, that vivacious spirit, you used to say, that kept me going?"

``No, the spirit is still there, it's just that for the first time you have those energies very completely focused on one particular thing: her. It's not bad, it's a little dangerous, though. You have seen, experienced the joys of being at one with someone, of sharing everything with someone, and you want to give everything of yourself to her. This is how you do it. You don't have much in the way of material things which you can offer, instead you lavish upon her the spirit of your youth, a priceless gift."

``Enough, Faz, you're starting to sound corny again."

``Alright, alright, but you see what I'm saying. You're in real deep with Melinda, you are madly in love. You have to be prepared to occasionally step over that line and be just plain mad. Insanity and love go hand in hand, it's what makes it so irresistible, exciting, and dangerous. Don't wade in, that's not your style, but keep yourself in touch with me and your own inner self, your fears, your wishes, your desires - -not just those of Melinda. You are two separate, distinct entities; although sometimes you may wish and maybe even believe that everything she wants is what you want and vice versa. Got it?" Fazo looked sternly at Laigo who had stopped walking to listen to his friend. He was not intoxicated but his shuffling and general disorientation gave him that appearance. His head was light, his mind heavy and his heart ached even worse. He could not see straight or feel anything except for her absence.

``Fazo, things aren't going quite as well as I let on."

``I thought something was wrong."

``No, nothing is really wrong; it's just that sometimes I feel that she is not giving enough back to me. I feel neglected, like I am the one doing all the giving. And sometimes, she says she feels suffocated, like her freedom is being infringed on. If she really cared for me the way I do for her, she wouldn't say these things."

``Maybe, maybe not. It depends on the person. You can be overly generous of yourself. It's a virtue to be sure but some people, like Melinda, may not be able to accept all that attention."

``No, she loves the attention, and the love and caring. Don't get me wrong, she could not do without me, but I just feel like she isn't as serious as I am."

``Maybe she isn't mature enough to realize how to give of herself?" Fazo postulated.

``No," Laigo replied, ``she's plenty mature, it's just her way of thinking. It's ingrained in her. There's nothing I can do!"

``You sound like me, Laigo! Constantly trying to change people into what they're not! Someone once taught me a lesson on respecting a person for their differences and to try to learn from them and appreciate them. Remember you said that beauty is rare, if everyone had it, it would cease to be wondrous, it would no longer have beauty."

``I said that?" Laigo asked as he rubbed his head. Fazo nodded yes as he drove off towards the apartment. ``You're not as stupid as you look, babyface!" Laigo said, poking one of his fingers into Fazo's cheeks. ``I'm sure your lady friend would agree. So now I know your taste, the four I's: imaginative, inspired, intelligent and what's the fourth?"

``Innovative."

``Right, innovative. So a woman must be passionate, that's where the inspired comes in."

``Correct."

``And intelligent, well with you that's obvious."

``More than just intelligent in the textbook manner. Displaying a sense of uniformity of thought, a broad outlook towards events and a curious appreciation for the world around her, a fascination for mystery and the unpredictable and a flair for good taste. An intelligence which makes her worldly, politically mature, culturally tolerant, and philosophically minded. An interesting blend of academic knowledge and pop-culture information capsules that can easily handle the most wide-spanning variety of conversation topics."

``This sounds rehearsed," Laigo said, ``and, you know, it sounds like what you yourself want to be. These are goals for yourself, aren't they?"

``Not just for myself, for my women, my music, my choice of books, my art, everything."

``Your expectations are way too high, Faz."

``There's nothing wrong with striving for something extraordinary. The trick is to know when to settle, when to be content with what you have."

``That's something you haven't quite mastered yet."

``No, I guess not." They drove into the driveway and stumbled off into their beds, bidding each other a good night's sleep. While Laigo quite easily fell off to sleep, fully spent from his day's activities, Fazo pondered his lofty expectations and wondered if his over-achieving persona was too demanding of himself and of the people around him. It troubled him for quite some time until a guilty smile came over his lips. At first, he saw an image of S______. She stood in front of a cactus in the searing heat. The cactus, in its various shades of brown and green, stood at attention, searching the air and the soil for any moisture it could find. Then suddenly, the sky opened and the scene was washed away by a wicked rain which destroyed life rather than gave it. After it ended, the landscape was barren save a lone figure walking towards Fazo from the distance. As she, of this he could be sure, moved closer, Fazo began to get more nervous. Was she carrying a gun? He looked at her hand and saw a silver piece of metal glimmering in the undying sun. He looked up and saw her face. Ajan. He knew it was her. He was back in her room in Rumesia enjoying a quiet evening alone when suddenly a man walks in. Fazo wakes up with a start, rubs his eyes and falls into a deep dreamless sleep.

Six days passed in which Fazo enjoyed the pleasure of his own company, the many splendours of Timmins, and all the time Laigo could spare. Filled with impressions about this city, Fazo felt that he had seen enough to make him feel content that he had seen Timmins. Laigo had found true relief from his occasionally miserable state as a result of his presence. Fazo knew that he didn't do anything special to help him, just the mere knowledge that he was around was enough for Laigo. Even Fazo himself felt more rested and self-assured, certain that his inactivity was a subtle form of education. He was a master of self-teaching and was deserving of a PhD in self-acquiescence and alternartive reflection.

His final day in Timmins had gone by without much fanfare and Fazo was eating lunch with Laigo in a restaurant not too far from the bus terminal. Laigo had a small roast-beef sandwich which he was consuming at an incredible rate while Fazo picked at his food, a generous portion of fish and chips.

``You know," Fazo said, ``I feel like Timmins has all the hustle and bustle of Central, except it comes across as cleaner, less hostile and in some ways, less interesting. It has its share of things to do but the people are either so money-driven or conservative that it lacks a pulse. The most entertaining aspect of my trip was that stroll through the specialty shops on my first or second day here."

``What about the women? S_______?" Laigo asked.

``A small highlight. In a world full of nothing, though it's not love, it means something. Even the most meaningless, chance encounters have some significance to me and help shape my future. It's not love, but..."

``You'll take it!" Laigo finished his sentence for him. ``Were you surprised when she showed up at my place looking for you?"

``You gave her the number, didn't you?"

``Someone else must have, it wasn't me," Laigo defended himself.

``That sure was an exciting evening," Fazo said with a grin as his eyes peered out into space. ``You know, I don't even know how to spell her name."

``Faz, you, you have a lot to learn about my lifestyle."

``And you about mine," Fazo added. ``Don't get yourself sick over Melinda, figuratively or literally. Remember who you are Juan! Take care of yourself first, be considerate but not overly demanding, and most of all, don't mention the 'M' word, I'm not ready for that!"

``Nor am I!" he said empathetically.

``Good," Fazo responded in aloud voice, relieved. ``Now, take me to the terminal and throw me on that bus." The two men paid the bill and left the restaurant pausing momentarily to stop and pet a woman's cute lapdog. When they arrived in the station, Fazo told Laigo, ``Go on! Go home! I'll be okay!"

``Are you sure?"

``Positive."

``All right then, take care, good luck with your....your....hell, you don't need luck to do nothing." Fazo felt his heart get a little heavier as he waved goodbye to his good friend as he walked back to his temporary hell. Or was it a Utopia? He wasn't sure. Fazo knew that he would really miss Laigo if they were ever to move far away, and yet, even when they were apart, he knew he could count on him. Still, he felt bad for him for being so ready to make a commitment when he knew that Melinda was not and yet he felt envious for he knew that their love was well beyond any that he had experienced in his limited set of experiences. Looking towards the future, he sunk into his chair on the bus and fell asleep.

When he woke up, he looked at a road sign which showed that he was about sixty miles outside Timmins. He looked at the man in the seat next to him, a man of forty with a Timmins baseball cap. He did not respond to Fazo's glaring. Across the aisle was a man of about twenty and a girl of about seventeen, both probably ethnic of South Koochang. He looked two rows behind them and noticed a friendly fellow talking to these travellers from South Koochang. Suddenly, a strong feeling of deja vu hit Fazo as though he had seen this all before. When he thought back, he remembered that he had had this very same image while sitting in the shopping mall in Timmins. After a few moments of determining whether he really had imagined the future, Fazo gave up and began observing the people around him.

In front of him were two very fashion conscious women in their twenties. The one on the left was leafing through a copy of ``Elle" magazine. The one on the right finished doing her nails and had gone off to sleep. A few minutes earlier, while Fazo slept, they had been talking incessantly, exchanging stories in a colloquial but correct dialect. The woman on the right was dressed in a black sleeveless top and a tight silver and black skirt. Her hair was tinted auburn, carefully permed to seem natural. Not excessively pretty, her accessories and perfect hair made up for what she lacked in elegance. The sleeping beauty, on the other hand, was a model; or so Fazo was convinced. Exquisite in every way, her beauty transcended even the most uncommon beauties one sees on the street; but seeing that he was on the bus that comparison was not completely relevant. Certainly, the most beautiful woman on the bus, he thought. And therefore, of exquisite beauty. He argued like a high school physics teacher explaining why the student who got seven questions out of ten gets an A+ because everyone else only got six. Dressed in a delicate cream blouse and matching trousers, she was an A+ to Fazo. Her hair was tied back off her face with a gold ribbon that exuded good taste and held in place with a simple bobby pin. Her dark eyebrows perfectly outlined her lovely face and also gave away her secret, Fazo could tell that her gorgeous blonde hair was not natural. Still it was full and soft as it rested against her black paisley hand bag.

Opposite Fazo sat the man and woman from S.K. Fazo could not determine the relationship between them but suspected that they were siblings for she occasionally would glance over at Fazo and turn away quite rapidly when their eyes met. Her beautiful blue eyes were in perfect contrast to her dark, curly hair. She looked a little out of place in Timmins but not much considering the ethnic diversity of its inner-city core. She sat back on her chair contemplating something, probably the reason why the bus had halted on the highway, all while exercising her jaw muscles on her gum.

Stuck in a terrible traffic jam, Fazo began to wish he was back on Influence Road. He could see many cars sitting on the side of the highway and he felt as though the bus was inching forward as fast as a man walking back to his wife after staying out all night. He looked at the sun; it poked its way through the clouds occasionally, running through the fields, like a wave of light. The wind rustled the weeds on the side of the road, swinging them back and forth, primarily in a westerly direction.

The eager-to-serve bus driver explained that the construction was what was delaying them. Reduced to one lane, the road could not handle the generous volume of traffic presently occupying this stretch of land. The inevitable merge of traffic would not occur like water through a funnel, instead cars jockeyed for position in the soon-to-be-extinct lane, submitting to the proper lane at the last possible moment. Fazo leaned forward, looking for the finish line and the pretty girl ready to give out the trophy.

After presumably her brother shouted something out to her other brother, the girl across from Fazo began to laugh and sneaked a peek at Fazo. He was smiling at the time, realizing at how embarrassing it is to talk too loud because of the music being too loud on one's Walkman. Taking another glance at her, Fazo reassessed his estimate of her age to about seventeen and finally concluded that she was travelling with her mother, her grandmother, and her three brothers, one of which was seated beside her.

After passing a sign which warned of construction around the bend, Fazo smirked, unhappy with the prospect of waiting through two more announcements until the merge. At their frantic pace of about six baby yells a mile, it would take them all of seven unbearable heavy metal songs to reach the merge after which the speed of the traffic would presumably increase to one ``No smoking in the bathroom" warnings every mile for the duration of the construction, which Fazo estimated at half the distance between Jupiter and its nearest moon. According to this estimate, he figured that three thousand clouds had to pass overhead before the stop-and-go ended and they achieved clear sailing.

Sitting back in his chair Fazo could hear the mixed melodies of three Walkmans. The two smaller brothers of the South Koochang girl had one each as does their new-found friend, the talkative man two rows back. They spoke amongst each other with excessive volume, still misled by the music in their ears. Obviously hard rock, the music's drum beats and guitar solos mixed into one and came across as annoying noise to Fazo's unforgiving ears.

Looking in front of him, Fazo noticed that sleep had caught up to both of the fashion-conscious women in front of him. No sooner had he noticed this when he saw that the prettier one stirred, searching through her bag for something that Fazo could not quite see. He looked away and peered again out the window at the landscape which just inched past at the slowest of speeds. Littered with refuse, the highway was a symbol of man's neglect of the environment, he thought. Another signpost was passed, this one proclaiming that construction will begin in one kilometre. Judging from the time, Fazo realized that either the signs were in error or that his estimate of his speed was optimistic. The latter seemed all too true at a pace that Fazo imagined he could equal with a brisk walk. A flashing yellow sign in the distance suggested that they had finally approached the merge. Picking up speed, the bus moved ever closer to it. Occasionally, the brakes were applied rather suddenly as an adventurous car whisked off to the bus's left just to cut in front of the bus again. The bus driver announced something inaudible which might have said that we have just passed through an electromagnetic field which has disabled the warp drive and reduced the ship to one quarter impulse until the next star system.

As though they were only sensitive to alterations in speed, everyone who was asleep on the bus awoke with a start at the first sign of trouble. After the initial stir and reaction to the bus driver's information, the crowd settled into a silent but frustrated murmur, seeking out sighs of relief and moans of frustration as they saw fit. Heads popped up over seat-tops in an attempt to better gauge the situation. Finally, people seemed to have settled in for the construction portion of the trip, albeit unable to sleep because of the jolting braking and unable to relax either due to hunger or the discomfort associated with long journeys.

Peeping up his own head, Fazo noticed that the closest car to the bus was about six hundred trees away and that the overly conscientious bus driver was maintaining a speed of a wheelchair on ice. The traffic in front of him, was by that time, out of sight. Accelerating at the sight of the massive expanse of open road, he reached light speed and sped towards Influence Road.

Fazo began to write two hours after the bus had cleared the construction. It wasn't a letter to anyone or even a journal entry, more just an account of what thoughts had been passing through his head on this excruciating bus ride to Central.

Some of us have a knack for being stranded in the middle of nowhere. Well, this time, I wasn't nowhere, I was on Boundary Road in Queenstown. Many travellers will know this point as the exact midpoint between the city of Central and Timmins, a super- convenient easy-off, easy-on strip of fast food joints designed to cater to every travellers' whim. And so here we were, albeit temporarily, stranded in this Mecca for grease.

Returning to the bus after ingesting the 1000th Big Mac of my life, I found that everyone save one person was waiting outside the bus. After a fifteen minute delay, a police car and an ambulance arrived. ``Is someone sick?" the whispers asked. Finally, it was determined that someone had fallen in the aisle of the bus. Other rumours suggested that the man was an epileptic. Minutes later, the two ambulance workers pulled the stumbling man out of the bus and threw him into the rear of the police cruiser. We were expecting him to be carefully tucked into the stretcher that had been prepared and were noticeably shocked to see the roughness with which the authorities were handling him.

When we returned onto the bus, the driver said that four seats had been cordoned off as a result of the blood that had stained them. Quite confident that my seat was one of the four, I slowly made my way aboard to verify. The two women in front of me, it turns out, were affected as well as an elderly Binninonese couple two seats back. They, along with another man who probably just wanted to ride along with the gorgeous woman in front of me, were quickly picked up by another bus which had been dispatched from the Queenstown bus terminal half a kilometre down the road.

Finally, we were all back on our way, yet another hour retarded but feeling a little more subdued as a result of the incident. The bus driver in his journalist way explained that the man was intoxicated and cut his lip as he fell. He chose to go to the police station as opposed to the hospital when the options were put before him probably because he was drunk and probably because of the hefty price tag on an ambulance ride.

Now we are less five people and we are no longer a collection of I's, we are a we. It is strange how a crisis situation, however brief and inconsequential tends to bring people closer. We saw each other sitting outside the bus, waiting to be let back in, occupying our time in our own little ways. We sat back and watched the setting sun descend. We were no longer numbers, just passengers going from point T to point C. We were people, travellers, each with a reason to be there, each with our own predicament.

I heard talk of University of Timmins, of connecting with another bus to go to the Beaches, of visiting a boyfriend in a town outside Central, even of the bathing habits of Adnasians. Everyone was willing to be heard and shared their personal perspective on the incident. Where did we all fit into the big picture? Well, nowhere and yet we were all there when it happened, and no one else.

``The essence of being human," Fazo wrote as he turned to a fresh page, the accident incident now moving out of his thoughts, "was somehow describe by that incident in Queenstown."

One visit to the unemployment office and two cheques later, Fazo leaned back in his chair. The veranda had become his new favourite place. The poor family he had met in Rumesia came to mind. ``We need to work, Mr. Mandluk." The words streamed through his brain. He kept reprocessing this sentence, trying to find the truth, trying to find the feeling. Did he really need to work? Wasn't it the money that he needed? He needed money to keep his family warm and fed, not the work. If Fazo had given him the money, wouldn't his needs have been satisfied? Then why did he refuse the severance pay that RM was going to pay him? It would have given him the means to survive. It would have provided for him just as much as his job would have. If all he needed was money, then he would have accepted it. He didn't. He needed to work.

Fazo did not need to work. He needed money. He didn't even need money as much as he needed food, shelter, and his television. And cable, of course. What good is TV without it? The problem was, these things needed money. To get money, he needed a job. He didn't have one, but he got money because he didn't have a job. If you have a job, you get money. If you don't have a job, you get money. He could not see the difference. Sure, he would get twice as much money if he worked; but he didn't want to work. He once did. When he wanted money. But now he only wanted to live. And that did not take a lot of money. So he did not need work. In fact, it would be bad for him, so he avoided finding work.

He got up from his veranda and shot a game of pool with Moussa then headed down to the Hair Styling school and got a cheap haircut. He went towards the park to catch some rays and talk with his buddy from the unemployment office who lived three trees over from the fourth park bench. The problem was, the snippets of hair stuck to the collar of his shirt felt like a piece of sandpaper rubbing against his neck. So he went home and took a shower. On the way out again, he saw an ad for a job opening at the university child centre. He thought it wise to show his face; it would make good fooder for the unemployment office interview. How he made a great impression with the kids but the nasty old lady was convinced that it was a woman's job. He tried to convince her but to no avail. He even put on a puppet show with the kids, a little Rapunzel fairy tale, but the nurse made Nurse Ratchett look like Florence Nightingale.

So he went. He looked up the address and walked over. The puppet show didn't happen. Nurse Ratchett was a nun. Rapunzel never let her hair down and the kids were napping.

``Have you any experience?" the nun asked.

``I love children."

``Have you ever taught."

``I do well in school."

``Do you have any references?"

``My ex-girllfriend's little brother thought I was cool."

``Do you have a degree in child psychology?"

``Piaget's great grandson went to my high school."

``Did you ever do any babysitting, then?"

``One time, my six year-old cousin was sick and, it was pretty serious. The doctor said that she may not make it. Nothing we could do could help her if she didn't want to get better. The doctor was helpless. They all tried to get her to smile. To take the medicine. To get up and take short walks to help fight the disease. Nothing worked. I went over one day to see her. She didn't even look me in the eye. The bed smelled of death; it was so depressing. Anyhow, I shook the bed, rattling some of the toys. Earthquake! A glass of water fell into the bed. Flood! I yelled as I mopped up the tiny spill. I blew into her face. She squinted. Hurricane! I took the hairdryer out and blew into her. Fire! I took out the ice tray and quickly shaved some ice crystals off the ice block. I sprinkled them lightly over her face. Snowstorm! I then put my hands on her eyes. Eclipse! I moved my hands off her face and saw her lips curl upwards. Not quite a smile, but I took it. How about we go outside? It's a beautiful sunny day! No earthquakes, floods, fires, snowstorms, or eclipses. She gave me her hand. I lifted her up and took her for a walk. I heard a little laugh when a sparrow ate birdseed from her hand. She's better now."

``Thank you, Mr. Mandluk, we'll let you know."

The rest of the week passed without incident. There was no reason why this week should be any different. The next Tuesday, Fazo woke up with the intention of trading his hockey cards at the card show. Just as he was putting his Lafleur card into the album, the phone rang. It surprised him; it had been so long since he had heard it. Who could it be? Was it a woman asking him for a date? Was it Wayne or Moussa, but they lived next door. Was it Laigo? Was it a creditor?

``Hello," he said sheepishly.

``Mr. Mandluk?" an old woman's voice asked. He had heard it before.

``Uh-huh."

He was fazed, and didn't hear what she was saying except for one line, ``I was wondering if you would like to ..." He fazed out, ``...at the day care centre?"

``The day-care centre?" He knew it was the nun. ``Is someone sick? Terminally ill?"

``No, no. We just need someone to fill in for a week. One of our part-time workers decided to stay on after all. She's on vacation as of tomorrow. Could you sit in today and work until Friday?"

``Uh...."

``Standard pay. Twenty an hour."

``Two days of this and I'll have an unemployment cheque," he thought to himself. ``When to start will I?"

``Nine?"

``Fine."

At nine to nine, Fazo arrived. At ten, he was Bozo. At eleven-thirty, Godzilla. At noon, the Swedish chef. The sandman at one. The patient of sixteen six year-old doctors at two- thirty and back to Fazo at four. The next day he was another assortment of characters. On Friday, he was truly special. SNL would have been proud. He did skits, painted faces, and sang on a soapbox.

``It's not that hard, Tommy."

Tommy looked at the soapbox and shook his head and ran away as fast as his little legs would take him.

``Okay, you try Helena."

``What do I do?"

``Just get up on the box and sing!"

``What?" She put her arms up in the air. She looked like a little 'T'."

``What?" Fazo imitated her, looking like a big `T'. She smacked him in the stomach. Jumping up on the soapbox, she began to sing.

``I had a dog but now he's gone, doggy's gone, doggy's gone..." The song was really called ``Baby's gone..." but Helena thought that was too sad. Or she didn't quite remember the words. ``Doggy he's gone away. Left me to go astray. Let's let's get away. Until that great day! When he comes ba-a-a-a-a-ack." A dance step and a twirl. And then another which made her fall off the soapbox. Fazo caught her just in time.

``You try, Tommy." He had moved closer when Helena was on stage. He was fascinated by the toy microphone which broadcast her voice on the radio. ``Tommy?" Tommy hid his face in Fazo's leg. ``Okay, you don't have to sing."

``Fazo?" Helena asked.

``Yes."

``Are you coming back?" The kids gathered around to hear his E.F. Huttonesque response.

``Afraid not."

``Why?" another voice complained.

``I'm only supposed to be here 'til today."

``Your mommy's not letting you?"

``No, I mean, yes, she doesn't let me. She says I have to stay at home and play with my sister. Yuck!" Fazo stuck out his tongue in disgust.

``Ewwww!" a pair of boys agreed.

``Bring your sister here!" Helena said.

``I can't."

``Why not?" the complaining voice sounded out again.

``'Cos she's sick. She's got the chicken pox!" At the sound of this, everyone gave an ``Ewwww!" Fazo made like amonkey, wrapping his long arounds his torso to scratch his back in two places. ``You don't want to get all itchy now do you?"

``No way!" Some kids instinctively starting scratching themselves. Helena scratched a boy who had pushed her off the soapbox. She got back on her perch.

``Then, do you want her to come?" he asked the crowd.

``Uh-uh." Helena wrapped her arms around Fazo's neck and jumped off her soapbox. ``Give me a ride, horsie." After winning the Belmont Stakes, he dropped her back off near the soapbox. The same boy, seeing Helena approaching, quickly yielded the throne.

``I abibdicate." He bowed somewhat in jest. ``Pretty cynical for an eight year-old," he told the boy's brother, Anik.

``You should have seen him at my birthday party last year. He kissed Margaret on the lips!" Anik was clearly more ``grossed-out" by the sight of a kiss than by a slimy slug. ``What do you do at your school, Fazo?"

``I...I...convince people to do things."

``Why? If they don't want to do something, why do you make them do it?"

``That's my job. It makes me money."

``You like it?" Fazo didn't answer. ``So you would convince me to eat my brussel sprouts even if I didn't want to!" Fazo did not deny the allegation. ``You're just as bad as my mother. You're no fun." The kid walked away, his bubble burst. The rest of the children were sad to see him go; the girls gave him kisses and the boys waved goodbyes.

The next week, Fazo was back to his idleness, one cheque away from the end of his ``work'' term. A little disheartened by Anik's comment, Fazo asked himself what Thought School was teaching him. ``Where did it all fit in to the grand scheme of modern life?" he thought. Some people he had met in these last few months; the balding man at the unemployment office, the street performer from Lopa, the convenience store owner's wife; they all had one thing in common: a disdain for the big corporation. To their lives, the government and big business did not matter. Whether one company gets its patent or another wins its insurance fraud case made no difference to most of these people. Certainly not to a man whose teenage son has been accused of date rape and who has no job and no money to pay for the legal counsel his son needs. Nor, to an artist who has almost mastered juggling a butcher's knife, a chainsaw, and a watermelon while singing ``Help!'' to a loving crowd. Not even, to a woman who must figure out a way to get the drug dealer away from her street corner. His aspirations of becoming a mediator or diplomat seemed to be all too frivolous to his new-found friends.

Curiously, he could not give the matter much deep thought at this time. He was still so very much involved in his life here to actually take a step back and examine his career. What trade was it that he had that made him seem so desirable to Jabbah when he hired him? Fazo asked himself these questions and many more as he tried to sort out his feelings of despair from his feelings of accomplishment. How cynical he had become with respect to love and work and especially Thought School. How pretentious he thought it was to believe that he and everyone else enrolled were somehow better suited to deal with the problems of humanity in a more diplomatic and ethical way than others. He knew not of what it really meant to be a good diplomat, nor did he know if diplomacy or persuasion had any merit in this chaotic world filled with stubborn personalities.

With respect to his personal life, Fazo wondered if love was ever going to cross his path again. He knew that his loneliness had been shielded by the familiar and comfortable surroundings that Wayne and Moussa and the rest of his friends shared. Through Laigo, Fazo experienced, albeit second-hand the miseries and joys of losing one's self in a deep, passionate love affair. A true skeptic, he believed that he could never feel like Laigo and wondered if Laigo himself wasn't putting on an act so as to make himself believe that he really loved Melinda. And what of her? She was no better than he, constantly asking him to give her space so that she could take a breather from their suffocating love affair.

Did anyone ever feel the true wonders of love as described by the great writers? Where was his Catherine? Who ever believed that Emma Bovary actually existed. Love was just an aspiration, a certain senseless plunge that people took in an effort to find someone who was willing to share the same artificial emotions as they. In some sort of contract, the two are made a couple.

``I'll do this for you if you do that for me!" one would tell the other.

The other would respond, ``OK, but you must pretend that I am like this when I do this and when I'm not there, you must cease to be happy."

``On the condition, that you do that for me anytime I want to and tell everyone that I mean everything to you."

``Fine, it's a deal." And with that first kiss they would leap into this contract of exchange of affection and admiration, trying to obey society's pressures to couple-up.

Cynical and outrageous were his thoughts. He himself did not truly believe what he was imagining but he was never quite sure if his old, romantic ideas could hold. Confused was he about human nature, even more so than before he left Habsenta. But to mire one's self in questions about the human circumstance is to grow as a human being? If so, Fazo was by now a giant. After losing his father and his brother, he picked up the pieces of his life. Questioning his own existence became second nature to him. ``Why them and not me?" he asked. Instead of dwelling on the matter, Fazo squeezed all the courage he could into that little suitcase he packed at his aunt's house and went off to university. Three years later, he had almost completely blocked his past life out of his mind. The only reminder was his mother's bi-weekly phone call. He missed her; but more, he missed the past when he was happier. When he was a boy. When he believed everything that his mother said. What was then was gone and only a new now remained. A now with no past, just present. The distance between him and his family before the accident was intolerable to him. He could not regret enough and so he chose to let it stand. To pretend that he left them, that he went off to make it on his own. To pretend that his father and brother were somewhere waiting for him to join them. They were, but he was not anxious to join them.

Within two days, Fazo was ready to leave. After taking a brief vacation in Habsentia, he was to return to Central on his way to his destination for his third case. After spending a lot of time examining the possibility, Fazo decided that it was about time that he visited Adnasia. Searching through the available cases, he found nothing that interested him save one which held no description in Katuria. A very intriguing country, Katuria was an ideal location for a case even if Fazo had absolutely no clue as to what he would be doing there except that somehow it would be in the School of Ethics. After speaking with Laigo, he decided to commit himself to the venture and purchased the plane tickets that would bring him to Sopa, Katuria, the metropolitan centre and commercial seaport of seven million people.

His goodbyes to his friends in Central were difficult for Fazo. He found it much harder to leave them than he would have thought. He knew he would miss Wayne's lamenting, Moussa's stories, and most everyone else's hospitality and friendliness. Most of all, Fazo would miss the place, not Central, but his lounge, his room, and his veranda. Just then, Wayne dropped by.

``Fazo, I can't believe you're actually leaving!" he said, tearfully.

``Yeah, buddy, all good things have to come to an end. This was great wasn't it?" Fazo told Wayne pointing to everything around him.

``You're not off the hook yet, you know. I have your address."

``Of course, just in case the unemployment office calls..." Fazo rolled his eyes naughtily.

``Besides, Faz, Martha and I are just starting to ...you know .... falling in ..."

``Don't say it..."

``And I know you'd be pretty good at helping me figure out what to do."

``You know as well as I do, Wayne, but, I'll remember, don't worry. Anytime any problem comes up and you just need to talk about it, let me know."

``Even if there is no problem, I'll still bug you!" Wayne laughed.

``Thank goodness Katuria is an overseas call!" Fazo joked. ``No, I'll miss you all, really." Scared, and a little relieved to be getting back to Habsentia, Fazo was most of all, unhappy. They all walked out of the apartment and down into the alley. After saying his goodbyes with firm handshakes to Moussa and Wayne, Fazo stepped into the cab and was whisked away from Influence Road.

PA RT FOUR

The sun's soft glow lit up the wispy clouds that creased the sky with waves of red and green. Fazo had never seen an astral sight so lovely and yet, there was a certain sense of doom associated with the rich humidity that weighed down the air. He had been aware of the relentless heat in Katuria but never did he imagine it to be so stifling. It crossed upon him in flashes, yet it never really let up, intensifying every now and then. Just like his expectations, the mercury was certain to drop and with it would return Fazo's level-headedness. Courageously jumping on the train that was pulling away from the station at a considerable speed, Fazo grasped the handrail with all his might. Once seated, he fixed his hair and sat back to watch the colours flow by. Once arrived, he disembarked, walked to his car and drove off into what was now, complete darkness.

One week had passed since he had arrived in Katuria. A meaningless, inconsequential week it was. He had seen no new faces other than a few sent by his firm to greet him; and yet, he had seen thousands and not spoken to any of them. The piles upon piles of work were accumulating and he found no other alternative than to work incredibly long hours to exhaust the backlog. Once he was settled, he imagined, in a week or so, he would be free to start on his new assignment. Desperately trying to keep his eyes open, Fazo sat in front of his television and watched a rerun of one of his favourite sitcoms. Within minutes, he was asleep and the new day was upon him before he even realized that any time had elapsed.

Six more days of grudgingly slow trains and unending work transpired. As he looked up at his desk into the bright midday sun, he reached for the pile of documents to be edited and found that there were none. He was done! He loosened his tie and decided to treat himself with a walk through the park that lay across the street from his office building. Strolling though the trees with his jacket slung over his shoulder, Fazo munched an apple all while admiring Katuria's natural beauty for the first time. Finally, he could commence his research into Katurian life, and more specifically, into the Gazette. The Gazette, he was told, was an independent newspaper run by a private managerial firm on a grant from a deceased wealthy businessman named Frederic Barnett III. Its owners and contributors had promised to report on the news in a way that went beyond the government-run daily that was published in Sopa, Katuria's capital city. This was the only stipulation set forth in Mr. Barnett's will. As long as they promised to live by this axiom, the trust was to fund the paper entirely, and yet, it often ran short of cash.

Fazo had been hired to smooth out problems that the contributors as they liked to call themselves, were having with the staff at the paper. The problem was a cultural one, it would seem. The contributors were primarily Northerners from Lopa who were sent to Sopa to run this paper. The Katurian workers could not understand the stuffy bureaucracy and rigidity of the Lopans management. Fazo was called in to learn about each sides' demands and to impress upon both parties, the other's viewpoints. After spending some time in Lopa, Fazo had a good idea of how Lopan businessmen operate. He felt that he had enough time to properly assess the Katurian climate so as to ascertain the best possible compromise. This particular task would keep him busy for the greater part of three months, thereby necessitating that his next work term be a continuation of this one. So Fazo had prepared himself for the prospect of eight or nine uninterrupted months of work here in Katuria, after which time he would be lucky enough to earn himself, finally, his degree from the School of Thought.

Fazo reached out to grab the phone. ``Hello."

``Did I wake you?" the female voice asked.

``Is it morning already?"

``I thought morning didn't exist in Fazospeak."

``Um," he still couldn't place the voice. ``What time is it?"

``Where you are, I guess very early." It was Angelica. ``Do you know who this is?" she asked.

``Of course, I do Angelica. I'm sorry if I sound beat. I had a rough night last night."

``Sure," she said sarcastically. ``Aren't you going to say `Nice to hear your voice,' or `What a surprise...' or something?"

``Thank you."

``For what, for calling? Don't mention it."

``It's nice to hear your voice first thing in the morning."

``Uh-huh," she paused suspiciously. ``Now that you mention it..."

``Mention what?"

``My voice," another pause. Fazo's confusion remained. ``First thing in the morning."

``Yeah, so."

``Well..."

``I don't get it Angie, tell me already. It's too early in the morning to try to figure out a woman."

``Is that so? That's not what you told me that ti-"

``Anyhow, let's not get into that, shall we? Whatcha got in your oven?"

``Not a bun. And what kind of Central expression is that?"

``Oh, I don't know, something I picked up. Like `what's on your mind?'"

``Guess who's coming to dinner?"

``When? Tonight. I don't know, Laigo?"

``No."

``Then who?" he sounded impatient, ``get on with it!"

``I'm coming."

``I haven't heard that in a while."

``Excuse me!" she shrieked.

``I mean for years you've been saying that you'll visit me but every time I...you say no. That's always the bottom line."

``Not this time."

``That's wonderful," he sounded skeptical.

``No, I really am! The tickets are bought. Saturday."

``This Saturday. Two days from now?"

``Frequent flyer miles."

``Oh so that's how you managed to scrape up the dough."

``I'll need it for that bun."

``In your oven," Fazo continued. ``When's it due?"

``What do you mean? It's just a joke," she laughed.

``The plane, stupid. The plane. Expected at..."

``Some time in the morning." Silence. ``I'm sorry."

``Don't be. I'll go to bed early Friday. I'm really glad you're coming."

``What do you need from here? I can bring a lot of stuff. I'll get you some tunes, some food, whatever I can fit..."

``Thanks, luv. Just bring you and a change of clothes."

``I'll wear yours."

``And I'll take your ticket back home."

``Bye," she said as she hung up.

``Bye," Fazo said to the dial tone.

Three days later, they walked in the door of Fazo's apartment. ``Magnificent," she said.

``It's not that big!" He put away her bags.

``No, the view."

``Truly stupendous, eh? The jungle in the background and the city all around us. The heat makes you feel like rushing off into the ocean."

``You can see the beach."

``You want to go some time?" he asked.

She took a bikini out of her bag. ``And, look, look..." She took out a Jimmy Hunt concert teeshirt. ``From their latest tour."

``The one I missed."

``Who knows? They may come here. A lot of Lopans here right?"

``Tell me about it. I feel so, so underdressed."

``Are they pretty formal."

``No, just pretty."

``Are you talking about the men or the women, Fazo Mandluk?"

``The men, of course."

``Good."

``You know how I can't resist a man with a- "

``Uh-huh, " she interrupted, ``with a pair of tickets to a World Cup soccer qualifier."

``As if you're much better."

``What do you mean?"

``What would you do for a Jimmy Hunt backstage pass?"

``You wouldn't want to know!" Her sinister grin told the story. ``So where am I going to sleep?"

Fazo's heart skipped a beat. ``Wherever."

``Wherever where?" She looked around the floor. ``Where do you sleep?"

Another beat. ``The bedroom there," he pointed to his doorway. A doorway without a door.

``Twin?"

``Double."

``Uh-huh," she ran her tongue under her lip. Her eyes shifted across the tiny living room.

``The bathroom is over there," he pointed out.

``Do you have anything to eat?"

``McDonald's."

``In Katuria?"

``Everywhere," he bellowed.

``S'go." She took her purse and treated Fazo to a Big Mac.

The Sunday paper had been baking in the sun for many hours before Fazo saved it from idleness. It opened itself up with a delightful crumpling noise which said ``Good morning, er afternoon!" As each page turned, it would issue a reminder in a whisper. ``No work today!" ``No work today!" Then the inserts would sneak out and fall onto the floor, ``Look at us!" As colourful as spring flowers, they advertised the best bargains and more. Food, clothes, household articles. All of life, in full colour on the plasticated pages of the pages that fly. Another section would fall out with a large thud. The editorials. ``Be responsible, read me," the heavy print bellowed out. And of course, snickers could be heard coming from deep inside the stack. Ah yes, the Sunday comics: a whole handful of characters just waiting to jump out of the page. The sound of skates stopping along ice, the sound of a racecar engine purring, the roar of an appreciative crowd, the pop of a smashed tennis ball; all these sounds echoed through the pages that jumped into Fazo's hands as soon as the paper found its way into the apartment. And, somehow miraculously, the television listings had already sneaked out of the now dispersed pile of old trees and found its way onto its familiar spot on the coffee table after jousting successfully with the old tired edition from last week.

``A great morning," Angelica turned with her coffee cup to the view.

``You said it," he responded.

``And what are we going to do today?"

``What is it that you'd like to do?"

``See the sights. The travel agent said something about this statue of a mermaid."

``You don't want to see that, do you?"

``Of course, I do."

``I thought you came all this way to see me!"

``And while I'm here I'm not allowed to go shopping or to see the sights?" She raised her eyebrows and a wicked smile came over her face. They sat quietly and allowed the sun to burn through the glass and onto their faces.

``If it wasn't for air conditioning..." Fazo said a few minutes later.

``I'm going to go in for my shower. Is that okay?"

``Go ahead."

The pipes started rumbling and a few seconds later the water gushed out onto the brown ceramic tub.

``She's filling it up," he said out loud. ``In this heat? Must be cold water." He went over to the toaster and served himself another waffle. When he was done, he heard the pipes shut off.

``Pass me my make-up bag, will you?" he heard her scream from behind the door.

``Which one?"

``The p- "

``Found it." He strolled over and left it outside the door. ``It's right outside. The door opened slightly and a hand reached out to snag the sachet. Ten minutes and two towels later, she walked out. ``Nice bathrobe," he commented.

``Glad you like it!" her smile said what her voice didn't.

``I found the little mermaid."

``Where is that blouse I wanted to...I know I'll wear the teeshirt."

``THE teeshirt."

``Yes," she looked over at Fazo and saw IT on HIM. ``Now!" she demanded.

``What?"

``Take it off, now!"

``Alright already." He threw it to her. ``Now what am I going to wear?"

She walked up next to him and handed him something, ``Here!"

``What is this?"

``Something to put on over this..." she traced her hand through the hair on his chest. He feared that she would pull one out. She didn't. He relaxed. She turned around to face the beach and then looked back at him. ``Put it on."

``It's too small."

``How do you know? Put it on!" Her hand darted forward and snared one of his hairs.

``Ow!" he yelled.

``Put it on!" she repeated, her teeth clenched.

``Fine."

``So tell me, where did you go while you were in Central?"

``I, I..." Fazo stuttered. ``I went to Timmins. Didn't have much money though. Had to make ends meet best I could."

``What happened to your savings? I thought that you said that you would make it through when I called."

``When did you call?" he looked puzzled.

``After you lost your job. About a month after. You said you were going to fish and write and find something part-time. Well, did you?"

``Find something part-time? I did some work with kids once."

``And, your writing? Your fishing?"

``You know, it's so hard to write when you're not doing anything. When your life is dull, it's tough to find inspiration. No passion."

``No way. Fazo Mandluk no passion!" She opened her eyes as wide as she could. She still looked like Fazo squinting. ``I don't believe it!"

``No passion."

``Not even..."

``No women, either. I just sat on my veranda and thought most of the time. I had a bunch of friends who really taught me a lot."

``Who?"

``I don't remember exactly who they were. I do remember what they said, though. They taught me to look at the world in a different way. To shirk work at every turn is to give one the freedom to do what one really wants to do. After all, work is a four-letter word."

``So is food. Doesn't mean you shouldn't eat?"

``Eat has only three letters. Besides, their antiestablishmentarianism didn't do much harm. It was all very peaceful subversion. Organized laziness."

``You're proud of it, too, aren't you?"

He smiled. ``Uh-huh."

``Do me a favour. Do a great job at the Gazette. Make them never forget who you are."

``And who is that?"

``Fazo Mandluk?"

``And who is he?"

``Someone very special."

``You're just saying that!" He put his arm around the nape of her neck to draw her close. ``Let me give you a hug."

Still hugging, Angelica said, ``Why do you give yourself so little credit?"

``Who needs credit? I'm glad you came. I missed you."

``Me, too. Fazo Mandluk. He's a lot more than a slick politician with an eye for fashion, an ear for controversy and a silver tongue for persuasion. He's a golden heart, a warm hug, an innocent boy, a grumbling baby, and a loyal son."

``Thanks," he said under his breath.

``How is your mom?"

``How'd'ya know I was thinking of her?"

``I could tell. The way your eyes become wide and glazed, not like your in love but more like you're a child on a field trip."

``To the airport. Boy, I loved that, didn't I?"

``You dragged me there so many times when you were fifteen. And you didn't even want to be a pilot."

``No, I didn't want to fly the planes. I wanted to make 'em. Make 'em go fast. I wanted to be able to fly from here to Lopa in three hours."

``From here? You mean Habsentia," Angelica corrected him.

``I guess I forgot. It's easy to forget..."

``Yeah, when you're with friends you could be anywhere, even nowhere and you'll still feel like your somewhere."

``Home."

``Yeah, home. Or wherever you're used to meeting your friends. Like my friends from college. I'll always associate them with Betalthia."

``You were only there two years!"

``Two years is not enough to make friends."

``I suppose. Let's just go, already. I'm dying to dip my foot into that sand."

``Is the beach going to be full?"

``Sure," Fazo replied.

``It's got to be my favourite spot. How about you?"

``I'd prefer to be at a cabin in the woods by a deserted glacial lake. With a canoe, an oar, a fishing rod, and a knife. What else does a man need?"

``I won't answer that." She smiled and walked out with her beach bag slung over her shoulder. Fazo put on his topsiders, locked the door, and ran off after her.

``What a wonderful day!" she exclaimed, twirling her arms about her like Wonder Woman.

``Yeah, Angie, just beautiful," he said sarcastically.

``You don't like the rain much do you? It was sunny at the beach on Saturday and yesterday when we went to the lodge."

``It's not the rain. It's just sad. You have to get back?"

``You know I do." She snarled at him. ``And no convincing me to stay. The firm wouldn't be too pleased."

``And what about you?"

``You know I'd love to stay. Hey, don't forget to get me a subscription to the Gazette. I want to read your stuff."

``I will," Fazo said as he kicked his feet through a puddle."

``Still a little boy, aren't you?" Angelica looked down at his soaking wet jeans.

``How's your little boy?" Fazo turned and asked. ``I miss him."

``He's doing real well. He misses his Uncle Fazie."

``I hate that name. Except from him."

``I know he misses you. He had his tenth birthday last week!"

``Ten years old! That's right, you were twelve when your mother had him, right?"

``Twelve years and one day."

``Sorry I missed your birthday," he apologized.

``I liked your card. Not often I get a card with a eighteen page letter attached." She winked at him and pushed him inside the apartment. ``There! Let's dry off and get my stuff ready."

``Where does it end, Angelica? All this moving around? When am I going to finally settle down and call a place home."

``When you find home, I guess," she answered wisely.

``I live wherever I am. Every place is home. Wherever I am, I adapt."

``I know you do." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ``So have I." She squeezed his hand tightly. Later that day at the airport, she squeezed it again as she walked onto the plane.

Fazo did not expect the luxurious surroundings which surrounded him when he reached the newspaper's headquarters. Unlike much of the old, slightly dilapidated but charming quartier in which it was hidden, the office was modern, efficient and fairly sterile. It lacked the greasy grime that one would usually associate with Fleet street. Also missing was the electricity that filled the air in so many newsrooms. There was no sense of urgency or confusion or even a feeling that the work never ended. Instead he found wide open expanses, even within the building, with carefully groomed people walking about in a sparsely populated office with all the necessary appointments. Coffee brewed on a scientific machine while photocopiers and mouses clicked away in this sea of technological fantasy. Fazo was shocked at the order which surrounded him, and he knew not where the actual paper lay. He could not find a copy anywhere.

``Mister Mandluk, I presume," said the elderly gentleman with the greying sideburns.

``Please, call me Fazo," he responded, shaking the man's hand quite firmly.

``No, we can't have any of that around here. It is important that we maintain a certain sense of decorum. We wouldn't want to undermine your authority, sir."

Fazo was confused, unsure of whom he was referring to, ``Oh, you mean me!" he seemed to say with his eyes after a few seconds of bewilderment.

``My, my, it seems we are a bit tardy. Rush, now," the man said as he walked briskly out of one room into a smaller one with two burgundy chairs and a mahogany desk.

``Thank you," Fazo said as the gentleman pointed to the left chair.

``As you know, my name is Mr. Pierson. I will be directing your research. If there is any way in which I could be of service, please let one of my secretaries know."

Fazo laughed, ``That's quite gracious of you," he said sarcastically.

``We the contributors of this paper," Mr. Pierson continued, ``are very proud of the fact that our publication has become the leading source of independently reported news in the region. Of the six countries in Outer Adnasia, we have the only daily publication which can be relied upon for accuracy and honesty of reporting. We are quite proud of that but recent labour disputes may one day see that impressive record come to an end. We've lost many of our best reporters and with your international exposure I would like you to head up a weekly column on Katuria" He billowed smoke from his ears as he lamented about the shortcuts that the paper had to take to get its editions out on time. Frothing at the mouth, he paused to take a sip of water and resumed his tirade.

``Mister Pierson," Fazo interrupted. ``I am quite aware of the situation," he said, trying to avoid the propaganda. ``Please introduce me to some of your most key members of your editorial staff so that I may not tie up so much of your valuable time. Allow someone else the discomfort of describing the Katurian malaise," Fazo said quite patronizingly.

``I suppose you are right," he said, not noticing the insult. ``I'll just get you set up here, if you'll be patient." He meandered towards the phone, picked it up and forget what he was about to do. Then, like a revelation, he remembered. ``Yes, Kirin, Mr. Mandluk has arrived. You could show him the ropes if you have the time." They went on to talk for a few minutes while Fazo examined Mr. Pierson's office, scrutinizing every last detail in an effort to gauge his personality.

A few seconds after Mr. Pierson hung up, they heard a knock on the door. He yelled, ``Come in!" A dark-haired and pale-skinned woman with a black leather briefcase in one hand and a Coke in the other. ``That was fast, Kirin!" Mr. Pierson said. At the sound of those words, Fazo inferred that this could be none other than Kirin, the benefactress he had met in the Midtown Green two weeks into his orientation. She looked quite different, and yet Fazo was sure that it was her. She must have recognized me as well, he thought. She paid little attention to Fazo as Mr. Pierson spoke to her. He was babbling about how she should show him the ropes and yet, Fazo couldn't care in the least. He was concentrating very hard at staring at Kirin without making it seem too obvious. She had on a black leather jacket with a smart white blouse and a long dark green skirt. He could not help but stare into her eyes for seconds at a time, pretending to be attentively listening to her while she gave Mr. Pierson the daily report on the paper's schedule. Suddenly, she wheeled towards Fazo and caught him staring at her with a soft smile on his lips. She blushed slightly. Instead of denying his admiration, Fazo did not attempt to look away casually, but rather let the smile linger on his face and spoke back in a gentle voice. A few seconds later, Mr. Pierson excused them from the room when he received an important phone call from Lopa. They just stood outside his office for a few moments, Kirin bashfully looking away from Fazo while he playfully ran his eyes from her hair to her ears to her nose and finally to her ring finger. As he suspected, it was bare.

Finally she broke the silence, ``Let me show you to my office, Fazo." He followed her quite happily, looking from side to side into the offices that flanked this main corridor.

``Does everyone here have his or her own private office?" he asked.

``Yes, as a matter of fact, space is not a constraint here; although, many of the new people spend most of their time in the conference rooms developing concepts for the paper or bouncing ideas off others or even just discussing politics. It is a healthy environment to foster. In times of stress, most newspaper people need their privacy to be able to write more quickly. A few hours before deadline, you'll notice that most office doors will shut as people finish up their pieces."

``Hmmm," he sighed. They stepped into her office which surprisingly did not look much bigger than any of the others that he had been peering into. She pointed to one of her chairs and he submissively sat down.

``I only arrived here a few years ago. When we met in Central, I was on a sabbatical, of sorts. I was a little overworked and needed to get away."

``You look different..."

``Older?"

``No, just better," he said in a breathy voice.

``I'm more relaxed, now. I also had some plastic surgery." She touched her nose.

``Oh," Fazo's look said ``Of course." He smiled. ``You look great!" His sincere compliment carried an apology along with it which she duly accepted with a bright smile of her own.

``I did not go to Thought School so I wouldn't really know what it is that you are supposed to do here. I suppose we'll just treat you like you had just been hired by Peachy as a new contributor," she said while trying not to look at him.

``Who's Peachy?" Fazo asked with an overstated look of bewilderment on his face.

``Peachy? That's what we call Pierson around here," she said with a laugh.

``Does he know?" he asked.

``Does he know? He started it! One day we were at an office party and he had one too many Fuzzy Navels. You know, peach schnapps and orange juice. Anyhow, someone asked him how he was doing and he said, 'Just peachy!' A guy who didn't know him overheard this and said, 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Peachy!' and it stuck!"

``He doesn't seem like the type of man who would appreciate such good-natured ribbing!" Fazo said.

``No, he's a really nice man once you get to know him." Suddenly, Kirin's attention was diverted as she saw something out of the window. She looked visibly shocked.

``What's wrong!" he asked her.

``They're towing my car! I can't believe this!" She picked up her purse and ran out! She stopped at the doorway and turned around to look back at Fazo. ``I'm really sorry about this. I hope we can talk later, bye."

At this point, Fazo melted. All his muscles lost their tension and a soft grin settled on his face. He was in seventh heaven and for the first time in his life, he had fallen in love at first sight, sort of. For a few moments, he just remained there, slouching in the chair in Kirin's office. Time passed but he did not budge, until finally he decided to move. Picking himself up off the chair, he crawled out of the office into the secretary's room.

``Mr. Mandluk!" a female voice shouted to him from behind. He could tell that it wasn't Kirin's.

``Yes!" he turned to see a woman waving a pink message slip at him.

``I'm Kirin's secretary. She told me to tell you that she won't be in until tomorrow."

``Thanks for the message," he replied. He slowly walked out of the office and into the car that had brought him there. When he arrived at his apartment, he kicked off his shoes and pondered the day's events, or more specifically, those fifteen minutes during which Kirin was present. He could not think of anything else but her: her green eyes, her button nose and the way she blushed when he was caught red-handed staring at her. He switched on the music and drifted into his dreams, losing sense of the reality that he had just endured and instead engaging in many outrageous scenarios that would have her falling into his arms. He heard the phone ring and broke out of his trance. Before he could even get off the couch, it stopped ringing. ``Maybe it was her and she felt nervous and hung up?" he asked himself. Then, suddenly, a wave of uncertainty swept over him. It was as though he had forgotten every little thing that she had said and done that day. He started to doubt whether she actually felt anything for him at all, let alone whether they were equal in magnitude to the feelings that he felt for her. He could not see her falling for him again and yet, he wished for it like he wished for the baseball video game when he was ten. He fell to his knees in his despair, so convinced was he that she would barely remember him the next day. Thoroughly enjoying his bout with self-pity he dove head first into the pool of misery that he had created for himself. Drowning amidst the multitudes of other lonely souls who craved depression and despair, he was at peace, secure with the knowledge that he did not have to deal with the horrible reality of a new love.

From nowhere, this mountain of despair had swelled up to swallow Fazo whole. It was as though he had no hope. He could not even think of her. So minute were his chances of success that he thought it better just to ignore them completely. It was the only way for him to break out of his daydreams to face the blunt realities of the rest of the day. So after a long, lonely dinner in front of the stereo, he started to wash his dishes. Just then, the phone rang and this time he ran over to get it.

``Hello?" he asked, almost expecting the person at the other end of the line to go click.

``Hey, Faz, how's it goin'?" Laigo's familiar voice lit up the line.

``Hey, Juan. Not bad, not bad at all," Fazo said, forgetting his self-induced depression. ``How's Melinda?"

``She's great! Actually, she's doing a little shopping for our trip."

``Where are you going?" he asked.

``Well, that's sort of why I'm calling you. You see, we're coming to Katuria. And we need a place to stay."

Fazo was noticeably excited, ``Wow! That's great! I can finally meet her!" he looked around the amply-sized room and said, ``Yeah, we have plenty of space here, no problem, when are you coming?"

``We?" Laigo asked. ``I didn't know that you were living with someone?" Laigo asked suspiciously.

``Did I say `we'? Oh, I meant `I'!" Fazo said, equally guiltily.

``Well, we're coming in on the seven-thirty flight from Lopa on the eighth."

``That's three weeks from now!" he said, surprised.

``You always were handy with numbers!" Laigo answered. ``Listen, we won't stay more than five days but we have to talk and it would be really nice if you got to meet Melinda."

``It sure would!" Fazo replied. ``How are things going between the two of you, anyway? Everything still pea-uh rosy?" Fazo refrained from using Mr.Pierson's pet name.

``Yup, I wish things would never end for the two of us, man. I must admit that at times I feel like she doesn't really tune into my needs as quickly as I'd like. She's like an old radio. It's hard to get the station you're looking for but once you get it, it sounds great. She's a little slow to respond to my fits of depression or grief and she can often seem a bit cold but when things are going well, which is about ninety-eight percent of the time, things are heavenly. We talk about so many different things."

``Uh-huh," Fazo was getting bored.

``We check in with each other every few hours just to see how the other is doing. She likes the unexpected flowers and I like the attention. She likes to cook and I like to clean. She likes to wash, I like to dry."

``Yeah, yeah. She likes to work and you like to watch her!" Fazo joked.

``No, it's really great! We both have tons of stuff to do and yet we still have time for each other. I am so madly in love, I can't tell you."

``And so is she, I presume?" Fazo asked quite innocently.

``Why are you asking that?" Laigo yelled.

``No reason, forget it!"

``Sorry, dude. I lost my head. Yeah, well, maybe she doesn't really show her love for me as much as I do; but, I know she loves me. It's just that she's a bit different than you and me. She's so gorgeous. She's used to getting all the attention from guys and not giving it back. It's the curse of being with someone heart-stopping, I guess," he chuckled.

``Sounds very envious!" Fazo said, quite dishonestly as he was reminded why he would always seek out women whom he thought were just slightly higher than him in terms of attractiveness. He then started thinking of Kirin and again fell into the Sea of Melancholy. Meanwhile, the celestial adventures of Mr. True Love seemed to add salt to his wound.

``...One night," Laigo went on, ``we were in a log cabin in the woods. We didn't have anything to do so we played a little chess and started telling each other about our childhood. We exchanged stories that we wouldn't tell anyone else. It was like I was seven again and she was Maggie Vanderbrook from next door. I felt so good, Faz. I would trade anything to feel that way again."

``You know, Laigo, you talk in extremes too much. You're too willing to throw it all away for love. Take it from a cynic like me, it's not all that you make it out to be." It was Fazo's turn to be bitter and Laigo, noticing it, tried to make him feel better.

``Whoa, Faz! Take it easy! What's the problem here?"

``No problem Laigo, it's just hard to hear you talk about all your happiness."

``What happened to the smiling little optimist peering out from those brown locks? Don't you believe in love?"

``Actually, Laigo. I don't really know. You know I don't think so."

``It's a sad day, Faz. Remember, no one is ever going to be happy with you if you don't whole-heartedly believe in love. If you don't, happiness will elude you. That's why, like it or not, everyone eventually gives in."

Fazo left Laigo's words in the air, uncontested. He stayed silent for a few moments then made some small talk about the flight information. After jotting down the appropriate details, he wished his good friend a safe journey and hung up. He walked across the room into the bedroom and shut off the light. There he lay in bed and thought of days gone by and quietly wept.

When the sun broke over the horizon early the next morning, Fazo was already awake in his bed. After falling asleep so early the night before, he was ready to start the new day from its first signs of life. Sourly, he turned off the alarm clock which he had preset to guard against his being late and he pushed himself through the morning's necessities, all with a sour expression on his face. After reaching the office, he tried to perk himself up for his appointment with Kirin but to no avail. Somehow she and the words of Laigo, had reminded him of Ajan. Deep, hidden pains were brought up again, only to make Fazo feel all the more grim on this dreary day. Unable to foster a smile, he walked into Kirin's office and sat down.

``Hello, Fazo," she said, still displaying the smile that she wore the day before, one that could not be confused for anything but one of admiration and attraction. Still, Fazo could not see it and dourly replied to her attempts at small-talk with mono-syllabic answers. ``Is there something wrong, Fazo? Are you not happy with your apartment?"

``No, no, not at all. It's wonderful. Really, don't mind me today, it's just one of those days. You understand?"

``Oh, yes. I do," she said softly, looking at the ceiling and then back at him. ``Yesterday was one of them, if you remember my car and all. It was such a nightmare, first the bridge, then the coffee stain, then my car, the fine, the court appearance. The only positive thing that happened to me was that I met you!" She didn't really mean to say it, he presumed; but, her lips and her heart were moving faster than her brain. She blushed again, this time less noticeably.

On the other side of the desk, Fazo was confused. These words took on no meaning to him at first. The depression still clouded over him but started to thin out after replaying the sound of her voice in his head, he could not understand her statement in any other way but romantically. Suddenly, all his dreams of Kirin from the day before surged back to the present as the blood in his veins quickly rushed to fill the void that his depression had created. Although unlikely, he had managed to fall in love at first sight with the same woman twice! His heart started pounding and he was certain that she could notice it through his shirt. He did not know what to do with his hands and finally decided to clutch at his case as though it was her, snuggling it up close to his chest. He stuttered when he talked and blushed and stumbled his way to a compliment.

``I must admit, Kirin. You made quite an impression on me as well!" he said. Then he thought if he had been too arrogant in saying ``as well", but soon forgot about his insecurities as her face softened with the unmistakable expression of a woman who wanted to be kissed. And so he kissed her. In the middle of the office, with the door wide open and his case still clutched, he bent over and kissed her gently on the lips. She just sat there, on the edge of her chair, immobile, and with her eyes closed, either savouring the first or waiting for the second. Without breaking stride, Fazo dropped the case to the floor and embraced her as he should have a year ago. Even the few hairs that had gotten in between their lips could not ruin the sweet sentiments that flowed between these two people who had been smitten with the same curse of depression and love. Fazo barely could reach the door with his foot and he gave it a swift push, just strong enough to shut it. He walked over to the other side of the desk and took Kirin in his arms and kissed her again and again and again. Just as one tends to come through on one's prophecies, these two followed through on their fantasies that dreary morning. Unbeknownst to all, they had somehow slid from the ranks of the miserable and lonely to the loved and cherished, all in one improbable morning which ran until two.

When two o'clock finally strolled around, the couple exited the office as two businesspeople would and sped off to lunch. Her secretary, unaware of what had transpired, yelled out to Kirin, ``I'll leave these messages on your desk for when you come back. Nothing urgent, don't worry, just don't forget the staff meeting at four!"

Kirin and Fazo got caught up in both their pasts and their present over a lunch prepared in one of Katuria's finest restaurants. They spoke about everything that they needed to know about each other and more still, examining as much of each other's interests and passions as they could in a two-hour sitting. Not once did they lose touch: if for some reason they had to let go of each other's hands, they would instantly intertwine their legs under the table so as to make themselves constantly aware of the other's presence. They spoke and spoke and when they had to eat, their glances filled the room with an overload of information.

After attending the staff meeting at four, Kirin rushed back to Fazo's temporary office and sat down. ``We have to get some things straight!" she said, taking his hand in hers.

``Shoot!" he replied.

``Alright, first of all," she started, ``we cannot allow our relationship to get in the way of work. Secondly, we cannot allow anyone else to think that it gets in the way of work. We could hide it from everyone else but I wanted to know what you thought about that?"

``I am not a big fan of dishonesty!" he replied quite dishonestly.

``So then, I guess what we'll do is say nothing for a while, keep it under wraps for just a little while until things are settled and until they feel comfortable with having you around. After that time, it would be safe, to let things come out."

``Well, how long will that be?" Fazo asked, remembering previous bad experiences.

``Oh, with these people, not long at all, two weeks, maximum, I promise."

Looking at her smile, Fazo could not refuse. He softly kissed her yet again and gathered his things together. ``Now, can I meet everyone?" he asked.

``Of course," she switched into businesswoman mode and led him out to the conference room. They walked into this ornate circular room and took their place at one end of the oval table. ``Everyone, this is Fazo Mandluk. He is from the School of Thought. As you're aware, he is our newest edition to the writing staff. In reality, Fazo would be better labelled as a researcher than anything else. He'll be meeting personally with most of you for the remainder of the week. Each one of you will be assigned to show him one facet of the operation for a day, for the next nine days. After that, we'll all get together and give him a few words about what he thinks is wrong with Katuria. Mr. Mandluk has requested that we keep our arguments short and to the point so that the has adequate time to meet with everyone. His first piece is due in a month and he has been putting in a fair amount of research work up until now but he really needs your expert input. He asks for our patience, cooperation and our support and offers in return his perspective. Mr. Mandluk comes highly recommended. It is truly a privilege to have him working on our staff."

``Thank you Kirin for the flattering introduction. I will make no promises, but I will do my best to do what is required to keep the Gazette an important member of the journalistic community in Katuria. I will try to understand your needs as well as those of the workers. I am really looking forward to this assignment. Please, call me Fazo and I thank you for the time that you will devote to making me feel at home during the next two weeks." With these two words, he looked over at Kirin and smiled. ``I am looking forward to meeting all of you on a very personal basis, as Kirin mentioned, just treat me like one of Peachy's new hirees." The crowd laughed somehow accepting him in the process, after initially tiring of the professional tone of his voice. Half the battle was won and yet, two weeks seemed like an eternity.

Gulping down the rest of his Coke, Fazo spilt a little on his shirt sleeve. He quickly dried it off on his pants and proceeded to take some notes on the document which he had been given about an hour earlier. He leafed through the paper, looking for a certain statistic when his eyes came across an article in a magazine which lay beside him. He closed the document that he was reading and switched to the article on time travel.

What if there were an alternate universe, he thought? What if some small change occurred in Earth's past that would have permanently changed the face of the world today. Had the cultural dynasty founded by Jung Soo in the early tenth century not taken place, where would his world be now? Would he even be there, Fazo thought. Given that he did exist, would all the familiar institutions that surrounded him still be there? Would Coke exist, he thought as he looked at the Coke can in his hand. Would technology have advanced at the same pace or in the same way? If Jung Soo were killed early in his life, would the cultural revolution have spread to the West to break it out of its decadent period? Would Lopans be Gallic or Saxons today had the eastern mystics not influenced their cultures? Would Central exist? Would Habsentia exist?

Fazo knew little of the possible existence of parallel universes and yet, he was intelligent and creative enough to postulate possible alternate timelines. Regardless of whether or not time was really as sensitive to such simple alterations of the past, Fazo could carry out this exercise and expand his realm of thinking. Had he believed in fate, would any of this have much meaning to him anyway? Probably not, and yet, he could not let go of his existential ideas that his life, no matter how enriching, was meaningless. The fate of the universe was far greater than the sum of all the individual human contributions, and so, ideally, Jung Soo had made no difference. ``Or had he?" Fazo thought. Speaking aloud to himself, he said, ``Now, if Jung Soo had not come along, would we have ever discovered the Western World? Would that great continent have been explored, exploited or would it have rotted away? It's not that Jung Soo's actions were terribly important but the sum of billions of people's actions had led the world to the state that we are now in. Riddled by environmental disasters and corruption, bifurcated on the basis of race, religion and technology, the world is not a great place and yet, we have overcome many problems and the overall standard of living is fairly high." Just then, he was stopped short by a sneeze, and as though his philosophical thoughts were contained in those germs which fled from his body, he ceased questioning his world and went on with his life.

``Melinda!" Fazo exclaimed. ``It's so nice to finally meet you!" He gave her a warm hug and took a few steps back to take a good look at her.

``What are you checking her out or something?" Laigo whispered into Fazo's ear.

``No, no," he replied.

``So much has been said about the great Fazo! It's an honour to finally meet you," Melinda said. Fazo blushed. ``Well, he told me you were talkative, how come you're so quiet now?"

``I don't know, it's not that important, I just wished that I could somehow have been prepared for this..."

``What do you mean?" she asked looking at a bewildered Fazo.

``It's just that you are so much more beautiful than I had expected. Laigo had told me but, you just...." he actually gasped as he took another extended look at her face. ``She's not about to stop traffic, but... but those high cheekbones and perfectly chiselled features. That small nose and those fine lips just complete it!" Rather than remain in awe at her beauty forever, Fazo snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Laigo's voice.

``She doesn't usually wear her hair in a bun."

``No, I don't. It was getting in the way."

``Believe me, you can get away with it!" Her flatterer gave her an extended kiss. Fazo turned away to look for a cab.

``Do you want to see the sights?" Fazo asked after settling them into his guest room.

``Of Katuria? No, not really. We figured we'd just spend some time with you." Laigo never pretended to be a tourist.

``That sounds good. So, Melinda..." She sat their silently, somewhat antisocially, not seeming too interested in what either of them were saying. ``Do you have any one thing that you want to know about Laigo that I can tell you? Anything that only he and I would know and that he hasn't told you yet?"

``Ummm," she smiled softly. ``Not really."

``Well, then," Fazo felt at a loss for something to say. ``Has he ever told you about the time he almost started a war."

``No!"

``Seventeen or eighteen years old."

``Nineteen," Laigo interrupted.

``Anyhow," Fazo let a premature laugh escape. ``Laigo's in a Binnonese monarchy, what was it called Simpalah?" Laigo nodded. ``So they, his grandfather and his father, mother and he are invited to a reception by the King of Simpalah."

``What did he do, embarass them by eating the King's food."

``Worse," Fazo could not contain his hysteria, ``he took the King's..." Another fit of laughter.

``What?" She pleaded.

``What do you think?" Fazo asked Melinda. ``Chair! The throne!"

She yawned and sat back in her chair, ``That's funny."

Thoroughly disappointed with her response, Fazo excused himself politely and made his way to the phone. ``Hi, Kirin? Fazo here."

``Oh, hi, Fazo! What a pleasant surprise! I was just thinking about you."

``Well think no longer and get over here, I have some friends I'd like you to meet..."

``Your wish is my- ``

He stopped her short, ``I'll see you soon!"

``Bye," she said suggestively, warming Fazo's heart with her eagerness. If he wasn't going to die of anticipation, listening to Melinda would certainly do it. He could not see what Laigo saw in her, and yet his eyes could see what Laigo's eyes saw when he looked at her. She seemed so reluctant to meet him, Fazo thought. He had imagined that she would be very friendly and extra special to him because she knows that he has Laigo's ear; but, instead it was as though she really didn't care. ``Maybe she's just tired," he thought.

He looked back at his friend and saw that they had snuggled up on his couch with their backs to him. He tiptoed around the room and peered over at them so as to not disturb them. As it turns out, they were so deeply engaged in their kissing that they wouldn't have noticed if he left. He went back to the kitchen and waited for them to stop but they just seemed to want to go on and on. After a long journey, cramped up in the plane, it was nice for them to be able to stretch out a bit. A few more minutes passed as Fazo read the newspaper in the kitchen when he heard a car door slam. He went out to the sitting room and saw that Melinda and Laigo were even more conjugal than before. He glanced over at the front door which was ajar and gasped. Before he could do anything, Kirin walked up and slowly pushed the door open. Before her eyes was a very guilty looking Fazo standing in the doorway of his kitchen with a ``What was I supposed to do?" expression on his face in reference to a couple who were making out on his couch.

``Uh," she said quietly.

``Just come into the kitchen, they, they just need some time alone." He sat her down, poured her a soda and started talking to her about what he had read in the international papers. She seemed disinterested.

``Fazo, I don't really feel like discussing politics right now."

``What is it that you want to do?" he asked. Subtly her eyes wandered away from his and in the general direction of the couch and then rolled upwards so as to suggest upstairs. Fazo knew that the kitchen table did not seem very appealing, so he led her upstairs and shut off the lights in the sitting room.

``That's better!" she said, as she plopped down in his chair. ``You know Fazo, what I like most about you is that you're really up front."

``You haven't known me that long, Kirin," he said as he sat down on his bed.

``Long enough to know that your sweet and sensitive, and not much for taking hints."

``I understood what you said downstairs, with your eyes," he said, defending himself.

``So..." she got up and stood a few centimetres away from him. He took her hands in his and pulled her down. She fell into his lap like a magnet onto a fridge door. He moved his legs apart so as to better distribute her weight and then suddenly opened t