The Assistant
by Raymond Fortunato
Rowena, who was 52, sat at her kitchen table about to eat breakfast. She bowed her head and prayed, “Thank you Lord for this meal I’m about to receive.” Her unemployment insurance would end in five weeks and she thought of asking for the job. She changed her mind. God already knew she needed a job. She continued praying, “I’m healthy, happy and alive. If there’s anything I can do for you, no matter how hard, please give me the opportunity.”
After breakfast, she walked to Foster’s Food, a small grocery store four blocks away. Rowena had twenty-one dollars in food stamps for the next six days. On the way out of the store, in a corner of the bulletin board, Rowena saw a small, text only advertisement. “Do you want to help people? Exceptional listening ability required. Work from home. Flexible hours. Call Verity.” There was a phone number.
Rowena considered herself to be an excellent listener. She’d been a waitress at the local diner, which had recently closed. Waitresses need to listen well. But this ad seemed so vague that it made her cautious. Work from home jobs were so unusual and hard to come by that she had doubts the ad could be true. She wondered why the ad looked so small and unprofessional.
When she got home, Rowena called the phone number. A cheerful, quick speaking, woman’s voice answered. “Verity here. I’m so glad you called.”
“Were you expecting me?” asked Rowena.
“Expecting is too strong a word, but I can already hear the sincerity and warmth in your voice. That’s a pre-requisite for this task. What’s your name?”
“It’s Rowena. Tell me something about this job.”
“We, at Assistants International, believe that help starts with deep and sympathetic listening. A warm heart joined to active and logical thoughts.”
“That’s quite a list of requirements. I’m not sure I’m qualified.”
“If helping people is vital to you, then you should try it. We’ve devised a short, simple trial that will tell us both if you want the job and are able to do it. You listen to people, noting down what they say and deciding if they should be helped and how.”
“That doesn’t sound hard.”
“Listening well makes you think and feel intensely. That’s not easy. But for those who decide to do it, new, brighter, more frightening aspects of life comes into focus.”
“Brighter and more frightening is a strange combination. I don’t understand.”
“You really are a good listener. Few hear and comprehend both words at once.”
“I’m still not sure.” Rowena noticed she was pulling on her hair.
“Trying it’s the only way you’ll know.” Verity suggested a two-day trial period, working four hours each day. After the trial, if Rowena proved suitable and wanted the job, they’d discuss the pay. Rowena would receive a two hundred dollar credit at Forster’s Food for taking part in the trial.
“How did you know I lived near Foster’s Food?” asked Rowena.
“Your phone number is in the directory. It’s a snap to know there’s a grocery near you.”
Rowena agreed to the trial period. She would be shipped what might look to her like an old-fashioned switchboard with four hundred numbered lights. Below each light was a number and a phone jack. Rowena was to choose a lit light, plug in her earphone, listen to the conversation, for as long as she desired, and then simply make note of the time, jack number and what was said in 25 words or less. If the caller made a request, Rowena should note if the request should be granted and how that might be done. This information would be written in a large notebook.
“How will I know if the request should be granted?” asked Rowena.
“You’re asking sensible questions,” said Verity. “Write what you think. Try to spend no more than ten minutes on each case, so that in two four-hour sessions, you should be able to handle about 48 calls. Don’t judge how you’re doing. Just do it. But to start, I’d break it up. Do an hour and then take a rest. If you take the job, we’ll give you further training.”
“I’m not sure I can do this job. It sounds so vague.”
“When we try something fresh, we find new abilities. If you don’t like it, stop after a few calls. You keep the credit in any event.” Rowena agreed to try. A food credit would be very welcome and there seemed to be no risk.
Rowena dialed Foster’s Food, who confirmed she now had a credit. She wondered what to do with what for her was a large bonanza. She enjoyed entertaining but hadn’t been able to do so lately. She decided to throw a dinner party for friends who’d invited her over to their places since she’d been unemployed. As Rowena was cooking a five-course meal, a delivery service brought a large package. Rowena decided to open it the next morning.
Many guests arrived with bottles of wine. All asked Rowena if she was celebrating getting a job. Rowena was reluctant to answer. She hadn’t promised not to talk about Assistants International but the whole situation seemed so absurd that she didn’t want to discuss it. All she said was she’d gotten a gift and had wanted to share it with her friends. Two of her best friends, stayed after the party to help Rowena clean up. They were all a bit tipsy and Rowena almost told them about the job but stopped herself. She went to bed, still tipsy, but thinking this was all an elaborate practical joke but why would anyone play a joke on her? Besides she had her reward already and could quit whenever she wanted. She said her prayers, praising God for His glory.
The next morning, Rowena made herself a cheddar cheese omelet. Afterwards, she opened the box. It contained what looked like a miniature old-fashioned telephone switchboard about three feet by three feet with 20 rows of numbered lights, with a jack below each one. She could lift it easily. She put it on her kitchen table. There was a large red button on the upper right top. Rowena looked to see if the device needed to be plugged in or needed batteries but she could detect neither.
The shipping container also contained a large, leather bound, ornately decorated notebook, a gold fountain pen with a bottle of gold colored ink. Rowena filled the fountain pen with the golden ink, opened the notebook, and wrote down July 26th in the date field at the top of the page. The ink sparkled in the light and was astonishingly easy to read against the deep blue background of the paper. Rowena pushed the red button and the device instantly turned on. About half the lights were lit.
Rowena plugged her earphone into the jack marked number 8 and was shocked to hear crying and an anguished female voice sobbing, “Please let my son live. I’ll do anything. The doctors say there’s no hope. He’s suffering so much. You can do anything. I have complete faith in you. Please, please, please.” The voice continued on.
Rowena knew she was listening to the child’s mother. Rowena immediately thought about what Verity had told her yesterday, that this job wouldn’t be easy. She could feel tension in her shoulder muscles. She massaged them as she listened. She closed her eyes and an image of her son William, who had died eight years before in a car accident, popped into her mind. He’d gotten his driver’s license at sixteen and been in a crash two days later. She remembered some of the prayers she’d said, “Why didn’t you save him? It would have been so easy for you.”
Rowena again listened. She wrote, “Mother asks to save her sick son.” On the line asking should the wish be granted, Rowena wrote “Yes, if possible.” In the line for how this could be accomplished, Rowena didn’t know what to write. The boy had doctors, was getting medical care. Should Rowena write, “A miracle cure?” She was conflicted. She didn’t know who would be reading this diary. She wrote down, “I have no idea.”
Rowena went on to the next call. Almost three quarters of the lights were lit. Rowena came up with a plan to sample the calls by listening to every number divisible by 8. She’d already listened to number 8 so it was time for number 16. It was lit. Rowena wrote the number and the time, into the notebook, held her breath and plugged her earphone in.
“Why is David cheating on me? You should have warned me. You knew. The priest said so many wonderful things about him. Why didn’t he know the truth? I prayed every night and you never told me that something was wrong. You can fix this. Give me wisdom. Please. Please. Please.” The line went silent and the light went off.
Rowena wrote “Woman having trouble with her husband.” But that was so generic. It could be anyone of a million people. She’d been so depressed after her son died that her husband had left her. On the notebook line for whether the wish should be granted, Rowena, wrote “Yes” and on the line asking how she wrote, “Marriage counseling?” She and her husband had tried that but it hadn’t worked. In the end, Rowena’s divorce had been sudden and painful. Thomas had simply gotten a job in another state and left her.
She sat there with a frown on her face then looked up and saw that number 24 was lit. She plugged in and listened. It was a woman’s voice. “I’ve told you again and again what we need. We’re hungry. It’s horrible being hungry. Painful. Your thoughts go faster and faster to more and more pain. The crops are failing. Make it rain. It would be nothing for you to fix this weather. You’re the only one who can help us. Now’s the time.”
The voice continued, getting more passionate and desperate. Rowena shook her head. Several tears slid down her face. She wrote, “Hungry, crops won’t grow. Want’s God to send rain.” Should the wish be granted? “Yes.” How? “Maybe send food or make it rain?” Rowena wondered if Assistants International could make it rain.
Next up was number 32. “God, help us win today,” this was the first male voice Rowena had heard. She was relieved. She was beginning to think that only women were calling or maybe she’d been assigned to only listen to women. The voice continued, “Help us go to the state football championship.” Rowena wondered why God would pick one team or the other? She wrote “Protect from injury?” in the column what was asked for and “Maybe? But How?” in the Should It Be Granted column.
Rowena was tired. She remembered that Verity had suggested she take frequent breaks but she decided to plow through the four hours. Four calls later was number 64. “Thank you. It’s been wonderful lately. My son is healthy.” Rowena smiled and reached out to unplug, elated. She continued listening, “God keep him happy and healthy always. I know you can.” Rowena looked over what she had written for this call. Had she really written “always” with a question mark after it?
The light above the jack was out. Rowena plugged in anyway. She thought she heard subtle sounds, barely audible coming through her headphones or perhaps the sound was happening in her ears. It was oddly soothing. Rowena strained her hearing but could never quite make out exactly what she was hearing. When she relaxed she thought perhaps she was hearing more. She went on to the next jack that was lit and came back to this one when it was lit later on.
Several hours later, Rowena had gotten to number 192. She plugged in and heard, “Good night,” and then silence. Rowena wondered what that one was about. She just wrote in the time, jack number and a question mark.
The last call, for the day, was number 200. It was lit. Rowena plugged in. Crying. That’s all Rowena heard. It sounded like a woman. Only the volume of the cries changed from a simper to a roar. Her hand trembled slightly as she wrote “Woman crying, in genuine pain. Feels that life is hell.” She wrote that the wish should be granted and as far as what to do, she wrote, “A shoulder to cry on???”
She was finished for the day. She felt wired, tired and in pain.
Rowena liked to read detective stories before going to bed. She was reading The Red Headed League. Sherlock Holmes was investigating a case where a man was paid handsomely to leave his place of business to do what seemed to be an absolutely useless task. The man had been fooled. Rowena’s task also seemed useless. Was she being fooled? Was there something sinister in this task? No, she was at home. That didn’t fit but maybe that was the trick. Maybe she’d have gotten a job today if she hadn’t stayed home. No, that didn’t make sense either. But how did Assistants International get its money? Could they pay her? She did a web search and found no mention of Assistants International but what of it? There must be millions of businesses that don’t show up on web searches. But wouldn’t they want people to know about their activities? That would make sense but it appeared not to be the case.
The second day, Rowena thought she’d do a better job by listening for shorter periods and not get so emotionally caught up. She’d be careful not to become unsympathetic. Rowena opened the notebook to a new page and wrote in July 27th. The next number was 208, which was lit. “You’re the merciful one. You have given us the victory. Your enemies have been beheaded, as you commanded. You will never be insulted again. Now we will have peace.”
The voice continued but Rowena pulled the plug. She noticed that her right hand was massaging her neck. What was she to write? She remembered the injunction not to judge others but she couldn’t hold back her feelings. Then she started thinking of all the things she’d prayed for. Sometimes she’d asked for the punishment of others. Her prayers weren’t immaculate either.
She wrote, “Man happy he killed his enemies. Said it would lead to peace.” In the box on whether to grant the wish, she wrote, “I wouldn’t.” Action to take, “none.”
Rowena got through the rest of the calls. She could now contact Verity. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted the job or not. It had taken all her energy to complete the forty-eight calls. She felt exhausted but not as much as the first day. Maybe she’d get used to it, in time, and it wouldn’t be so hard.
Did she feel fulfilled or more knowledgeable? There was so much she’d heard that made her think about things she hadn’t thought about before. I’m going to put off a decision until I get my unemployment check on Monday. That will hold me over for a few days.
On Sunday, listening to the sermon, she thought it would make more sense if her pastor, instead of her, worked for Assistants International. Maybe he did. She thought of asking him directly but thought the better of it. He’ll just think I’m cracked. She stayed behind and said to him, ”I’ve heard some people have an interesting device in their house, a switchboard with 400 lines that you can plug in and listen ...”
Her pastor gave Rowena a strange look and said, “Never heard of it.”
Rowena turned red and just stammered, “Probably isn’t true.”
On Tuesday morning, Rowena called Verity and asked what this job was really about. Verity didn’t answer directly, but asked Rowena about her experience so far.
“Seems like a lot of people demanding God give them what they want.”
“How does that make you feel?” asked Verity.
“There’s so much pain involved. It’s hard to hear. I’m conflicted.”
“Does it make you want to help?”
“Yes but how can I? Why me? I’m no one special.”
“Isn’t helping what you said you always wanted?”
“Yes but ...”
“I always try to stick with that first word,” said Verity with a laugh.
“I’ve been such a failure in life ...”
“You never failed. Struggled, yes, but most of the people you think of as successful don’t have the experience or resilience to be able to help others. Many would just say, ‘snap out of it.’”
“I just don’t know ...”
“Can you imagine doing this listening and recording for a long time? Making some suggestions?”
“Only if I could grant their wishes.”
Verity laughed again, “Would you really like the power to grant any wish?”
There was a long pause. Finally, Rowena said, “Not really.”
“I know you care if someone is listening when you make your requests. Don’t you want to be that listener?”
“That’s it? That’s all the explanation I get? Don’t I deserve more?”
“Think about it. You’ve heard the beginnings of a profound mystery. Listening is the first, the hardest step. Other steps come later.”
“But I need to know more.”
“My verbal answers wouldn’t make sense to you now. Doing this task will open the possibility to learn but you’d need enthusiasm to do it well, and so far, you don’t have it. We thought you were an excellent candidate and maybe you will be someday.”
“What if I change my mind? “ asked Rowena. “Can I call you at this number?”
“No. This number will be disconnected.”
“So I can’t contact you?”
“I have a board too. Mine has 4,000 numbers. I heard you pray on line 3947. It’s a prime number. All our most hopeful candidates are on lines with prime numbers.”
“Why prime numbers?”
“Primes are part of the structure of everything, unchanging, eternal, never-ending, infinitely varied; like what you think of as God,” said Verity. “Perhaps I’ll hear you at some future time. Goodbye for now. Remember, it’s not a failure to say no when you’re not ready or in doubt. Perhaps we will speak again sometime. Pack up the switchboard. Someone will pick it up tomorrow.”
Verity didn’t hang up. She seemed to be waiting for Rowena to make a final decision.
“Goodbye,” said Rowena. She could still hear Verity breathing on the other side. Finally, Rowena hung up. She began to weep.
Rowena hadn’t thought about prime numbers since High School. She checked and 3947 was the highest prime number less than 4,000. She would never have known that. This can’t be a total fraud, she thought, but it didn’t prove anything either. Anyone could have looked up a list of prime numbers.
That night, she woke up with a start. She was shaking. It had seemed like five in the morning but she looked at the clock and it was only 11:17. She’d been asleep for only forty-five minutes. Rowena went to the living room, pushed the red button on the box. Nothing happened. She got down on her knees and prayed, harder than ever before. “I’ve just got to know. I’ve got to know.” There was no answer. There was such complete silence that Rowena was convinced that absolutely no one was listening. What had Verity told her? Maybe in the future? She didn’t feel she could wait.
In the morning, she packed everything up. A delivery service picked it up around ten. Rowena walked to Foster Food. The sign from Verity was no longer there.
A month later, the restaurant Rowena had worked at was re-opened by new owners. Rowena got her job back. She enjoyed waitressing more than she’d ever done before. She tried to make it comfortable for the diners to talk to her. She thought she’d been helpful several times but she knew that she never heard the totality of what the customers were thinking and needing.
Two years later, an older woman came in by herself for breakfast. As she ordered pancakes, Rowena thought she was hearing Verity’s voice.
“If there’s anything else I can get you, anything at all, just let me know,” said Rowena.
“That’s very kind of you,” said the woman in a bubbling voice. “So few people are actually able to listen, have the warm heart that wants to help, coupled with keen logic.”
“Verity? It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Verity? Do you think you know me?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it but...”
“I always try to stick with that first word,” said Verity with a laugh.
After breakfast, she walked to Foster’s Food, a small grocery store four blocks away. Rowena had twenty-one dollars in food stamps for the next six days. On the way out of the store, in a corner of the bulletin board, Rowena saw a small, text only advertisement. “Do you want to help people? Exceptional listening ability required. Work from home. Flexible hours. Call Verity.” There was a phone number.
Rowena considered herself to be an excellent listener. She’d been a waitress at the local diner, which had recently closed. Waitresses need to listen well. But this ad seemed so vague that it made her cautious. Work from home jobs were so unusual and hard to come by that she had doubts the ad could be true. She wondered why the ad looked so small and unprofessional.
When she got home, Rowena called the phone number. A cheerful, quick speaking, woman’s voice answered. “Verity here. I’m so glad you called.”
“Were you expecting me?” asked Rowena.
“Expecting is too strong a word, but I can already hear the sincerity and warmth in your voice. That’s a pre-requisite for this task. What’s your name?”
“It’s Rowena. Tell me something about this job.”
“We, at Assistants International, believe that help starts with deep and sympathetic listening. A warm heart joined to active and logical thoughts.”
“That’s quite a list of requirements. I’m not sure I’m qualified.”
“If helping people is vital to you, then you should try it. We’ve devised a short, simple trial that will tell us both if you want the job and are able to do it. You listen to people, noting down what they say and deciding if they should be helped and how.”
“That doesn’t sound hard.”
“Listening well makes you think and feel intensely. That’s not easy. But for those who decide to do it, new, brighter, more frightening aspects of life comes into focus.”
“Brighter and more frightening is a strange combination. I don’t understand.”
“You really are a good listener. Few hear and comprehend both words at once.”
“I’m still not sure.” Rowena noticed she was pulling on her hair.
“Trying it’s the only way you’ll know.” Verity suggested a two-day trial period, working four hours each day. After the trial, if Rowena proved suitable and wanted the job, they’d discuss the pay. Rowena would receive a two hundred dollar credit at Forster’s Food for taking part in the trial.
“How did you know I lived near Foster’s Food?” asked Rowena.
“Your phone number is in the directory. It’s a snap to know there’s a grocery near you.”
Rowena agreed to the trial period. She would be shipped what might look to her like an old-fashioned switchboard with four hundred numbered lights. Below each light was a number and a phone jack. Rowena was to choose a lit light, plug in her earphone, listen to the conversation, for as long as she desired, and then simply make note of the time, jack number and what was said in 25 words or less. If the caller made a request, Rowena should note if the request should be granted and how that might be done. This information would be written in a large notebook.
“How will I know if the request should be granted?” asked Rowena.
“You’re asking sensible questions,” said Verity. “Write what you think. Try to spend no more than ten minutes on each case, so that in two four-hour sessions, you should be able to handle about 48 calls. Don’t judge how you’re doing. Just do it. But to start, I’d break it up. Do an hour and then take a rest. If you take the job, we’ll give you further training.”
“I’m not sure I can do this job. It sounds so vague.”
“When we try something fresh, we find new abilities. If you don’t like it, stop after a few calls. You keep the credit in any event.” Rowena agreed to try. A food credit would be very welcome and there seemed to be no risk.
Rowena dialed Foster’s Food, who confirmed she now had a credit. She wondered what to do with what for her was a large bonanza. She enjoyed entertaining but hadn’t been able to do so lately. She decided to throw a dinner party for friends who’d invited her over to their places since she’d been unemployed. As Rowena was cooking a five-course meal, a delivery service brought a large package. Rowena decided to open it the next morning.
Many guests arrived with bottles of wine. All asked Rowena if she was celebrating getting a job. Rowena was reluctant to answer. She hadn’t promised not to talk about Assistants International but the whole situation seemed so absurd that she didn’t want to discuss it. All she said was she’d gotten a gift and had wanted to share it with her friends. Two of her best friends, stayed after the party to help Rowena clean up. They were all a bit tipsy and Rowena almost told them about the job but stopped herself. She went to bed, still tipsy, but thinking this was all an elaborate practical joke but why would anyone play a joke on her? Besides she had her reward already and could quit whenever she wanted. She said her prayers, praising God for His glory.
The next morning, Rowena made herself a cheddar cheese omelet. Afterwards, she opened the box. It contained what looked like a miniature old-fashioned telephone switchboard about three feet by three feet with 20 rows of numbered lights, with a jack below each one. She could lift it easily. She put it on her kitchen table. There was a large red button on the upper right top. Rowena looked to see if the device needed to be plugged in or needed batteries but she could detect neither.
The shipping container also contained a large, leather bound, ornately decorated notebook, a gold fountain pen with a bottle of gold colored ink. Rowena filled the fountain pen with the golden ink, opened the notebook, and wrote down July 26th in the date field at the top of the page. The ink sparkled in the light and was astonishingly easy to read against the deep blue background of the paper. Rowena pushed the red button and the device instantly turned on. About half the lights were lit.
Rowena plugged her earphone into the jack marked number 8 and was shocked to hear crying and an anguished female voice sobbing, “Please let my son live. I’ll do anything. The doctors say there’s no hope. He’s suffering so much. You can do anything. I have complete faith in you. Please, please, please.” The voice continued on.
Rowena knew she was listening to the child’s mother. Rowena immediately thought about what Verity had told her yesterday, that this job wouldn’t be easy. She could feel tension in her shoulder muscles. She massaged them as she listened. She closed her eyes and an image of her son William, who had died eight years before in a car accident, popped into her mind. He’d gotten his driver’s license at sixteen and been in a crash two days later. She remembered some of the prayers she’d said, “Why didn’t you save him? It would have been so easy for you.”
Rowena again listened. She wrote, “Mother asks to save her sick son.” On the line asking should the wish be granted, Rowena wrote “Yes, if possible.” In the line for how this could be accomplished, Rowena didn’t know what to write. The boy had doctors, was getting medical care. Should Rowena write, “A miracle cure?” She was conflicted. She didn’t know who would be reading this diary. She wrote down, “I have no idea.”
Rowena went on to the next call. Almost three quarters of the lights were lit. Rowena came up with a plan to sample the calls by listening to every number divisible by 8. She’d already listened to number 8 so it was time for number 16. It was lit. Rowena wrote the number and the time, into the notebook, held her breath and plugged her earphone in.
“Why is David cheating on me? You should have warned me. You knew. The priest said so many wonderful things about him. Why didn’t he know the truth? I prayed every night and you never told me that something was wrong. You can fix this. Give me wisdom. Please. Please. Please.” The line went silent and the light went off.
Rowena wrote “Woman having trouble with her husband.” But that was so generic. It could be anyone of a million people. She’d been so depressed after her son died that her husband had left her. On the notebook line for whether the wish should be granted, Rowena, wrote “Yes” and on the line asking how she wrote, “Marriage counseling?” She and her husband had tried that but it hadn’t worked. In the end, Rowena’s divorce had been sudden and painful. Thomas had simply gotten a job in another state and left her.
She sat there with a frown on her face then looked up and saw that number 24 was lit. She plugged in and listened. It was a woman’s voice. “I’ve told you again and again what we need. We’re hungry. It’s horrible being hungry. Painful. Your thoughts go faster and faster to more and more pain. The crops are failing. Make it rain. It would be nothing for you to fix this weather. You’re the only one who can help us. Now’s the time.”
The voice continued, getting more passionate and desperate. Rowena shook her head. Several tears slid down her face. She wrote, “Hungry, crops won’t grow. Want’s God to send rain.” Should the wish be granted? “Yes.” How? “Maybe send food or make it rain?” Rowena wondered if Assistants International could make it rain.
Next up was number 32. “God, help us win today,” this was the first male voice Rowena had heard. She was relieved. She was beginning to think that only women were calling or maybe she’d been assigned to only listen to women. The voice continued, “Help us go to the state football championship.” Rowena wondered why God would pick one team or the other? She wrote “Protect from injury?” in the column what was asked for and “Maybe? But How?” in the Should It Be Granted column.
Rowena was tired. She remembered that Verity had suggested she take frequent breaks but she decided to plow through the four hours. Four calls later was number 64. “Thank you. It’s been wonderful lately. My son is healthy.” Rowena smiled and reached out to unplug, elated. She continued listening, “God keep him happy and healthy always. I know you can.” Rowena looked over what she had written for this call. Had she really written “always” with a question mark after it?
The light above the jack was out. Rowena plugged in anyway. She thought she heard subtle sounds, barely audible coming through her headphones or perhaps the sound was happening in her ears. It was oddly soothing. Rowena strained her hearing but could never quite make out exactly what she was hearing. When she relaxed she thought perhaps she was hearing more. She went on to the next jack that was lit and came back to this one when it was lit later on.
Several hours later, Rowena had gotten to number 192. She plugged in and heard, “Good night,” and then silence. Rowena wondered what that one was about. She just wrote in the time, jack number and a question mark.
The last call, for the day, was number 200. It was lit. Rowena plugged in. Crying. That’s all Rowena heard. It sounded like a woman. Only the volume of the cries changed from a simper to a roar. Her hand trembled slightly as she wrote “Woman crying, in genuine pain. Feels that life is hell.” She wrote that the wish should be granted and as far as what to do, she wrote, “A shoulder to cry on???”
She was finished for the day. She felt wired, tired and in pain.
Rowena liked to read detective stories before going to bed. She was reading The Red Headed League. Sherlock Holmes was investigating a case where a man was paid handsomely to leave his place of business to do what seemed to be an absolutely useless task. The man had been fooled. Rowena’s task also seemed useless. Was she being fooled? Was there something sinister in this task? No, she was at home. That didn’t fit but maybe that was the trick. Maybe she’d have gotten a job today if she hadn’t stayed home. No, that didn’t make sense either. But how did Assistants International get its money? Could they pay her? She did a web search and found no mention of Assistants International but what of it? There must be millions of businesses that don’t show up on web searches. But wouldn’t they want people to know about their activities? That would make sense but it appeared not to be the case.
The second day, Rowena thought she’d do a better job by listening for shorter periods and not get so emotionally caught up. She’d be careful not to become unsympathetic. Rowena opened the notebook to a new page and wrote in July 27th. The next number was 208, which was lit. “You’re the merciful one. You have given us the victory. Your enemies have been beheaded, as you commanded. You will never be insulted again. Now we will have peace.”
The voice continued but Rowena pulled the plug. She noticed that her right hand was massaging her neck. What was she to write? She remembered the injunction not to judge others but she couldn’t hold back her feelings. Then she started thinking of all the things she’d prayed for. Sometimes she’d asked for the punishment of others. Her prayers weren’t immaculate either.
She wrote, “Man happy he killed his enemies. Said it would lead to peace.” In the box on whether to grant the wish, she wrote, “I wouldn’t.” Action to take, “none.”
Rowena got through the rest of the calls. She could now contact Verity. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted the job or not. It had taken all her energy to complete the forty-eight calls. She felt exhausted but not as much as the first day. Maybe she’d get used to it, in time, and it wouldn’t be so hard.
Did she feel fulfilled or more knowledgeable? There was so much she’d heard that made her think about things she hadn’t thought about before. I’m going to put off a decision until I get my unemployment check on Monday. That will hold me over for a few days.
On Sunday, listening to the sermon, she thought it would make more sense if her pastor, instead of her, worked for Assistants International. Maybe he did. She thought of asking him directly but thought the better of it. He’ll just think I’m cracked. She stayed behind and said to him, ”I’ve heard some people have an interesting device in their house, a switchboard with 400 lines that you can plug in and listen ...”
Her pastor gave Rowena a strange look and said, “Never heard of it.”
Rowena turned red and just stammered, “Probably isn’t true.”
On Tuesday morning, Rowena called Verity and asked what this job was really about. Verity didn’t answer directly, but asked Rowena about her experience so far.
“Seems like a lot of people demanding God give them what they want.”
“How does that make you feel?” asked Verity.
“There’s so much pain involved. It’s hard to hear. I’m conflicted.”
“Does it make you want to help?”
“Yes but how can I? Why me? I’m no one special.”
“Isn’t helping what you said you always wanted?”
“Yes but ...”
“I always try to stick with that first word,” said Verity with a laugh.
“I’ve been such a failure in life ...”
“You never failed. Struggled, yes, but most of the people you think of as successful don’t have the experience or resilience to be able to help others. Many would just say, ‘snap out of it.’”
“I just don’t know ...”
“Can you imagine doing this listening and recording for a long time? Making some suggestions?”
“Only if I could grant their wishes.”
Verity laughed again, “Would you really like the power to grant any wish?”
There was a long pause. Finally, Rowena said, “Not really.”
“I know you care if someone is listening when you make your requests. Don’t you want to be that listener?”
“That’s it? That’s all the explanation I get? Don’t I deserve more?”
“Think about it. You’ve heard the beginnings of a profound mystery. Listening is the first, the hardest step. Other steps come later.”
“But I need to know more.”
“My verbal answers wouldn’t make sense to you now. Doing this task will open the possibility to learn but you’d need enthusiasm to do it well, and so far, you don’t have it. We thought you were an excellent candidate and maybe you will be someday.”
“What if I change my mind? “ asked Rowena. “Can I call you at this number?”
“No. This number will be disconnected.”
“So I can’t contact you?”
“I have a board too. Mine has 4,000 numbers. I heard you pray on line 3947. It’s a prime number. All our most hopeful candidates are on lines with prime numbers.”
“Why prime numbers?”
“Primes are part of the structure of everything, unchanging, eternal, never-ending, infinitely varied; like what you think of as God,” said Verity. “Perhaps I’ll hear you at some future time. Goodbye for now. Remember, it’s not a failure to say no when you’re not ready or in doubt. Perhaps we will speak again sometime. Pack up the switchboard. Someone will pick it up tomorrow.”
Verity didn’t hang up. She seemed to be waiting for Rowena to make a final decision.
“Goodbye,” said Rowena. She could still hear Verity breathing on the other side. Finally, Rowena hung up. She began to weep.
Rowena hadn’t thought about prime numbers since High School. She checked and 3947 was the highest prime number less than 4,000. She would never have known that. This can’t be a total fraud, she thought, but it didn’t prove anything either. Anyone could have looked up a list of prime numbers.
That night, she woke up with a start. She was shaking. It had seemed like five in the morning but she looked at the clock and it was only 11:17. She’d been asleep for only forty-five minutes. Rowena went to the living room, pushed the red button on the box. Nothing happened. She got down on her knees and prayed, harder than ever before. “I’ve just got to know. I’ve got to know.” There was no answer. There was such complete silence that Rowena was convinced that absolutely no one was listening. What had Verity told her? Maybe in the future? She didn’t feel she could wait.
In the morning, she packed everything up. A delivery service picked it up around ten. Rowena walked to Foster Food. The sign from Verity was no longer there.
A month later, the restaurant Rowena had worked at was re-opened by new owners. Rowena got her job back. She enjoyed waitressing more than she’d ever done before. She tried to make it comfortable for the diners to talk to her. She thought she’d been helpful several times but she knew that she never heard the totality of what the customers were thinking and needing.
Two years later, an older woman came in by herself for breakfast. As she ordered pancakes, Rowena thought she was hearing Verity’s voice.
“If there’s anything else I can get you, anything at all, just let me know,” said Rowena.
“That’s very kind of you,” said the woman in a bubbling voice. “So few people are actually able to listen, have the warm heart that wants to help, coupled with keen logic.”
“Verity? It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Verity? Do you think you know me?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it but...”
“I always try to stick with that first word,” said Verity with a laugh.