MINI-STORIES FOR THE YOUNG AND NOT SO YOUNG 1. Martin the Sustainer Anna M. Furdyna and Steven Hiller He woke up too early, as usual. It would have been better to sleep more, for as usual his waking brought the residual depression from a past history of psychotic disorder which had plagued much of his adult life. Today was not so bad. On worse days he had faint intimations of morbid hallucinations accompanied by neural pain, or driving fear of a merciless god. Those, besides suicidal mania, were the most persistent of his symptoms in mental hospital. He countered these specters by focusing on memories of his alcoholic and deranged mother shouting at him that he was destined for hell, or kicking him in the shin until the bone smashed, leaving him limping for the rest of his life. At other times he would remember the dreadful revelation at age 27 that he had inherited his mother's mental ailment. Mostly, however, he remembered being hungry and neglected during his childhood years. He concentrated on the day ahead and returned with relief to reality. It was essential that he eat well and follow very strictly his regimen of medications, which he took in various combinations three times a day. Soon the medicine restored his sound state of mind. He knew the daily skirmish with his illness was over. He had never been violent and never gave up trying to make sense of his predicament, even during the years he had lost his faith in God completely and was sexually promiscuous. He never drank or took narcotics. It was his belief in rationality and his gift for writing which saved him. He found that his syndrome would respond to psychiatric drugs. During his recovery he spent his aid stipend on notebooks and used all his free time in writing soliloquy upon soliloquy, becoming more and more existentially despairing until he could sink no further. This at last enabled him, after a titanic struggle, to reject the terrifying god of utmost hell-fire and eternal damnation, realizing that it was up to him to choose the Omnipotent God that is everlastingly loving and reasonable beyond all measure. He looked around him. He was forty-eight years old. He had managed to finish an English course and become copy editor for a publishing house dealing with matters medical. Soon after that time he met his partner, Viola, a wheel-chair bound paraplegic thirteen years his junior and the joy of his life. He and Vi had become consummately devoted to each other, although their relationship was perforce platonic. Martin taught her his dearly-won system of belief. Vi contributed to its development a brave and all-embracing love for people, particularly those bereft and suffering. Martin, in turn, out of his childhood experience, grew in compassion for all who lived the agony of starvation, especially children. Together they collected all their savings for children in famine and kept up study of relief agencies to which they might send their modest offerings. Besides that they sent letters of advocacy for the famine cause to all possible agencies and officials, signing them both. (Viola could write in a wavering hand and Martin copied the letters on his computer.) She became very proficient in composing all kinds of communications, including extracts of information agency reports. All this activity further forged the unity between them and increased their happiness. The times when there was news of improvement in famine-stricken areas were occasions of personal triumph for them both. It was now six years since they had started on their enterprise of love and reason. Martin made short work of praying on the subway going into downtown Chicago . He prayed for all beings everywhere that were dying or suffering or striving to improve their wretched lot. He prayed for children in famine, abuse, slavery and war refugee state. After that he finished with the Lord's Prayer. Then he observed the people, young and old on the train. Many of them looked careworn or bored. A few were reading papers or books with a modicum of absorption. He wished he could share with all of them the deep and satisfying tenor of his own life. He got off the elevated train at the north end of the Loop and arrived at work with ten minutes to spare. Martin liked his job. It pleased him that it lay in his competence to clean and clarify professional manuscripts until they became lucid and faultless. He particularly liked to look up new words and learn all about them, storing them as a precious trove for future use and incorporating them into his own fluency. He thought that he was good at what he did. This was not true of all his fellow copy editors. It wasn't hard to tell which ones were bored and resentful. Ricks in particular was permanently discontented and abrasive. His apparently favorite occupation was to give Martin a hard time. Martin tried to ignore Ricks' jibes about his age, his modest manner of dress and demeanor. When he could take it no longer he would say, " You be a good boy, Ricks." which always rendered Ricks speechless for some blessed amount of time. Other people would try to help him, saying, "Leave off, Ricks. Can't you see he is a cripple?" Martin had to work at it not to be irritated by these attempts, which he found demeaning. On this bright and seemingly auspicious day Ricks waxed particularly noxious. He snatched, read, and criticized, without being asked, Martin's unfinished manuscript. "Not bad, not bad, Longfellow. How much time did you spend making it pretty?" As usual Martin ignored him but felt annoyed and put upon. It took him some fifteen minutes to get focused and regain his composure. Fortunately, his boss, Shipley, came on the scene, putting an end to further trouble. Shipley was a good egg and he valued Martin's work. On this particular occasion he stopped by to tell Martin that he wanted to see him at the end of the day in his office. Martin blanched. There had been rumors of downsizing and he was well aware of his age status among the copy editors, the lowest echelon in the publishing hierarchy. He was not at all sure that Shipley's stature would weigh in favorably enough in his case. All day long he had trouble concentrating on his work. In the end he resigned himself to the will of his Maker and managed to finish his manuscript before closing. Fighting down apprehension he made his way to Shipley's office. Shipley greeted him warmly and indicated the chair opposite. Martin sat, heart pounding wildly. Shipley got straight to the point. "Martin, I have good news for you--that is, if you accept the proposition. The management is offering you the position of senior copy editor. The increase in salary isn't much--$333 a month or about $4,000 a year. I am convinced you can manage the work and the work-load. Congratulations!" Martin stood up. His hands were trembling. "Of course I accept, Sir. I'm so relieved and grateful. I thought you were going to get rid of me." Shipley laughed his pleasant laugh and shook Martin's hand. "No, not at all. We're very pleased with your work." When he got outside all he could think of was Vi and the news about their efforts together he was going to bring her. On his way to dinner at the place she shared with her mother he stopped in a gardening center and bought a small clay pot of impatiens in her favorite colors, white with wine-colored hearts at the center. On a plain white card in dark red ink he wrote: I love you so, I love you so, and it's together we shall go into life's waiting, open door, and you'll be mine forevermore, forevermore I'll want to say, O Gronkfitar! O Minimae! O Minimae! O Gronkfitar! That's how conditions really are.  This he attached to the plant with a green string. O, what a time they had when he broke the news! Vi cried, then laughed, then cried again. She kissed him over and over. She also kissed the poem and the plant. She said she would keep the poem in a supreme place of honor on her desk. Her mother hugged Martin and announced a special dessert. She praised and congratulated. O, it was so good to be with them! It was a splendid and unforgettable day, a day for giving thanks and blessing all the Creation of the Almighty on high. Back to index