It was an old-fashioned office: a large, windowless room; with maybe two-dozen desks arranged in rows, all facing the same way. At each desk - heads down and pens scratching - sat a clerk. Occasionally one of the white-shirted workers would pause and look up, blank-faced, at the clock on the wall. Then they would lower their head and return to their task.
"That is where you will work," the Head Clerk intoned. He pointed towards a desk that was halfway down one of the rows. A cream-coloured blotter had been placed in the centre of the leather desktop; a single empty chair stood beside it.
Mr Smith stared at the desk. "Is that - ?" he began, but the Head Clerk silenced him.
"Talking is not permitted during working hours, except to answer direct questions from senior members of staff. Fraternisation with your colleagues is ... not encouraged. Do you understand?" The Head Clerk stared at Mr Smith. "You may speak."
"I do. But - ."
"No questions," the Head Clerk snapped back. "Questions are not permitted." His expression relaxed somewhat. "Now, do you have any questions?"
Mr Smith swallowed, trying to force the taste of fear back into his stomach. "What if I need something?"
"Everything will be provided." The Head Clerk's reply had an air of finality about it. "Everything that you need will be provided. Now, follow me."
Mr Smith did as he was told, following the Head Clerk between the desks to the one that was now his.
"Please, be seated." The Head Clerk pulled out the chair.
Mr Smith did as he was asked.
The Head Clerk put two wire baskets onto the desk; one was full of papers, the other empty. On the blotter he put a dip pen and an inkwell. "This is an easy job. It is one that we give all our new arrivals. You will sort these forms in accordance with the instructions provided. I will check on your progress later." And, with that, the Head Clerk walked away to take up his position at the front of the room.
Mr Smith picked up the first form and turned it over. There was a serial number in the top left-hand corner: JDS #000001. Mr Smith took the pen and scanned over the first paragraph. 'Subject committed first sin when ... .' Mr Smith blushed as long-buried memories surfaced in his mind. "It wasn't like that," he muttered.
"Silence!" The Head Clerk's voice thundered across the office.
Mr Smith picked up the next form. JDS #000002. As he read through it, another humiliating memory came to him. Quickly, Mr Smith pulled a form at random from the basket. This one was worse. As he read, tears of shame and regret welled up and rolled down Mr Smith's cheeks. Without thinking, he wiped the eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. Embarrassed at the show of emotion, he glanced around to see if any of the others had noticed. But all their faces were turned from his.
