Ben Black

The board consists of the following:

FREDO--chairman, age 60, 2 years on the board

            During Mr. Fredo's short time as chairman, he has assumed a royal bearing which he feels the position grants him. He sits upright in his chair with a lofty look on his face. He is a tall, bald man. He has a nasal voice. He wears loose-fitting suits which don't reveal the shape of his body, he sometimes seems to suffer from mild allergies, and his annoyed expression might come from a lingering disease or an intense dislike for the other board members, whom he deems beneath him. Though he is not the timekeeper (that's my duty), he often interrupts discussions in order to hurry things along. I am fairly certain he does not privately review the minutes of our meetings.

LIEBER--age 58, 8 years on the board

            Mr. Lieber is an energetic fellow, given to little jokes throughout board meetings. He wears his gray hair in a stiff bristle and gray wrinkly suits, and he sits in his chair on one buttock, with his hand resting on his cheek and his elbow on the table. He directs his comments across his shoulder to the person sitting next to him, but says them loud enough for everyone to hear. He is the only member of the board who without fail faces whoever's speaking directly, swiveling his chair and contorting his body so as to be in a position of relaxed comfort at all times.

PARISH--age 73, 20 years on the board

            A quiet, meticulous man, Mr. Parish is the board's secretary. He wears tight-fitting, spotless suits, all of which appear to be worn for the first time. Despite the new, unworn, fit of his suits, he seems extremely comfortable as he sits, taking notes on the meeting. His gaze drops to his large yellow pad of paper the instant someone speaks, and remains there until the end of the meeting. He scratches out small, tight letters with a pencil. His writing is so labored, it does not seem that he can possibly keep up with the proceedings, yet his record is clean--he misses nothing, and never has.

MANSARD--64, 10 years on the board (ABSENT)

            Mr. Mansard is of average height and build. He has dark features, and seems frequently to be troubled--he frowns during meetings and rifles through his papers. He has too many papers, more than anyone else on the board, and he spreads them out farther and farther on the table as the meeting progresses. His dark, abundant hair is messy because he runs his fingers through it. By the end of the meeting, it stands up comically on his head. He died this morning, presumably of a heart attack, after striking himself accidentally in the chest with the door of his car. This accident was witnessed only by his neighbor, who called the paramedics but left for the meeting before they arrived.

SMITH--81, 25 years on the board (ABSENT)

            Mr. Smith is jovial, pleasant, and beloved by everyone on the board. For the past few weeks he has been ill with an intestinal infection. The board is concerned, but his nervous wife reveals very little information. The board has already discussed what would happen should he pass away--there would be voting on a new member, and Mr. Fredo hints, a possible reshuffle of existing members. What he means by this is not clear.

MRS. SMITH--50something

            Filling in for Mr. Smith is his wife. She wears a copper-colored business suit and has her red hair arranged tightly just before meetings. She rarely speaks, arranges her papers, pens, and lapels nervously throughout every meeting, and occasionally glances around the room, as if contemplating some surreptitious act. She takes notes as well, presumably to show her husband on her return from the meeting. She writes sporadically and with uneven speed--it is often unclear whose words she is writing down, since she does not seem to write sentences that correspond to the length of anything anyone's said. No one knows how accurate her notes are--she sits between Mr. Parish, who never takes his eyes off his own notes, and Mr. Anders, who never wears his reading glasses.

ANDERS--59, 8 years on the board

            Mr. Anders is red-faced and mostly quiet. He reserves his opinions for a certain point in the meeting, then lets them all flow forth at once in a verbal stream that can last up to five minutes, then he speaks no more. This act seems to tire him out; he becomes pale and sweaty. His health is not great. He once had a leave of absence from the board due to the failure of several organs. How he manages to still be alive is a mystery to everyone he knows.

MYSELF--59, 5 years on the board

            I witnessed Mr. Mansard's death this morning. The other details about me are unimportant. I only know this: it is my duty to inform the board of my neighbor's passing. I am sitting very still in my chair while Lester reads the minutes next to me; any slight movement might jar the news from me in an indecorous burst. I don't know why it's taking so long for Lester to read the minutes, I don't know when to make my announcement, I am fidgeting more than Mrs. Smith, sweating like Anders.

LESTER--50, mere months on the board

            Mr. Lester is the newest member. He is bright and cheery, he is very active, he is physically fit to an astonishing degree. He looks much younger than he is. For some reason, it has always been the board's custom to have the youngest member read the minutes from the last meeting, instead of the secretary. Mr. Lester stands to read the minutes, he reads with a booming delivery as if giving a great speech, he manages at times to instill the minutes with humor, which they otherwise do not contain. Almost everyone laughs at his jokes--The exceptions are Mr. Parish, who is busy writing, and Mr. Anders, who laughs quietly to himself at other times but never at Mr. Lester.

SCRIBBS--80, 30 years on the board

            Mr. Scribbs has been on the board longer than anyone else, and is older than all save one. He is short and stout and sits at the end of the table, glaring at everyone. He rarely speaks. He does not bring anything to the meetings except himself.  He seems to be the only one who can make Mr. Fredo nervous--whenever the chairman looks down the table at him he seems to pause, swallow or adjust his clothes or papers, lose his train of thought, change the subject. Mr. Scribbs does not react to this display, or to anything, except to sometimes chuckle softly at something Mr. Lester has said.

TOM--19, page (ABSENT)

            Tom is an intern who normally stands in the back of the room by the door, ready to dash out for a file or more coffee or water for members of the board. He rarely speaks, simply takes orders and bolts out the door. No one has said anything about his absence today. Absences are not addressed until after the minutes are read.

            And that's when I'll have to speak.

            Mr. Lester is reading the minutes. He pauses to clear his throat. Mr. Parish keeps writing. Mrs. Smith looks up at Mr. Lester, perhaps curious as to the reason for his pause. Her hand grips a pen. Mr. Fredo leans back in his chair slightly, producing a slight creak. The right half of Mr. Lieber's open coat slides off his leg, which he has balanced on his other leg, and dangles by his chair. My heart pounds in my ears. I can feel it jumping in my chest, can see the pulse in my eyes. Mr. Lester is still clearing his throat, Mrs. Smith lifting her head, that creak of Mr. Fredo's chair. Mr. Lieber's coat falls. Mr. Mansard's chair sits empty. Only Mr. Parish's writing is comforting, because in this moment as in all moments it is constant, a slow steady crawl across the yellow page. But everything else is trapped, stuck in this moment before I make my announcement, which I can't bring myself to do, which refuses to come out. I saw Mr. Mansard fall, I know he is dead, but I did not see the paramedics arrive and I can't be sure he's dead. But he is dead, no one falls like that and breathes afterwards. And here all around me are people who don't know it, and I am burdened with the task of telling them, but I can't, it's stuck, it won't come out, even though this is the moment it needs to be said, this moment which is waiting for me: all the world halts and listens but I can't--I won't--it isn't that I doubt what I have to say but I cannot stand this expectation, the air so heavy restricting me, the waiting chokes me and I can't say anything, so here I'll sit and sweat, this will be my new task, to sit and sweat and when I'm done then maybe.

            Mr. Mansard's chair, between Mr. Fredo's and Mr. Lieber's, is empty. As Mr. Lester clears his throat and Mrs. Smith looks up from her paper at him, I wonder what is happening to Mr. Mansard. Perhaps he is still in the ambulance, assuming it arrived, and the paramedics are trying to coax him back to life. Or he's in the hospital, and the doctors are getting ready to perform similar life-saving maneuvers. What is certain is that time is stopped there as here, the doctor's paddles raised over Mr. Mansard's chest, waiting for me to speak, for me to tell them he is dead so that they can bring him back to life. It's up to me whether he lives or dies, I must pronounce sentence on his life and be proved wrong or right, but I can't--I won't--I am not made of the stuff which moves time forward, which saves lives or kills.

            And you in your car on the way to work, or in your home feeling the day about to lurch forward, or dying in bed under the weight of your years, you can feel it too can't you, this moment that stretches impossibly out, that lingers and is not followed by another--I am sorry, it is my fault, I am saddled with the weight of time and because I am too weak to pull it forward, it stands still.

            Mr. Fredo's chair creaks. Mr. Lester clears his throat. Mr. Parish's pencil scrapes across the page. Mr. Lieber's coat falls and somewhere behind my head Mr. Mansard waits between life and death, and let him wait, because I am waiting too, have been waiting for what seems like days now while Mrs. Smith glances up at Mr. Lester, have always been waiting for a moment when my voice would matter, and now the moment proves too large to squeeze through the narrow center of the hourglass.