Living with a Reilly

“…In the spiritual life there is no momentum, you are always at the beginning.”

― Allan W. Anderson

‘Yes….?’

    Reilly rose quickly from a leather office chair and looked up showing expectation. His face was a blank, a new drawn card ready to be turned. In his arm he carried a coat slightly wet from the morning’s rain. Dressed in a cut suit which made his slender posture seem lumpy, Reilly felt misplaced. The wooden floor on which he stood creaked slowly with each step and sounded to Reilly like creeping death.

‘You can see Mister Gibbons now.’ The secretary said plumb, putting emphasis on the last word for reason unclear to Reilly. As he went for the large varnished wooden door, the secretary looked at him from the top of her glasses, her eyes flaring with a glowering scorn. He gave her a shy smile and then a nod, before he hurried across the hall and opened the door. There he entered serenity. Like the quietness before a storm.

    ‘Mr Reilly. Please be seated.’ He was greeted by Mr Gibbon’s hard voice.

    ‘Thank you, Mr Gibbons.’ Reilly took the seat offered to him. Mr Gibbons was holding papers in front of him and their eyes did not meet; Reilly carefully looked around the office, seeing rusty colours and old black and white pictures which spoke of a ruler with little care for taste. Now Reilly turned to look at him obediently. Mr Gibbons was still reading.

    ‘I read in your letter that you are interested in this job, because and I quote:

“I think this job has all the ingredients I am looking for in a job and I believe my skills and insight can be a valuable asset to your company in this function.” Mr Gibbons cited.

    ‘Yes Mr Gibbons, I…’ Reilly started, but was stopped by a hush from the older man behind the desk, his possible employer and benefactor. Mr Gibbons lowered the papers in front of his face and now Reilly could see him clearly. A ponderous and crooked nose stood out a sour grey face. Reilly amazed at the details of it. Beady eyes carefully measured Reilly while the old man licked wizened lips with an almost dark purplish tongue. The white hair sprouted thinly on a head that showed the very shape of his skull clearly. Death would be proud on such a face. Reilly sensed a hint of fear.

    ‘Do you have any idea where our Company stands for, Mr Reilly?’ the man with Death’s face asked him sharply in a tightly controlled voice. The way he said ‘company’ clearly indicated a capital letter. Reilly was unsure if this was a rhetoric question, and waited to be sure, further studying the man’s colourless face. It seemed drained of all emotion, as if a painter had drawn real life colours on a canvas, the true greyness, without betraying the colours themselves. There was a long pause.

    ‘Can you tell me, when my father laid the first stone to the foundation of this very building, Mr Reilly? Or why Gibbons Solicitors Inc. has an outstanding relationship with the Spanish Royalty and a particular close bond with their heir, Mr Reilly?’ The words flashed through Reilly’s mind and he could not place them anywhere. The conversation was going rapidly now, Reilly noticed, perhaps awry.

    He tried as confidence sounding as he could muster: ‘Well actually I...’ but was stopped dead in his tracks by Mr Gibbons now by a rapid movement of his hand, somewhat threatening.

    ‘Do you think, Mr Reilly…’ Mr Gibbons said, and continued in a stronger voice: ‘That you can barge in here, telling me, the only proud Gibbons left in this lordly company, that you are the right candidate for this job???’ He stood up rashly and smashed a fist on the table. A purple vein on the flushed man’s forehead flashed red and started pumping faster visibly. A storm was coming.

    ‘I am terribly sorry, Mr Gibbons, I didn’t mean to…’ Reilly said.

    ‘What!?!? You didn’t meant what…? If you got any sense in you lad, you’d think twice before you even step into my office! And you’d better bloody prepare yourself! I hate people who don’t prepare themselves!’ He threw the papers on the desk and sent them scattering like leaves through the office. Reilly looked at white papers falling on the dark floor. It somehow resembled a spiritual fall. His stomach turned sour.

    ‘Failing to prepare is preparing to fail! And this company has endured all these times by not failing, Mr Reilly!’ Mr Gibbons shouted at him.

    Reilly didn’t answer, too shocked to say anything. He could only stare at the angry face, flaming like the furious Death, and he knew that his own face would show anguish.

‘Now. I would really like to know from you, Mr Reilly, why you would like to work for Gibbons Solicitors Inc.’

    ‘I don’t, Mr Gibbons.’ Reilly answered meekly and he rose from the chair and left the room without turning back.

The secretary looked at her watch, then at the back of the last candidate. A red light blinked on her desk and said as she pressed a button: ‘Yes, Mr Gibbons?’

    ‘When is the next candidate?’ Mr Gibbons snapped.

    ‘At nine thirty, Sir.’

    ‘Right. You can send him through immediately. Pity of the last one... I really liked him.’

    ‘Yes, Mr Gibbons.’