Waiting for Rain
“And here,” she is saying, “you’ve sub-totalled again. And here - and here.” She says in a voice like honey: “Why do you keep sub-totalling, Greta?”
It is only with great effort that Greta can get herself to speak. “I must have made some mistakes,” she says indifferently.
The supervisor looks at her long and hard. Her mouth is set and there is a dangerous gleam in her eye. “Well, try to be more careful,” she says at last. Her stilettos stab the floor as she struts away.
Down in the canteen one of the girls is crying and crying, while a friend puts an arm round her and smokes a cigarette. Her sobs travel down the tables; people glance over curiously. The crying goes on and on, all the time Greta is drinking her coffee.
She sees that she cannot do even this most basic of jobs properly. She knows that she is making mistakes all the time, cheating customers, robbing the store. Besides, every moment is torture. Her dreams are filled with numbers, lists of prices, endless sub-totals.
Moreover she has discovered another curious and alarming fact. Although she should now be managing to keep her finances on the level, it appears that the money in her account is dropping faster than ever. Increase of income brings increase of expenditure. The earnings from the supermarket are actually having a negative effect. She begins to realise, with creeping horror, that she is caught in a spiral from which there is no escape.
The girl in the blue uniform is still sobbing. Greta decides that she must quit her job.
Cracks are appearing in the square around the cenotaph; it is forbidden to water the withering roses. Air shimmers like cellophane over by the taxi stand where the Asian drivers linger and peel off, one at a time, in their shabby Toyotas. It could be Athens, Cairo, Delhi. It could be a desert shanty. The whole town could be a mirage and be gone tomorrow. It quivers on the edge of crisis, like a mirage.
Now people queue as a form of prayer, with buckets, at standpipes, at supermarket checkouts. (The price of bottled water has doubled.) They believe that if they queue patiently and in an orderly fashion nothing bad can happen to them. It reminds older people comfortingly of the war.
Every household has received a Government leaflet: Save and Survive: Getting through the Drought. On the front are two hands cupped protectively around a drop of water. Of course there is nothing sinister behind the absence of rain. Of course it will rain before long - but meanwhile, follow these simple rules…
The rules are repeated on posters and billboards all over the town. It really does remind one of a war.
When he hears that she is leaving, her friend the troglodyte is genuinely sorry. He wants to know what she will do and where she is going. Greta, fearing his motives, is guarded and obscure. She smiles cheerfully as she says good bye.
Two minutes later he is back with a bunch of flowers (they sell them from a bucket by the door). He thrusts them into her hand and, before she can speak, kisses her. His hair, waxy and unwashed, rubs against her cheek, and his stink is enveloping. The next moment he is gone.
Greta stares at her browning chrysanthemums, at once flattered and appalled.
“Do you know that man?” the supervisor asks.
Greta looks at her in bewilderment. She is not sure whether to answer yes or no.
