“
You know what the director, Mister Danny Boyle, said to me?
”
he asks the group, and they shake their heads in unison.
“
He said I would be perfect but I looked too American. Can you imagine that?
”
Henry can
’
t. When the story is complete, even though he hadn
’
t planned it, he steps in front of the group and says,
“
Thank you, Mahesh. Have a seat, please, while I go over a few things. If I speak too fast, raise your hand, and
Mahesh and Maya can help translate. But you know, soon callers are going to be talking fast too. In English. Without subtitles. And I hate to say it, but Happy Mountain Springs can
’
t afford to have people working these phones who cannot hold a basic conversation in English. If you need extra help, practice at home with a friend or coworker. If you can
’
t keep up, then I can
’
t use you until you are able to. You may find this harsh, but I find it harsh that people who I was assured were, if not fluent, at least conversant in English expect a paycheck from me even though they are not.
”
Mahesh raises his hand and begins to speak before he
’
s acknowledged.
“
But—
”
“
Not now, Mahesh.
”
Mahesh stands.
“
But—
”
“
Not. Now. Mahesh!
”
He smacks his right hand on a work-table, knocking a stack of documents to the floor. For the first time in a professional environment he has raised his voice. And it has an effect. Mahesh sits. The others sit up straight. The response surprises him to the point where he momentarily loses his train of thought.
In the back of the room, Maya subtly nods her head.
Go on.
“
Now, to put it bluntly, we are fairly well screwed. We are a
call
center
”
—he picks up an untethered placebo telephone—
”
without working telephones!
”
For punctuation, he drops the phone and laughs, enthusiastically enough that the others decide not to join him. Next he picks up two empty sixteen-ounce bottles of Happy Mountain Springs water and holds them out toward the group. In the front row, two women lean back, like people in the front row of a bloody boxing match.
“
If that
’
s not bizarre enough,
”
he continues,
“
we
’
re pimping on behalf of a water company in the middle of a region that has no access to water and where plastic bottles are outlawed!
”
He throws the empty bottles over his shoulder and then, more delicately, says,
“
This must be . . . horrible for many of you. But I didn
’
t create this situation. All that I can do, and all that we can do, is to try to make it work, right? If we do, our lives may get incrementally better. And if we don
’
t, in this economy, they will shut us down in a heartbeat. Any questions so far?
”
An older woman in the back row raises her hand. Henry points at her.
“
Yes, in the back?
”
She rises, straightens her blouse, and asks,
“
What does
pimping
mean?
”
After the others stop laughing, Henry picks up one of the laser-printed decks of stock calling scenarios they
’
d been practicing and tears it in half.
“
In the morning,
”
he says,
“
we will have new, better, simpler ones.
”
And because
no one else has a question, he decides to proceed by having each person stand up, say a little bit about him- or
herself, and then answer a few simple questions as honestly as possible. Without fear of retribution.
A sampling:
Tell me three positive things about Happy Mountain Springs bottled water:
It is bottled fresh from a clear mountain stream; it does not contain arsenic or other carcinogens; it increases sexual stamina.
What k
i
nds of things do others who do not wor
k
with us tell you about Happy Mountain Springs water?
It will deplete your sexual stamina; it is a false front for a chemical weapons operation created by the prince; it will make you barren; it will make you insane; it actually does not contain water; it is laced with heroin; it will corrupt my dreams; it will dilute my karma; it caused tumors in laboratory mice; it will turn me into a woman who makes sex with other women.
Do you thin
k
it
’
s true that the gods do not approve of water sold in bottles?
Yes (unanimously).
Do you really believe that Happy Mountain Springs is owned and operated by evil spirits?
Yes; not really; not necessarily owned and operated by but most likely guided by them.
If you were president of Happy Mountain Springs, what new policies would you institute and what old ones would you change?
I would eliminate the bottles; remove the narcotics; give us working telephones; give the water away for free.
Finally, why do you thin
k
that Happy Mountain Springs has chosen to open a call center in Galado?
You were sent by the gods to test our resolve during the drought; to pretend you are good global citizens; to exploit our cheap labor and corporate
naïveté
; the spirits decreed it; no other country would have you.
~ * ~
One by one he refutes, clarifies, or confirms their claims and statements. What impresses them most, judging by their body language, is the number of their assumptions that he more or less agrees with. For instance: Yes, I can absolutely understand how water sold in bottles might upset the gods; Yes, to an extent the company is here to take advantage of Galdado
’
s affordable labor and favorable tax codes; and, While I don
’
t exactly agree that the company is
run by evil spirits, I can confirm that there is no shortage of evil deities skulking around the boardrooms back at the home office.
Before he gives control of the room back to Mahesh, a woman in the front row holds up her hand.
“
Yes?
”
“
We appreciate that you have been so forthcoming with us, Mister Tuhoe. That you have acknowledged truths and discredited rumors. And that you have shown an interest in our lives outside of this building. But what we would like to know is. . . what we
’
ve all been wondering is, why have
you
come
here
?
And a little bit about your personal life too, please.
”
“
Yes,
”
he says, stepping back into the center of the room. Behind him, Alec Baldwin
’
s face is frozen in a smarmy sitcom smile. It takes him aback, and for a moment he considers turning off the TV, but since he doesn
’
t know how, he continues.
“
Of course. Well, I started working for Happy Mountain Springs
’
parent company when I got out of
coll
—
”
Then he stops. He stares at a blank spot on the far wall, puts a closed fist to his mouth, and thinks, What are you going to do, tell them about Oral Care and Non-headache-related Pain Relief? The brief stints in Laxatives and Silicon-based Sprays and Coatings? Fucking Armpits? Will they understand or care? Should they?
There
’
s nothing more pathetic than reducing one
’
s life down to bullet points on a resume. Especially one that ends with a midlevel stint in Armpits.
He looks to Maya for a sign. But this time, instead of nodding, she looks down at her feet.
He thinks, Should I say I
’
m here because for the last ten years I
have let the tedium of a dispassionate life lead me wherever it wanted? As a young man I took a job I never coveted for a company whose mission and values I never bothered to learn or question or improve upon, and I bounced from job to job in that same company until I was far from a young man, making just enough more each year to keep me comfortable enough to stick around, content enough not to question any of it—that is, until the process began to reverse itself, at which point I became less and less comfortable with my job, my marriage, which was a by-product of the job, and of course myself.
What about Rachel? he thinks. Should I share that as well? Witchcraft. Falsified vasectomies. The vastly depreciated home and spirit. Did I want to come here? Oh my God, no. I came here because the life I had there was over and in typical jackass fashion I jumped right in with whatever life presented to me next.
~ * ~
“
I came here,
”
he finally says,
“
because I made something of a mess of my life back in the United States, and I needed a change. A chance to do something worthwhile with my life. The good news is that Galado is the most interesting place I
’
ve ever been. Crazy interesting, but what
’
s so wrong with that? And since I
’
ve been here, and these last few days in particular, I have begun . . . I
’
ve begun to sort of, you know, for the first time, to feel a real sense of purpose about what I
’
m doing. What we
’
re going to do. So, uh, that
’
s why—with the help of you, and Maya, and Mahesh—I
’
m going to do whatever I can to make this thing we
’
ve got going here work, not just for Happy Mountain Springs but for you and your families. Okay? Okay. Any more questions?
”
No one stirs. In the back of the room, Maya is smiling. Finally Mahesh stands and begins to slowly clap his hands as he walks toward Henry. Following Mahesh
’
s cue, the others begin to clap as well. When he reaches Henry, Mahesh wraps his arms around him, squeezes, and whispers into his ear.
“
Beautiful shit, bro,
”
he says in Henry
’
s ear.
“
A little scatological but very heartfelt. Very
Jerry Maguire
-
esque
.
”
~ * ~
As an inspired Mahesh resumes his lesson, Henry approaches Maya
in the back of the room.
“
Nice,
”
she says.
“
Did I go overboard with the personal revelations?
”
“
Perhaps,
”
she says.
“
But from what you
’
ve told me, it could
have been a lot worse.
”
~ * ~
Same Cliff, Different Menu
The next night, after a long, productive, and somewhat encouraging day at work, during which they often separated from the others to discuss their larger plan, Maya invites him to have dinner at her cousin
’
s place. Because it is dark when they arrive and cold air is blowing off the peaks, early autumn
prophesizing
an early Himalayan winter, they have a drink on the terrace but take dinner at an inside table.
“
Who do I have to speak to get the phones working?
”
Maya sips a glass
of
ara
.
Without asking, her cousin had brought out two glasses and a carafe of the rice-barley wine. Before speaking she takes a second sip, finishing the glass.
“
You should know, this is a problem with me,
”
she says, nodding at the glass while Henry gives her a refill.
“
Not out of control, but there are times when I can t. . .
”