Sometimes I Kill Myself Part 5

I don’t know how I came to be seated in another office, just that I was there for an interview. The line of questions seemed to be designed to trip me up, you know, to confuse me into saying something I didn’t mean to say. Some of the most basic ones left me wanting for a proper answer. Of course, I knew my name. Masson Meursault is difficult to get wrong.

“What is you address?”

“If you mean to ask where I reside, obviously you know that already. You had me brought here, didn’t you?”

“For the record, Mr. Meursault, we have to ask. You do understand.”

“I’m not sure I understand your question. I live at Quarter House about five miles out the south post road.”

“Yes, but what is your street address?”

“Pardon?”

“How do you receive letters and parcels, etcetera?”

“Why, they’re delivered of course to my home.”

“And that is where?”

“I’ve just said. Quarter House. It’s about five miles out the south post road.”

“Fine. Let’s move on then. What is your phone number?”

“Phone number? I don’t know what that is. I’m sure I don’t have one.”

“How do people make contact with you?”

“The same as everyone. A stable boy of someone comes to the door with a note. If a reply is expected he waits while I write one otherwise, he leaves. Either way, I give him a coin for his trouble and he leaves. What an odd question, I must say.”

“So you don’t own a phone?”

“As I said before, I don’t know what one is so my answer must be no.”

Even as I said this, a strange series of numbers sprang into my mind. Sometimes the strangest ideas come to me without the slightest effort on my part. As I’m not a particularly creative person I don’t understand the why or wherefore of them. Under the circumstances I believed it best to keep that to myself. I lowered my hand for my dog Buster. He wasn’t there. His absence greatly distressed me. He is always at my side.

“Where’s my dog? Did you leave him home alone?”

“We didn’t notice a dog. Do you have one?”

“I wouldn’t have inquired about a dog I don’t have now would I? His name’s Buster. You must have seen him when you brought me here.”

A younger man standing silently at the door now spoke, “Sorry, but there was no dog, sir. Perhaps he had gone outdoors.”

“Perhaps. Not likely though.”

My last statement made little sense. I could feel myself slipping into a kind of fog. With Buster I felt lost without a compass. My senses were fading. The strangest thing happened next.

“5-5-2-9-9-9-0-2-4-6,” I recited as though from some memory. I witnessed the interviewer writing it down and then I fainted.

“Masson, do you realize you recited your phone number?”

“I need to find my dog.”