The black-haired girl was never among them, sitting with her parents and having a bite to eat, but Hugh found it fascinating that there were always different people relaxing on those benches. It was as if his courtyard were a rest stop in between the comings and goings of adventurers, vagabonds, and eternal wanderers.
Hugh considered the possibility that the black-haired girl was one of those vagabonds that he would never see again. Perhaps, Hugh reflected, he would be forever hauling around his grandmother's spade.
Hugh followed the crowd like how a molecule of water follows a running river, and flowed with them onto the escalator.
Riding the escalator to the surface of the metro, Hugh questioned why he was applying so much effort to give the black-haired girl the spade. He couldn't find a definite answer, but he attributed the reason to Masha's impact on him. He saw the girl not as a way to connect to other people, but as a way to let go of his own lonely childhood. To some degree, seeing the black-haired girl sitting in the flowerbed without her parents around to take part in her activities reminded Hugh of the loneliness that he had faced at her age.
The girl indeed appeared to be in high spirits. Hugh doubted that she had suffered the same fate as he had as a child where one parent passed away and another then became shackled to work. Regardless, he felt that giving her the spade was a gesture that he himself would have appreciated receiving when he had been a child.
The escalator reached its apex and Hugh stepped off with added acceleration from the escalator's forward movement. He sidestepped around the person in front of him to avoid collision and then struck a path through the slow-moving crowd to the exit, feeling as a lightning bolt through a dense and gelatinous fog.
Hugh burst through the heavy double exit doors and flew down the five or so steps leading down to the sidewalk. He weaved through the crowd of human molasses, careful to avoid clipping the shoulders of those less eager to put distance between themselves and their metro ride.
Coming off the final step, Hugh slammed face first into a man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
The immovable object that halted Hugh's unstoppable forced did not seem perturbed or angered by their chance physical meeting. He gave Hugh a sly smile, as if signaling to Hugh that they shared had shared in some inside joke. What baffled Hugh was that the man hadn't been leaving the metro with the rest of the metro goers, he had been standing and facing the oncoming wave of humanity.
Standing there, trying to understand the forward-facing man's smile, Hugh noticed that crowd started to fork around and avoid them. Hugh and this immovable man were just two people standing there but those exiting the metro treated them as a bulky obstacle. Hugh could have extended his arms at full with, from side to side, and his fingertips wouldn't have brushed the rushing crowd.
“Pardon me sir,” Hugh said to the forward-facing man, “but you are standing in the area where people exit. The entrance is through the other —"
“I’m disappointed that you don’t remember me Mr. Mechta.” The forward-facing man interrupted with his smile still plastered on his face. He deliberately and meticulously adjusted his coke bottle glasses.
“Timmy?” Hugh’s question was incredulous. The person Hugh had met at Office M was a cowering and frail man hunched behind a desk, whereas this man stood with perfect posture seemingly supported by a steel spine, broad shoulders, and a smile that exuded not just confidence, but power.
This air of self-assuredness was supported by Timmy’s dress – a pair of brown leather loafers, black dress pants that looked tailored just for him, and a burgundy dress shirt underneath a matching waist cost lined with light brown buttons brandishing etchings of the letter M.
“You do remember me, Mr. Mechta. How delightful!” Timmy said, ignoring the stampede of people streaming outside arm’s reach.
“What brings you here?” Hugh asked, eyeing Timmy’s perfectly brushed slicked back hair. In front of Hugh, he looked like a model for some high-end hairdresser while at Office M he had looked like a poster boy for a used mop shop. “I find it too coincidental that we’ve run into each other at the metro.”
“There are no coincidences when it comes to Office M.” Timmy said and lifted a squinting gaze towards the sun. “Masha sent me to check up on you and—”
“I am so glad that Office M provides follow up consultations.” It was Hugh’s time to play the interruption game. “Both of you vanished the last time I was there.”
Timmy’s gaze left the sun and descended onto Hugh. His eyes burned with flames of annoyance that had been kindled by Hugh’s attempt at friendly banter.
“Mr. Mechta, I am in no mood for games or jokes, nor do I have the time to expend on them. I have had, and will continue to have, a very busy day. So, please refrain from any extraneous comments.”
“I apologize.” Hugh said and quickly moved to change the topic. “You were mentioning Masha.”
“Yes. Masha.” Timmy said the mystic’s name with a hint of awe. The edge in his voice blunted and the flame in his eyes extinguished. “As I was saying, Masha sent me to check up on you and see how your luck with the spade and the girl are going.”
“Masha knows about the spade and the girl?” Hugh blurted out. “I had spoken to Masha before I met the girl and offered her the spade. How does she know about that?”
“Mr. Mectha, do you really need me to answer that question for you?” Timmy sighed and pushed his enormous glasses up the bridge of his nose with a forefinger. “Let me pose to you a question, what is Masha’s profession?”
“She is a mystic.” Hugh answered after a moment of hesitation, seeing that he had walked into an obvious trap.
“Exactly, Mr. Mechta.” Timmy’s face became a smug representation of a bureaucrat satisfied with finding and resolving a discrepancy between two files.
“Hold on one second,” Hugh hurried to retort, “if she is a mystic, and knows all my business, then why does she need to you touch base with me?”
“Mr. Mechta, she has many clients to keep track of.” Timmy replied. “She does not have the time, nor the resources, to monitor every time you brush your teeth or check your emails. That is why I am here. So, I'll ask you again – how are things going with the spade and the girl?”
“I have the spade in my bag. I'll give it to the girl when I next see her.” Hugh answered, impressed by Timmy's assertiveness, especially comparted to their last encounter, and the quasi-return to his lumberjack form. “Unfortunately, I haven't seen her for a few days.”
Timmy extended an arm out and beckoned with all fingers. “Show me the spade, if you will.”
Hugh slung off his bag and speedily rummaged through it, unconcerned about wrinkling his work files and notes. He found the spade and offered it to Timmy.
“This is exquisite.” Timmy said and took the spade.
Timmy held the handle to his ear, gave it a few flicks with his nail, and listened to the vibration from within. Satisfied with this, he next lifted the spade to the sun and examined how the backside reflected light and how shadows contrasted against the inner curves of the blade.
“If I am correct, this spade belonged to your grandmother.” Timmy said. “This is an appropriate gift with an appropriate sentiment attached.”
Hugh swallowed the question asking how Timmy knew about his grandmother. Hugh hoped that Masha hadn't told Timmy any of his embarrassing secrets or moments in life.
“Mr. Mechta, I can see that all is well.” Timmy flipped the spade in his hand and offered it back to Hugh with a show of reverence, as if he were holding an artifact from the Office M display case. “I'll be sure to inform of that Masha when I return to the office. With that said, I recommend that you go march back to your fortress. I believe she is waiting for you.”
