This is an excerpt from a short, spoofish novel titled Dra--- after its mousy, befuddled chief character. In the course of the narrative, which deploys a strange world of odorous, labyrinth hallways, malformed telephones and toilets, indoor airplanes and oddball militaristic characters, Dra--- searches for the thing that will give her the most comfort in life--solid, dependable employment. Yet the desire closest to her heart is to find solace from the mysterious Nurse, a woman who unfortunately is a bit on the stern side. Dra--- eventually finds a substitute for the Nurse in her job administrator, and finally begins to learn the answers to such questions as, "How are people able to fit together, and stay together, or even speak?"
from DRA
Nervously she steered from the elevator and moved toward a single, narrow doorway at
the base of a sheer wall, shrouded in steam. Moving closer, she made out a faded sign
above the door advertising a chiropractic. Peering in, she saw a secretary in a chair behind
a typewriter, wearing a sleeveless blouse. Encouraged greatly by this sight, she entered
the office and abruptly asked the secretary where the Administrator could be found.
The secretary, turning in her chair, replied evenly, "This entire building is vacant, I'm the
only one here and I like it that way, I get so much done. Don't ask me where everyone has
gone. I believe there's a man upstairs, but beyond that, no one's here. Would your
Administrator be that man? Generally, he carries a poker. Everyone loves him dearly. If
that man is not your Administrator, I can't help you."
"My Administrator is not a man," she replied with great hostility, and the secretary stared,
then folded her hands and said, "Let me tell you a little story," proceeding to relay a quick
fable about a bland young girl who once needed, in no uncertain terms, intimate guidance
from an older woman and never received it, though once the needful period had passed,
the girl did receive it, albeit in dreadful proportions.
At the story's end, Dra--- wept for a few moments then said, "I just want to settle
everything and begin my new job, that's all...I need to find my Administrator, then all this
will be over. I'm so exhausted that my head hurts and I think I might get sick!"
"Of course you will get sick," the secretary quipped; "everyone does." She stowed a set
of thimbles into a drawer. "--Usually from viruses that drag us far into death. Isn't' it true
that those illnesses are a kind of showcase for little bugs who are so much hardier that we
are?"
Too taken up to comprehend this, Dra--- offered, "I can't work without meeting my
Administrator; she'll help me get started; otherwise, how will I get along?"
The secretary gave forth a great honking laugh. "You mean to tell me you can't get to
work without your Administrator taking you by the hand like a little pet monkey she's
about to cane?"
"I don't know--" she answered, face blazing, ashamed.
"Don't tell me, honey," the woman said. "This is sad, it's a sad comment on the state of
the world. You shouldn't be allowed to put off working...."
She reached into the desk to retrieve a soft metal cup, its side imprinted with the name of
a nation long gone, and Dra--- emitted a shaky sigh.
"Headaches--of course you would have headaches. Everyone knows headaches are
caused by the people we know, whether those people are present or absent. " The
secretary handed over the cup, now filled with water, along with a second, larger cup
filled with a turgid white liquid familiar to Dra---, traditionally meant to encourage a
bowel movement, though it was also said to calm the nerves while at the same time
increasing thirst agonizingly.
Arms crossed, the secretary watched as Dra--- drank everything down. Bringing the
second cup to her lips a moment before squeezing her eyes shut in revulsion and pouring
the substance inside her, she noticed a small telephone attached to the wall.
She finished the drink, gagging, replacing the empty cup on the table, watching the
secretary swipe it away, she again directed her eyes to the phone, beginning to weep with
both the desire to use it and fear of asking the secretary's permission to do so. But after
some moments, she resolved to ask, propelled both by urgency to reach the Nurse and by
the fundamental human need to make a successful phone connection, something she had
done so few times in her life.
The secretary, squinting, muttering, now had set an entire array of cups on the table, each
smaller than the last, and was spitting into a rag, cleaning them. Dra--- gestured for her
attention, indicating silently toward the phone and its shiny metallic receiver, no bigger
than a hook, really. She began to cry more noisily, chiefly as a contrivance to gain
permission to use the phone, but also because she was genuinely shaken, she realized, by
her own terrible lateness for work, by missing her Administrator, and by the disorienting,
tiny shape of the phone.
"What the hell is the matter?" the secretary asked, setting the cups down, stepping closer
on her high, wooden shoes. She reached for the eyeglasses on a cord around her neck
staring archly. "Your problem is that you don't keep busy enough. You don't have
interests. Don't I have my silverware and my little figurines? Having interests whiles
away the time, you see."
Daunted, she grinned meagerly at the secretary.
"Why do you smile at me?" the secretary said. "Smiling is for dogs. In ancient times, it
signified deference amongst them; things haven't changed much, have they?" She smirked.
"Why must you see this nurse? Can't it wait? Is it stomach troubles?"
"Yes, it might be."
"Do you have to go to the hospital?"
"Why yes, maybe," she replied, though she had not considered this before; however, it
sounded appealing.
Copyright © Stacey Levine 1995
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