Verhovayak Lapja, 1944 (27. évfolyam, 1-52. szám)
1944 / Verhovay Journal
Fage 8__________________________Verhovay Journal_____________________September 28,1944 Oh Branch Manager How Joyous Is Thy Life! What’s ’ this going to be? A short-short story? An article? An essay? After all, I realize the reader should be informed of what’s what before I expect him to read my stuff! Well, let me see... It can’t be a short story, for a short story should have some romance or action in it... it should contain love ... or a good murder... or at least a little piece of goodnatured robbery. No, this is not a shortshort story because there is going to be no romance in it and the action will be all but dramatic. There will be no robbery either, though it will be mentioned but that is all by mistake, see? But it can’t be an article either.. . there are too many articles in this issue and besides, who cares to read an article in these hustling times? Perhaps ... it is an essay in short-short story form ... or a short-short story with an article in it.., sort of a short-storicized article ... Oh, well, read it and find out for yourself. .. * * * Anyhow, it is all about a Branch-Manager. Not a very romantic figure, I admit. Should have chosen a film-star or a gangster, anyhow. Or at least a newspaper man or a bandleader. They are the popular stuff nowadays. Who cares for the average individual? Or why don’t I write a story about a soldier? Yes, indeed, there is a theme filled with drama, emotions, tensions, a theme that could be developed with laughs and tears through a terrific suspense to an either tragic or happy conclusion. Why, but why don’t I write about a soldier? Why has a branch-manager caught my fancy, of all things? Truthfully, there must be some assimilation of ideas behind this play of fancy. For the branch-manager—let’s eall him manager for short—felt like a soldier before battle. Of course, I admit this to be an exaggeration. No home-front on earth has the terror a soldier has to face on the battlefield. Nevertheless we do talk about soldiers on the Home Front, and that is exactly how we felt... a soldier of the Home Front... before battle. He felt that way because he was just about to enter the meeting-hall for the much awaited and much more dreaded monthly meeting. Like a soldier, he lugged all his equipment with him. He had his records, books, slips, money case. He had his rate book, new receipt books and of course, the rubber-stamp! So he too had his gun, his bayonet, and his ammunition on him. All that was missing was a K-ration. After the meeting he was to feel like one who needed it. It was five minutes to 2 PM. With a slight feeling of suspense he opened the door. For many years now he had that feeling whenever he opened that door, for he always expected to find one day ... some day ... a crowd there. But everything was as usual. The room was empty. A few flies buzzed idly around and looked, with appetites developed into ravishing hunger by starvation, at the entering man *who was to supply them with meat and blood for the next few hours. The manager sat down at the table and so did the flies. The manager eyed his books and the flies eyed the manager. Both waited. The door opened and the president of the branch walked in. “Hello,” he said, ’’glad to see you here.” “So am I”—said the manager —“we have some problems to deal with today and I certainly hoped you would be here ...” ’“Well, you see”—the president was troubled—'T can’t stay long today. Just a few minutes to see that everything is allright. My victory garden is a mess. All week I have been working and now I simply must start on those weeds .. .” “I see . ..”—said the manager with an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, you will do allright!”— comforted him the president with a genial smile—“with your experience!” With that he went downstairs to attend to important business. A woman came in. The ageless symbol of the working woman. She may have been thirty, forty or fifty. The manager knew, but you wouldn’t. An ever angry, uncommunicative person who stopped tight-lipped in front of the manager’s desk. “How are you, Mrs. Molnár?” —asked the manager with the biggest smile he had in store for special occasions. ‘ O. K.”—said the woman and* dropped her books on the table. The manager’s smile fell flat. He opened his records and got busy with her books. The flies got busy with his neck. He had a lovely neck. A fresh haircut laid it bare and the flies dug hungrily into the luscious meat. The manager shook his head to chase the flies away. The flies stayed but the woman misunderstood the gesture. “Whatsamatter?”—she asked with a rising temper—“my books are all OK, and paid up to date, what are you shaking your head for?” “Excuse me”—said the manager meekly—“it is the beastly flies—of course your books are in order.” The woman grunted and dropped the money on the table. The manager reached for it and then saw it was a fifty dollar bill. He stopped short. After all, no one can expect him to change a fifty at the beginning of the day. He started to ask her to wait for a while, but looking up at her face he knew better. Hastily he pulled out his wallet and gave her the change. She left without a word. The flies did not. Bitterly the mangaer looked after her. '‘Here I am again”— he complained to himself—“mixing my own money with that of the branch and by the end of the day I won’t know where my head is.” They started coming now by fives and tens. Soon a line was waiting and the manager tried his best to serve everyone at the same time. One lady stopped after putting her books down and gave him the smile the first woman forgot to . return and asked: “How is your wife?” “Thank you,”—said the manager,—“she is fine.” “You know”—said the woman —“I dreamed about her last night.” “Indeed?”—said the manager and looked restlessly at the line. “Yes”—said the woman—“I saw a big cow grazing in your back yard ., '‘There is no grass in my back yard.”—interrupted the manager. “But there was in my dream” —she insisted—“and then suddenly your wife came out and....” “Hey, Joe, what’s the matter with you”—yelled someone from the end of the line—“can’t you see we are waiting? We can’t stand here all afternoon! Have your discussion after the meeting!” Manager Joe started to sweat and the woman looked indignantly at him, expecting him to reprove the impatient member but he could not do it. '“Tell me all about it tonight, will you?”— he said—“you see this is a busy time now.” “Allrightf”—said the woman angrily and snapped her purse closed—“if one can’t even be a little sociable then why come to meetings?” With that she cast a punishing glance around her and walked out. Miserably he stared after her but the next customer woke him up fast. “Look here, manager”—he threw his book before him— '‘there is something wrong. You have credited me with one month less than I paid. You put me one month behind.” The large hall echoed his belligerent words. In the rear some people looked at one another significantly. Their eyes re-echoed the message: “Something wrong... something wrong..,” The manager looked through the worn pages of the receiptbook.* ’’There is nothing wrong” —he said—“you are one month behind.” “No sir, I am not”—the man was really angry now—“and I will not let you cheat me out of a month’s dues, understand!” “Nobody is trying to cheat you out of anything”—said the manager trembling in a. blind rage but suppressing his urge to slap the other man’s face—“and you better change your tone because I am not used to being talked to like that. And finally let me tell you that all your payments have been entered and you are still one month in arrears because sometime in the past you must have missed a month.” “I never missed a month”— roared the man—“and I insist that you look through your records and correct your error.” People who had already started to enjoy the show, got restless again as the manager painstakingly went through the records, month by month, year by year. Finally he stopped: “My dear sir”—he said—‘in May, 1940, you did not pay your dues and ever since you were one month in arrears.” “Well”—said the man and hit the table with his fist—“let me tell you that I paid the dues then, too, but you did not enter them in the book ...” “Is that so?”—said the manager and got on his feet and with a powerful swipe of his hand killed—no, not the- man, but that beastly fly that bothered him throughout the discussion. It certainly sounded as if he had slapped the man and the man looked it, too. “Hey, hey”—yelled someone at the end of the line who could not see what was going on and had to rely on his ears—“take it easy you fellows.” “What is the matter here?”— a voice with authority came from the door. It was the president who rushed upstairs when he heard the roar. The man next to the door hurried to explain that the manager and the member had a disagreement and the manager slapped the man. The president hurried to the desk. “For God’s sake, men, you can’t do that!” “Do what?”—asked the excited member and the even more excited manager. The President was somewhat reduced seeing there was no fight and asked what the fuss was about. The indignant member spoke up. “The manager says that in May, 1940, I did not pay my dues. I insist I did.” The president caught on. “Well, brother” —he said good-naturedly,—“if you did, why did you not complain in June, 1940, that your payment had not been entered ... it is a rather belated complaint, you know?” The man, seeing there were two against him, was suddenly quiet. He grabbed his books and left without paying, numbling something about a pack of robbers .. .Two women in the middle of the line whispered. “Nevertheless”—“said one to the other —“it is better to watch this man that he enters the payments properly ...” For a while everything went smoothly. People came, paid and went. Then there was another interruption. A woman. She put one book down, that oá her husband’s and started to pay his dues. The manager entered the payment and asked: “What about yours and your children’s dues?” “I am dropping the insurance” —she said morosely. “Why?”—the manager asked, at the same time dreading another argument. “Because I pay and pay and pay and never get anything out of it.”—she replied in what she believed to be a sensible way. “Come on, come on”—said the next customer—“I am in a hurry.” “Look here”—said the manager to the woman—“we can’t talk now, but I would like to come over to your place after the meeting to talk this over with you.” “You may come”—she said— “but it’s no use. I am dropping the insurance.” She left. Well, at last it was over. Some hundred people came and paid for some three hundred members. It was time for the meeting. There were ten people seated in the hall. The President was absent. He had done his good deed for the day and took the first opportunity for a reunion with his Victory Garden. The manager opened the meeting and could not suppress a complaint that so many people ignored his announcement in the Journal that important subjects were to be discussed. The secretary read the minutes and then the manager came to the point. “Dear Co-membera, we have been requested, according to the letter I am going to read to you, that we create a fund for the assistance of our starving people in Europe. I ask your full attention and request that you make your suggestions after hearing the contents of this letter.” The members listened and he read. The flies had another good chance for a meal. They made the most of it. The manager finished the letter and tried to hit a bothersome fly. But he missed. The fly flew away and his nose did not. It remained i« the way of his fist and he hit it hard. With that he sat down. A strange silence filled the room. All the members present seemed to meditate upon the fate of bothersome flies and nose9 that have a way of either being bitten or hit. No one stirred. The tired manager rose again. “You heard the letter. Surely you have something to say. Mr. Toth, please express your opinion.” The member rose with reluctance. He stared at the other members and finally launched upon a speech. He reiterated the words of the manager, then he repeated the contents of the letter. Finally he agreed that something should be done, but concluded with saying: “We are only a few members present. So few people cannot decide such an important matter. I believe we should wait for the next meeting.” “I second the motion”—said a member, who faithfully attended every meeting and whose sole contribution at every meeting was that he seconded each and every motion. The manager rose. “Men”— he said—“you know as well as I do, that at our next meeting we shall have just as few members present as we have now. If we who have some interest in the matters pertaining to the branch, cannot decide no one will. As chairman I cannot make a motion but I suggest that you make a constructive suggestion.” A member got up and said: 'T realize the importance of the suggestion contained in the letter. But it is too late today. We have no time to discuss the matter. I move that the meeting be adjourned.” “I second the motion”—said the seconder. With sorrowful eyes the manager looked at them. They were just like children trying to get out of the obligation of mowing the lawn. “Please, men”—he begged—“can’t you at least vote a donation for that fund? Must we stay behind the rest of the branches? Shall we always let other branches beat us whenever it comes to doing something worthwhile?” At last a lady got up and said: “It is really a shame that a woman has to make a motion. I move that ten dollars be set aside for this purpose.” She said it as if she had said a thousand dollars. “I second the motion”—said the seconder. The motion was carried and since the seconder again seconded the motion that the meeting be adjourned, it was adjourned and the manager packed his things to visit the lady who was going to drop thai insurance... WHERE THE FUEL GOES IS A’ HEAVY BOMBER cruising ■u*-.***. — • ■ i at a speed of 250 m.p.h. mayuse 200 gallons of gasoline in' one hour.
