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Silas Coutarc sat behind the table as the halogen light thrummed down in waves that were

simultaneously particles. The halogen gave his flesh and the flesh of his assistant a greenish cast. Silas

was reading through the stack of note cards for the interviews. The questions were simultaneously

banal and uncomfortably personal. They would be at it all day if they werent supremely lucky, and the

thought made Silas want to fold into himself and escape into singularity. Hed been doing this for too

long.

Looking at Silas it was easy to tell. He was overweight and had a magnificent paunch that seemed to

begin just below his breastbone and continued to protrude and undulate below the belt-line. It was

contained neither by the efforts of his shirt, nor by his pants alone. Only acting in tandem could they

hope to stem the tide that was the corpulent magnificence of Silas Coutarcs gut.

Silass physical shell mirrored his professional condition; bloated, tired, worn out and ready to quit. This

was the result of a football injury in college that left him unable to stand for long periods of time much

less run and exercise. As his body grew larger he found his professional horizons shrink at an inversely

proportionate rate as if by some dark alchemical blending of the mystics and economists.

Beth, bringin the next applicant. Silas said to his assistant.

Beth was middle-aged and she bore the mark common to most women of that epoch, having what is

widely regarded as a hair-helmet. This was as impervious as anything Silas could throw at it, but it made

it incredibly difficult for Beth to move her head. As a result she was precluded from all neck movement

of more than a few degrees to any one side. She nodded vaguely, causing her paisley print dress with

the extra shoulder padding to move as one mass of neoprene upon her body.

She got up and opened the door, calling the next name on the list. Silas watched her move with the

detached amusement that came with excessive familiarity. She had a huge ass, and one night of intensedrinking after hours had allowed him to see that it in a carnal misstep that spoke to excessive familiarity

and the tortuous nature of growing old.

Silas wasnt a young man anymore. Sometimes he had to take what he could get, and hope that in the

morning the shower would be hot enough to burn the headache away. Afterwards he was wont to

comb over his increasing baldness in a lame attempt to cover it. Pretty soon hed be the guy with the

obvious comb-over, the one everyone assumes has no access to a mirror or a proper sense of proportion

and/or reality. Ultimately not the fate he would have picked for himself, as a younger man.

A young woman walked in and sat down in a single chair carefully positioned in the center of the room

approximately five paces from the table from which behind sat Silas and Beth. She was dressed likePrincess Leia in a chain-mail bikini and had the body to pull it off. Silas was pleased as far as that went,

and unconsciously straightened the comb-over.

Would you like a glass of water before we start? Silas asked the young woman, whose name

happened to also be Beth. Silas immediately tacked the number 2 to the end of her resume with ball-

point pen.

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No thank you.

Good. That had been a part of the test. Shed passed the first hurdle, always be hydrated. Only ninety

nine more to go. Silass smile was thin across his teeth.

After Beth2 came Sandra the Gypsy. Or she claimed to be a Gypsy. As far as Silas was concerned, she

looked like a bag-lady. The womans skin had all the suppleness of an old riding saddle the fact that it

was about the same color was purely coincidental. When she smiled her skin seemed to be on a slight

delay folding and unfolding just a little too slowly for comfort. She was a nice enough lady, even if her

hair looked like shed just been chewing on a power line but she had hardly the look his company was

prepared to use. He asked her a few cursory questions and sent her on her way.

And after Sandra there came Ted, (not Theodore, he insisted just Ted) dressed like some kind of giant

fucking turtle from an old cartoon show. Halfway through the scheduled interview, Silas made the

mistake of asking Ted to give them an example of an attention grab. Ted grinned, stood up, drew a pairof nunchucks and promptly proceeded to hit himself in the testicles. Silas was worried that Ted was

going to vomit on the office rug. He didnt.

And post Ted the Turtle there was Samantha-Jane who dressed up like Daisy Duke and did NOT have the

body for it. As she walked in her undulations provoked sympathetic ripples across Silass swollen front

half. She was sweet and intelligent, but lacked the level of minimum physical appeal spelled out in the

company guidelines. Silas let the interview run long, attracting venomous glances from Beth1 and

when it was over he told her hed be in touch. He was lying, and knew that she probably understood

that. He gave her a sympathetic nod and she sighed as she got up and waddled back out of the office.

Silas sat back in his chair and looked at the cork-tile ceiling. This was his chair; hed bought it six months

ago. It was black like the others, but it was a bit wider being the Executive model. It had taken some

time to get used to after so many years of spine-crushing mediocrity, but it was well broken in now, and

handled his bulk better than the cheap warehouse chairs the company provided. It gave him a sense of

ownership and permanence in what had otherwise been a transient career through the annals of human

resource management.

There was also the issue of the lower back support. Silas sometimes wished he was a woman, as a

breast reduction was significantly cheaper than a hemisphere reduction, considering the labor involved

and the temporary storage required. He turned and looked at Beth1.

Beth1 had gotten some work done several years backshed talked about the bags of bloody human

lard shed accidentally happened upon while looking for the bathroom. Silas pictured piles of Ziploc

bags filled with human lard.

He shuddered.

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When the door opened again a hobo staggered in, and for ten minutes Silas and Beth were unsure if he

was presenting himself as a job-candidate or a reason to call the police. They finally decided on the

latter, when he dropped his brown bag full of a bottle ofJesus Juice. He drew a Swiss Army knife that

had glinted brokenly between the tarnish with the promise of tetanus shots and hepatitis from the

inside of one of his many, many coats. He was long gone, having wandered away after a quick thinking

Silas handed him a few pieces of candy from the bowl on the table, when a squad car arrived to make its

lazy circle around the compound and then drove off at incredibly high speed.

The last person walked in and was so unworthy of note that he or she will be left to the readers

imagination.

It had taken about five hours to get through six people and Silas felt his stomach begin to rumble in that

special way that told him in about five minutes he would have to devote his immediate efforts to the

massive shit that was currently clawing its way through his bowels seeking the bright light at the end of

his colorectal tunnel.

Beth was aware, of course. She turned at the waist and looked at him, careful to not move her neck.

No, never the neck.

Go ahead, Ill take care of the next one. If it was the first thing shed said all day, Silas wouldnt have

been surprised.

Beth was terrible at interviewing. She lacked rapport, basic human connectivity between persons. She

had the habit of mimicking the speech patterns and behaviors of television prosecutors she watched on

television late at night, surrounded by a hundred cats Silas imagined. She would pace behind the

applicant, assertively to aggressively question their intentions to work for the company, and finally send

the applicant off with a defeated and a guilty lump in his or her stomach.

No matter. Business was business, but a spastic colon waited for no man. Silas got up with a word of

thanks and began to hurriedly walk to the door; he made no eye contact with the applicants. The

bathroom was just down the hall and Silas felt the cramps begin to come on.

Just a bit farther now. His left hand was balled tightly into a fist and he held on the wall with his right as

he nearly doubled over. Jesus this was bad. One leg in front of the other, Sly. Lets go.

The toilet always provided room for reflection. How many tomorrows had he ridden through on the

porcelain pony? How many lives had he lived and how many people had he imagined he was to become

someday. Someday. That ephemeral dawn that never rose when all things would be put in order, allaccounts settled, and the life hed wanted to lead would stretch out before him shining in the suns of a

hundred thousand tomorrows. Oh shit.

Oh shit. Steady. Breathe. Here it comes, Sly. Here it comes. Just. Grit your teeth.

And push. Hard

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--

When he got back to the interview room he noted that half an hour had elapsed. That was not good.

He should have followed his doctors orders.

He also noted that Beth was missing. This was also not good. He swore under his breath and used a still

moist hand to straighten the combed over top of his plate. The flesh of his hand was cool against his

forehead, and he wondered if he was coming down with something. More fiber. That was it.

He sat down in his office chair.

He winced and settled.

The lights flickered.

And again.

Silas sat for a moment more.

He shuffled his interview question cards.

He tugged at his necktie out of habit.

And then he called in the next applicant himself.

The lights flickered again

the door opened, and on pale sneakers, in stepped Death.

Silas shuffled the cards and marveled at how well this young man (or woman, couldnt tell under the

black cloak) managed to make the most out of a black robe (was it terrycloth?) and some white face

paint. This applicant looked almost exactly like the guy from that Ingmar Bergman picture.

Would you like something to drink, Misterrrrrr? He decided to go out on a limb.

No thank you, Mr. Coutarc.

Silas breathed a sigh of relief. It was a masculine voice that issued from between those painted lips.

And then he straightened. Oh, you know who I am, done your homework. Very impressive. He

checked a box on the form.

Always. Death said.

Why dont you take a seat? Silas motioned to the seat still carefully positioned.

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I cantsit.

Silas looked up, confusion that flowed into annoyance plain on his face. Suit yourself.

I tend to.

Silas went back to the cards.

So you do understand the position to which you are applying may require some heavy lifting, will

definitely involve constant one on one interaction with the public, and will require you to constantly

remain in character unless there is an emergency?

Theres nothing wrong with remaining in character during an emergency?

Silas stared at Death. In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that somehow this guy was making him

nervous.

Death nodded. I understand.

And you have done this kind of thing before, dress up I mean. For the life of him, Silas couldnt

remember seeing the reaper costume in the waiting room with the other applicants.

Yes.

Silas waited for more forthcoming details. They did not forthcome.

Much customer service experience?

I feel that Ive been helping people all my life. Said Death.Right, right. Silas scribbled gibberish onto the form. High SchoolDiploma?

No.

GED, then? Silas tapped his pencil on the counter. Dont worry, its not a requirement.

Death didnt move. It wasnt just the lack of nervous fidgeting that was normal at any job interview.

There wasnt any respiration visible.

Silas couldnt remember seeing him on the way back in, either. Had he come back in? He must have.

And why do you think that you are well suited to work for our company? Why couldnt he remember

the walk from the bathroom back to the office? It was a well-worn track, not something youd think

about, but to forget.

I dont. The Deathly candidate knocked him out of his reverie.

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Silas began to feel a lump in his throat rise. His palms were moist again, and the cards began to become

pliable and bend easily, taking on darker stains as he shuffled them, searching for something.

Something.

Elaborate.

Im not here for a job, and I think you already knew that.

Silas bit his lip. For the first time he looked down and realized that he was translucent. So were the

cards. Yeah. Im not really here, then?

No.

Where is my body?

In the bathroom.

I died on the can?

Dont worry, no one thought less of Elvis for it.

He was the King. Silas was miserable.

And now hes dead, all the same.

All things?

Turn, turn, turn.

So I guess thats funny for you?

Death cocked his head in his cowl to pantomime a question.

Letting a dead guy wander around, thinking everyones gone to lunch. It sounded flat to Silas. He

didnt really feel resentment, but it was best to keep up appearances. Silas figured he had little else. He

reached up to assure himself that his comb-over hadnt fallen out of place.

Everyone gets a chance to outwit Death once.

So I could have survived? Come back to life, like?

It doesnt happen very often.

No. No, no, no no. It wasnt supposed to end like this. Is this all there is?

Death said nothing.

Is this all we have? Dreams of an unrealized life thats over before it even begins?

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Your life was alwaysyours, Silas.

I cant believe that. I was never even there!

Then who was, Silas?

And Silas didnt say anything. Unrealized. Boy, had he ever said it.

Its time to go.

Best two out of three?

No. Was there a hint of an edge in Deaths Voice? Did Death ever really say a word at all? It was

unreal . A nightmare.

I dont want to go.

It doesnt matter.

And Silas knew that it didnt.