Herbert Gordon

Chapter (-i.i) - Monday

His afternoon is identical to his morning with 2 exceptions. At 13:40 and 15:00, he stops his work, gets up and goes to his jacket. He takes out the cake. He takes out a single piece out. He returns to his desk. He places it in his mouth, begins chewing as his eyes dart over a series of numbers and his fingers flash over the keyboard. At 16:20 he stops working. He saves. Gets up and takes hold of his jacket. He reaches into the pocket and removes the last piece of cake. He walks out of the office, and places the piece of cake on the receptionists counter. She smiles at him. He ignores her, slumps down the stairs and walks to Britomart. He catches the 16:33 train, climbs into his car at 16:59 and is parked at home by 17:11. He changes out of his suit. He hangs up his jacket and places his shoes on the wardrobe. He hangs up the tie with 3 other identical ones. He places his shirt, pants and socks into a wash basket. He puts on some running shorts, a t-shirt, socks and trainers. And goes for a jog that is closely related to a walk.

He doesn't do this for fun or enjoyment or to relax. His doctor has told him he needs to do 30 minutes of exercise a day. And so he does. He does not smile, he does not speak to anyone, he does not think. He treats it as yet another balance sheet that must be work on. Around the block he goes, 3 times. When he started, people tried to greet him. He ignored them. Now they ignore him back with polite smiles and well-wishing waves. He jogs on slowly. He jogs rain or shine, Monday to Thursday. At 17:50, he stumbles into his flat, strips and showers. He puts on another t-shirt, some long johns, and heads into his kitchen. He pulls out a microwave dinner, places it in the microwave and gets a glass of water. He takes out a plate and some cutlery. He drinks his glass of water. He fetches his shoes. He polishes them carefully, shining them up just enough to look good, not enough to attract attention. He returns them to his bedroom, and walks back into the kitchen as the microwave pings. He takes out his dinner, places it on the plate and sits down in front of the tv at 18:30. He switches on the news. Only then does he look at what he's cooked for dinner. He eats his way through his meal. He finishes as the weather report for Auckland comes on. If there is a forecast for rain, he places his umbrella at the door. He takes his plate to the kitchen, washes it and the cutlery slowly, and takes a ready made pudding out of the freezer, eating it quickly, standing in the kitchen. He boils the kettle, and makes himself a cup of black tea. At 19:05 he picks up a folder and carries it and the tea to his sofa. He switches off the tv, places the tea next to him on a small table. He opens the folder and takes out a pencil. If you were watching him, you'd be startled to see a small smile creep across his face. It is the first time in the day he has smiled. He pulls a book out of the folder.

It is a book of sudoku problems. 60 pages filled with 56 puzzles of sudoku. A soft sigh escapes him. He sips his tea. There is no pattern to his tea sipping. his brow furrows as his pencil swipes across the page, filling in numbers at an unbelievable rate. He is lost in the predictive pattern of the 81 squares and 9 unique numbers. His smile grows. He sits there for 2 hours and 50 minutes. All day his mind has been dulled by simple addition and subtraction and percentages. But for 170 minutes each evening, his mind awakes and it dances. The first 16 puzzles are easy. They are dealt with in half an hour. The next 19 are medium.  They take an hour.  At some point between puzzle 32 and 40 he finishes his tea. The final 21 are hard, and get harder. They take longer, an hour and 20 minutes to complete them all. At 21:57, he stops smiling. He stands up and stretches. He goes to the kitchen counter. He picks up a new book, places it into the folder and throws the old one away. He pours himself another glass of water. He visits the bathroom, cleans his teeth, and at 22:15 he falls asleep, to be woken at 6:45 the next day.

Fridays differ. He runs in the morning, as soon as he gets up. The extra time spent running means he finishes work at 17:00. He plasters a smile upon his face, and joins his colleagues at a local bar. The entire company congregates on a small pub. Friday nights are the reason the pub is still open. They split into 3 groups. Management and ass lickers head to pool tables and whiskey and tequila and drunken displays of excessive wealth. High ranking men and attractive women cause ripples in the group as it centers upon it's idols. The second group is everyone else, but Herbert. They take over the rest of the pub. They're loud and obnoxious and happy and honest. The third group is Herbert. He approaches the bar and hands over a day's wages. He heads to the bathroom, then out to join the second group. A seat is saved for him in the middle. The barman heads over, hands clutching the first round of house beers and wines. The group cheer Herbert. He doesn't smile. He picks up his beer and leans back in his seat. He watches and listens and laughs as the beer decreases and the comments increase. His beer finishes quickly. Another is placed before him. He doesn't acknowledge the donor. He simply sits and drinks.