Horizontal Woman

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Authors: Barry Malzberg
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    “That’s an interesting question,” Grey says. He begins to rub his hands once more, his eyes dancing up and down the procedures. “That is a very interesting question. Would anybody have any answers?”
    “My worker has been with us less than six months,” Mr. Oved says, not standing. “She doesn’t understand departmental procedures too well as of yet. She’ll learn.”
    “Well,” Grey says, “of course. Of course that’s true, still our, uh, new workers often can give us a fresh insight into our problems. I’d say that the answer to those questions young lady will be found right in the procedures. Wouldn’t you think so?”
    “I don’t know. I haven’t read them.”
    “Well, then that’s the answer. You’ll find that the procedure contains a complete explanation of possible complications,” Grey says happily and bounces away from the desk, merges into one of the doorways and nods to them from there. “I have to hit several other offices in Brooklyn,” he says, “to go into this procedure with them as I have with you. I’d love to stay and discuss this further but we’ll have to adjourn.
    “Adjourn,” the administrator, a stolid, heavy woman in a flowered dress says, standing from the front row and clapping her hands. “Meeting is adjourned. Clerks to the phones, please. Workers back to your case units. Intake, find out who’s been waiting downstairs the longest and get those clients in touch with the case unit immediately.” She moves away slowly, staggering back toward her office and Elizabeth, stretching, finds that the two middle-aged men — they are really quite indistinguishable, one might be fifty and the other forty, one might have a brown suit and the other a blue one but they have been in the case unit together for two months for reasons, they have said, of business failure — are nudging her and looking at her with triumphant grins. “That’s putting it to them,” one of them says, “that shows them.”
    “Shows them what?” Elizabeth says with some confusion.
    “Shows them what fools they are, of course!” the other one says and nudges her harder, nothing sexual in the touch but it suddenly irritates her. “Rehabilitation! Diagnosis! This department is full of craziness. It’s going to be this way until the day they die and they won’t even admit to it. But you showed them.”
    “But I meant it,” Elizabeth says, “it was a serious question. I think that diagnosis and rehabilitation is a very good idea, it’s the only way to solve the problem of social decompensation; I’m just worried about the attendant problems as a rise in socioeconomic status is not accompanied by one in the lifestyle. That’s what I wanted to ask,” she says and swings ahead of them, trying to put them out of her mind, noting that they are looking at her strangely and beginning to mutter between themselves but she can barely be concerned with this, so much is she occupied with the news of the new procedure (which so well dovetails with her own recent thought and experience as to be astonishing; the department and she are really as one) and the events of the past couple of days.
    Oved is already waiting for her at his desk; he has many things he wants to discuss he says “and diagnosis and rehabilitation are none of them; you put that bullshit out of your mind, Miss Moore, because as long as you and I are here it’s going to be a matter of getting out a good W664 and W532, you listen to me, Miss Moore” but before he can get fully launched the unit clerk says that she has a call for her, her caseload number,
340P
and Elizabeth, nodding in a conciliating way at Oved — he is a frustrated man, after all; she must have some tolerance for his projectivity — picks up the phone and finds Willie Buckingham on the other end.
    “I got to see you,” he says when she has identified herself, “no, don’t tell me
no
Miss Moore, I got to see you, it’s really important but I can’t

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