This is different from my earlier posts - a (very) short story.
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It's a good job, all things considered.
Not that what I do is what I would call a job, exactly. I wouldn’t even say it’s my work. It’s a way of life, this thing that I do. It’s who I am, what I’m known for. If you’ve heard of me at all, it’s because of what I do. Nobody remembers what it was I did before this. Even I can’t remember, most of the time.
How did it start? To be honest I can’t really remember that either. I suppose there must have been an induction process at some point, setting out the ground rules. This is when you start each day, this is how long it’s supposed to take you, this is what you do when you’ve finished. Annual leave, sick leave, salary, benefits, management. But I’m vague about all that. I always assume that there’s an overall plan somewhere, and that I’m part of it; perhaps a row on someone’s spreadsheet, setting out how I fit into the overall scheme of things. I don’t really think about all that. It’s above my pay grade.
Each day starts the same way. There it is, waiting for me, at the bottom of the hill. It’s always the same boulder, too - I would be really upset if they ever changed it. There’s a particular angle I’ve learned to appreciate, the way that it fits into my shoulder, almost nestles into it, as if the two were designed for one another. It’s like wrestling with a brother, when you’ve grown up having play fights.
Why does it need to be moved up the hill? I suppose because it’s in the way, where it’s lying. You can’t just leave a great boulder lying around like that. It might stop the traffic. Imagine that there was an ambulance that wanted to get through, or a fire engine. Even if they could get round it, it would slow them down. No, to be honest, I’ve never actually seen that happen; but then again, I’ve always been there to make sure that it doesn’t happen. And it’s the sort of thing that could happen, no question. All sorts of bad stuff could happen if you just leave boulders lying around at the bottom of a hill all day. It’s not done, is it?
Always the same route, that long winding path upwards. There are a few places where I’ve learned that you can stop for a break: odd corners, where you couldn’t leave it for good (it would roll down hill pretty quickly), but where you can balance against it safely for a few minutes, take a break, even enjoy the view if it’s a clear day. Smoke a cigarette (though I’m trying to give it up). There are two or three of these regular stopping points, and they break up the day nicely. There’s the sense at the first one that you’re well under way, that you’re getting on top of the day. By the time I get to the second, I feel I’ve broken the back of the task. The third one is a bit of a luxury. If I feel I’m running late then I skip it; so you could say that it’s my reward for a day where I’ve made solid progress. You have to do that, when you don’t really have a visible boss, as such: give yourself these little rewards, little encouragements, to keep yourself up to the mark. Nobody ever called me a slacker: but my secret is in these little moments of rest and recovery.
I sometimes get a bit sentimental, when I get to the very end. There’s a little ledge that I have to get over, before I get to the very top. It takes an extra push to get past it. Sometimes I imagine that I’m newly married, lifting my bride over the threshold of our new home. You could say I’m quite imaginative, really. You get like that when you’re on your own as much as I am. My life is really very full, very much inhabited.
The other side of that ledge there’s a sort of shelf that marks the top of the hill. It’s almost flat, and there’s just about enough room for me and the boulder. I say almost flat, because - of course - you can’t quite balance there. Anything between a few minutes and an hour or so (my personal best), and then you lose balance and it rolls back down the hill again. I used to spend a long time looking for that sweet spot - as I thought of it - where it would just balance for good. There were times when I thought, just another couple of attempts, and then I will master it. After all, there didn’t seem to be any shortage of time for that: no urgency. But now I’m past all that. If I managed to find that point of balance, that what would be the point? The balance of my life would have gone. I would wake up the next morning: and then? They might make me do something else, something far less congenial, something that wasn’t mine in the same way. Nobody would know who I was. Even I wouldn’t know.
All that’s behind me now, and I’ve settled into regular rhythm. Why would I want to do anything different?
You asked me if I was happy. I hadn’t really thought about it before you asked, but now I come to think of it, I’ve got no doubt on the matter.
Yes, you could definitely think of me as a happy man. No question.
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