hwango

This is my entry for the writing activity on the

brigits_flame community. The topic for week #3 of July is "Happiness is...," for which I have written the following:

Note: As a personal challenge, I’ve been adding to one continuous story this month, incorporating each new topic as it’s presented. Each part should stand on its own, but if you want the whole story you should read the other parts. ( Heavy - http://hwango.livejournal.com/188814.html#cutid1 ) (It Hurts When I Do This - http://hwango.livejournal.com/189366.html#cutid1 )

The night was no longer young, and Carver would have preferred to spend what was left of it sleeping. Alas, that was not yet an option.

“Do you think Mr. Greenway is really with his mistress?” Butler asked. “Spring Street is a long way from here.”

“I was astonished not to find him at home in the first place. The residence of his mistress seems to be the next most likely place to find him. Besides, there does not seem to be a likely alternative worth exploring, and so we shall simply have to hope that he is there.” Carver said.

“Spring Street is a long way from the river, too,” Butler said.

“You must find something new to complain about, Butler – we have already discussed that the river is the only sensible place to dispose of the remains of Mr. Greenway once we have found him,” Carver said. Butler thought for a moment.

“I need new boots,” he said at last. Carver sighed.

“You take me too literally, Butler – it is not in fact necessary for you to complain about anything. Besides, that was more or less an indirect way of continuing to complain about the amount of walking required of you this night. I assure you, my feet are no happier than yours with this latest development.”

After this, the pair walked in silence for several blocks. Then Butler spoke up again.

“Why is Spring Street so far from the river?” he asked. Carver frowned.

“I’ve grown accustomed to the predictable recurrence of your complaints, but this is a bit much even for you,” Carver said, then paused when he saw that Butler was shaking his head.

“No, no, I’m not complaining about how far it is. I want to know why it’s so far away. Shouldn’t they have picked a street closer to the river to call Spring Street?” Butler asked.

“Ah, now I discern the nature of your inquiry. You surprise me, Butler! It must be all of this extra walking that plagues us this night, and you with nothing to keep your thoughts occupied while our feet are thus engaged,” Carver said. “Your confusion is the product of a misunderstanding on your part as to the reason for the name. It is true that there is no spring or other source of water on or near Spring Street. The name arises not from any such feature, however, but from the garden in the adjacent square, and the flowers that bloom there in the spring.”

“Oh,” said Butler. “That makes sense, I guess.” After another of his characteristic long pauses, Butler spoke up again. “How do you know that?” Carver shrugged.

“I confess, it is entirely assumption on my part. I simply observed the lack of a spring and the presence of the flowers and reached what I felt was the most logical conclusion. Possibly the name was chosen on a whim with no regard to the local features whatsoever. I prefer, however, to believe otherwise, and that there is a reason for such things.”

“Do you know what the reason is that we’re supposed to kill Mr. Greenway?” Butler asked.

“Of course, Butler – because that is what our employer told us to do. But I suspect that what you really mean is, what is the reason that our employer wants it done. I am sure that there is a reason, but I have no particular interest in what it is. While it might bring me happiness to think that there is an order and reason to the world, I know well enough not to let something like curiosity mar a perfectly enjoyable business arrangement. We deal with people troublesome in some way to our employer, and we are compensated financially, a situation that I find most satisfactory. However, one should not overlook the less tangible rewards that I derive from the execution of my duties. I take pleasure in the knowledge that the fruits of my labor are well enjoyed by our employer, and that he considers my service to him to be valuable. More than that, however, our actions cause ripples felt throughout the entire city. We leave a mark on the world. Is it not the desire of every man to feel that his work has meaning, that he and his works are noticed?” Carver said.

Butler privately thought that what really made Carver happy was listening to himself talk. Out loud, he said “Except that we don’t want to be noticed, Carver. That’s why we’re out doing this at night.” Carver smiled in spite of himself.

“I suppose you’re right, Butler. Due to the nature of our work, anonymity is a burden we must bear. We must be as the stone dropped into the pond – obscured from sight and beyond one’s reach, with only the ripples of our passing to be seen and felt. But, speaking of causing ripples in the water, it is long past time Mr. Greenway was in the river. Let us hasten to Spring Street and finish the night’s business.”

“Okay, Carver,” Butler said. As they walked, he thought about what Carver had said. All that stuff about being paid and being valuable and being important made sense. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that what would really make him happy right then was a pair of new boots.