Chairman of His Own Black Suit
For a time I wrote copy the Agency freelance, lived alone. Had a Man in a Black Suit. A friend. Man in the Black Suit claimed to be important, chairman of the board, DataCo Inc.
Research credit of. Research backgrounds of. Research lives of. Database, database, government monkey work.
Plantman was surprised, but not shocked, to find The Mayor’s office decorated entirely with imitation plants. He brushed wax leaves with his trusty feather-duster. He tested the moisture-content of tinsel soil, clipped plastic Ivy with imaginary scissors.
The Mayor sat quietly at his enormous desk, playing with a wooden sculpture of a bull with the sword of an unseen matador jutting from its side.
At last the Mayor spoke.
“You’ve been a very naughty Plantman, Plantman.”
“I? How so?”
“I know all about you.”
“Everyone knows me. I’m Plantman.”
The Dissenting Judge, frail, old, overwhelmed, bored with data, welcomed the coming of Plantman.
“You are fortunate, Plantman. Your life is lived tending fruits of the earth. I am beset with human cares. . . “
“You look tired,” Plantman said.
At last Plantman was led to the vault of The Accused. The walls and door were three feet thick, but the vault was air-conditioned, lest The Accused succumb before The City could legally VOID him. The Official punched the key-code and the door yawned open, revealing a cot, a toilet, and a small table which held The Accused’s beloved African Violet, “Rose.”
The night before he was Accused, The Not-Yet-Accused lay awake, troubled by thoughts. His Sunday night routine. The Wife slept soundly. The pills hadn’t worked— on him. Nor had the wine. He resorted to television. Disturbed. No program soothed. Until the twenty-four-hour Hunting and Fishing channel.
Three men in a boat. Large lake, peaceful. The men spoke softly, each phrase stretched loose by long, slow diphthongs of The Nation’s South. It was early morning, where they were. Foamy tongues of water lapped the boat-side. Seductively. Rhythmically.
Lunch break. Plantman attended an open session of The City Legislature, his attention tuned to The Senator, whose office he would tend after his break.
As Plantman waited in the lobby for a CGC Official to lead him to his next task, he was approached by a Lobbyist pitching Dereliction Deterrent Technologies (DDT), a subsidiary of Tree of Knowledge Incorporated (TKI).
The Lobbyist pitched the products of DDT to The Lawmakers, who would have to choose a method of execution concomitant with the values of The City.
The Lobbyist spoke in earnest, as if Plantman were a Lawmaker himself.
Plantman, working abundant foliage in the Office of the Prosecutor, suffered the Prosecutor’s draft oration, which the Prosecutor practiced, without the least self-consciousness or awareness of Plantman’s presence — or so it seemed — pacing back and forth before his closet mirror.
Plantman was welcomed to the building by a sharply dressed Official of the CGC.
“Welcome to The City Government Complex,” said The Official. “Important personages wish to avail themselves of your renowned horticultural techniques before you undertake the odious task of attending that miserable little…specimen of Accused.”
“You know secrets of The City?” asked Plantman.
“Secrets? What secrets?” answered the Official.
Inside The City Government Complex (CGC), The Accused languished in his vault. His Last Request: to see his beloved African Violet, Rose, tended by Plantman.
This request created a host of difficulties. Officials were bound to honor the request, but none would allow Plantman to enter the CGC without tending their plants too. Long day ahead. Plantman arrived early, before protesters gathered for and against the execution of the Accused. Rhetoric, megaphones, home-made signs.
