Read Online I Am an Executioner by Rajesh Parameswaran - Free Book Online Page A

secretly monstrous. This morning held a particular distraction: when I arrived at work, R. was already there, cheerfully seated on the floor, scribbling in his tea-stained and stiff-paged notebook. The shirt he wore was threadbare, long faded of any decipherable color. He’d pushed his sleeves past his elbows, but when he rose to greet me, they slipped two inches past the tallest of his fingers. On his feet were thin and cracked chappals, and his vaishti was the same one, tea-spattered, that he had worn the previous day.
    His appearance filled me with pity—he must have been poor indeed, and before even seating him, I instructed him on the location of my favorite tailor, and pressed a few annas from my own purse into his hand, telling him it was an allowance provided by the Railway for the outfitting of its employees. Then I showed him to his desk, advised him on the locations of our files, explained the timetables and the receipts. I have a very particular method of organization, which I decribed in no small detail, and he absorbed it all with great equanimity. I directed him on the arrangement and processing of the bags of mail that we were charged with transferring, letters from the people of Rombachinnapattinam to other towns throughout the Madras Presidency, and vice versa. He observed everything closely, and I could already see that he would be an attentive and fastidious clerk to me.
    I then provided him with inkwell and pen, and without delay commenced my first dictation to my superior in Madras:
    “To the Manager of Outbound Trains and Director of Village Personnel, Mr. P. Seshamurthi,
    “Dear Sir,
    “In numerous previous letters I had written to you explaining my urgent need for a personal secretary. As I had told you, I have already set aside money from the budget for this necessary addition to my staff. You, sir, insisted that, after reviewing available applications, no suitable candidate could be found. Because no suitable candidate could be found, you advised me to give up on the idea of having my own clerical assistant. You explained that all other village managers were making do without a personal secretary. Of course, you made the mistake of thinking Rombachinnapattinam a ‘village,’ whereas it should more properly be called as a ‘town,’ but leave it. You also urged me to return the funds to the general budget from which I had removed them.
    “I am now happy to report to you that our trouble has been resolved. Just yesterday, the young man penning this very letter walked into my office and presented to me his curriculum vitae. His credentials are impeccable. He has held numerous high-level secretarial clerkships.” Here, I paused to exchange a wink with R., but R., thoughtfully engaged with his work, did not even look up. While writing this letter, R. had shed the previous day’s frantic energy, and was applying himself with transporting calm. “Moreover,” I continued, “his diction is superb, his manner refined, his appearance meticulous.” I continued in this vein for some time, heaping praise upon my new hire.
    “In conclusion,” I said, “I very much look forward to seeing you on the occasion of my engagement to your niece some weeks hence. Until then, I remain your humble servant,” & c. Upon concluding, I asked R. to show me the finished letter.
    R. rose and placed the piece of paper in my outstretched palm, and I observed that the first page was beautiful: he had written precisely what I had said, and with an elegant and flowing hand.
    But at the top of the second page, the handwriting became jagged and uneven. Then the line broke in mid-sentence, and the rest of the page was filled with—how shall I describe it?—bizarre and outlandish marks that fell upon my eyes with a certain kind of violence. The bulk of the page was entirely covered like this. For a moment I panicked, worried that my vision and focus might suddenly have left me; I rubbed my eyes and blinked, and strained