Fable

fable /ˈfeɪb(ə)l/ n. 1. A short story, typically with animals as characters, conveying a moral.

The fable of the sick lion and the wary fox

V. Archaic. 2. Tell fictitious tales.

“I do not dream nor fable”

Oxford Languages Dictionary

Edmund was surprised himself sometimes how much value he projected onto people when they could do something for him. In any other situation this person was someone he would regard with minimal interest. 

‘Is there anything you would like to know about the position?’ asked Mr Kahnweiler, the Manager of the Forest Mound Bank. Mr Kahnweiler wore, despite the humble suburb his workplace was located in, a very expensive looking tailored suit. Despite being an older manager of a small suburban bank who’s layout was indsitinguishable from its five thousand other branches, Mr Kahnweiler was still clearly holding onto dreams of marble pillars, mahogany desks and a flower for his buttonhole. 

In any other interview Edmund would have been concerned about being asked what else he wanted to know about a position towards the end of the first meeting. The question was not said in a tone that could be regarded as fearsome, but Edmund always sensed such words as an indication that the interviewer was losing interest and beginning to scrape the bottom of the barrel for questions. The promise that they would be in touch would inevitably follow. On this occasion Edmund was not concerned because he could see the standard list of questions, emblazoned with the bank’s logo, that the branch’s regional lord was clearly obliged to work from. 

Edmund normally preferred to discuss practical details in an interview but for the sake of Mr Kahnweiler he would add a bit of style to his performance.

‘What would you say is the core value of this bank?’ asked Edmund with expertly articulated enthusiasm. 

‘Integrity and honesty without a doubt’ his interviewer replied. As he said this there was a notable relaxation of the grip on the pen that he was holding over Edmund’s resume. The only marks that Kahnweiler would be making on the paper would be two ticks once Edmund left the room. 

‘Lies have a cost’, Kahnweiler continued, ‘but we also need to remember that the truth has a consequence. Truth alone is not a virtue if it is merely wielded to be cruel or disadvantage others.’ “When In Doubt Tell the Truth” would doubtless be the preferred title of Mr Kahnweiler’s autobiography. The question was whether he could tolerate the truth himself when it confronted him. 

It was Tuesday when Edmund completed the interview. They invited him to come in on Thursday when it was usually quieter so he could get a feel of the place. 

By the following Thursday Edmund was in a comfortable work routine and knew when he was likely to be asked to complete overtime. He was confident enough of having this evening free that he had organised with two friends to meet for a steak and a comedy show at six thirty. It was now fifteen minutes past five. Edmund had decided that as the pub was nearby he would win some brownie points with management by staying back at work until six before leaving. By twenty to six Edmund was the only one left in the back offices. There was no after hours receptionist and as far as Edmund could tell there was only the security officer in his own quarters with the CCTV monitors still remaining. Edmund began marking the word “Processed” with a red ink stamp on a small pile of loan applications. He noticed straight away that the stamp was very dry. Presumably there was spare ink in the stationery cupboard. As he was not doing anything particularly urgent Edmund decided he may as well refill the stamp with fresh ink. He found the bottle in the cupboard and moved to the nearest desk where he removed the lid and attempted to open the chamber on the back of the stamp. The dried ink had made this task difficult and when the lid broke open Edmund’s hand swung the nearly full ink bottle onto the carpet. The stain was like a blood splatter pattern several inches long and wide on the pale blue carpet. 

Edmund did not think there would be anyone coming overnight to clean but even the most indifferent staff member would notice the stain. Edmund barely knew how to clean his own bathroom. What was more he was determined to not alter his plans for the evening. There were only three people apart from the security officer that knew he was working late including Mr Kahnweiler. Those three managers were all generally late comers who would not arrive until the back office staff had been working for an hour. Setting them against each other was probably Edmund’s best bet. Julie, the oldest staff member and close to retirement, would probably see the stain and take charge, blaming the accident on a careless young staff member. Helen the auditor was notorious for white lies committed to cover up accidents. 

Edmund knew where he had spilled the ink was within the view of security cameras. Presuming he did not show too much of a reaction to the accident the one guard looking at the footage would probably not even have noticed anything unusual. Glancing over his clothes Edmund could not find any stains that had reached him apart from a couple drops of red on the end of his tail. 

Edmund arrived the following morning with a can of carpet cleaner hidden in his bag. He did not intend to use it but if there was any suspicion on him when he arrived it would hopefully serve as an indication of trying to fix his mistake. It was just as well for Mr Kahnweiler was surprisingly the first to arrive the next morning. He gave the impression of being convinced by Edmund’s story. He definitely did put the pieces together that only Edmund could have caused the stain. The idea of bringing the carpet cleaner at least only made him look stupid for thinking he could leave an ink stain overnight and still expect to be able to remove it rather than being an outright liar. 

One Month Later

What was the French word for drunk? Edmund had no clue. Taking a package tour of the wine region had meant he had avoided needing to do too much independent communication himself. But now he found himself listening very intently to the two young police talking in rapid French for any indication of what was going through their minds. He did not think he had too much to drink when he climbed onto the quad bike with the two other members of his group. He had heard a bit of a bump behind him. Could the wine that was still in him have impacted what he heard? Did the police just want to question him about the time and place and were waiting for an interpreter? 

In France, as Edmund understood, it was a crime to do nothing if someone was in danger or needed help. Definitely quite a bit of distance had come between Edmund and the other two riders before he noticed anything. Would the police suspect him? It was only a mistake. Would they breath test him?

Edmund did not know what the driving alcohol limit was but he had a feeling he was pushing the limit. The judgement in his parents’ eyes was something he knew he would not have been able to stand when telling him that he had been dismissed. When he left for Perth to do some real estate dealings they had not noticed him pack his passport. The trip to France would be difficult to conceal if he was arrested. Would he be imprisoned? He saw an ambulance drive along the road. Was it coming towards them or away from them? There was no siren. It was not in a hurry. 

Two Months Earlier

Charlie was the bravest man Edmund had ever known. It did not matter that he was his brother, Charlie was his hero. He had pulled his next door neighbour’s six year old child from their burning cubby house. The child had smuggled his father’s tobacco kit inside and attempted to use it himself. By some miracle he had received only superficial burns to the arms when he set the cubby on fire. Luckily his clothes were made of natural fibres that resisted flames and did not melt on the skin. Charlie saw the flame and the smoke and heard the boy’s cry before anyone else because the small timber hut backed onto his own fence. Within a minute Charlie had climbed the fence and seared his hand on the burning door. He threw the boy through the doorway onto the soft ground before one of his own feet collapsed through the floor after the beam he was standing on had burned white hot on one end and collapsed. Charlie’s knee cracked from the impact and several large splinters tore into his thigh. A plastic Thomas the Tank Engine golf bag hanging on the wall had caught flame and melted a searing ooze onto the right side of his face as he tried to lift himself free. Charlie’s wedding was six days later. 

Charlie was a veteran of three tours in Afghanistan. It meant that he had an impressive dress uniform to wear to his wedding that he had rightly earned. But in the time since serving the natural instinct for security for his own person had returned and he was out of practice handling danger. Now Charlie was angry, furious and resentful of what fate had dealt him in the lead up to his wedding. His face was half burned. The Phantom of the Opera could not have suffered worse.

‘Charlie’, said Edmund, for whom he was his Best Man, ‘I know it may not necessarily feel like it, god knows you have the right to feel very differently, but you are the luckiest guy in the world right now.’

Charlie, half an hour before the ceremony was due to begin, was staring at a mirror in the priest’s office which was being used as a changing room. He was beginning to tear up.

‘I get that this feels very unjust. And it is. But you are a survivor. Hayley loves you.’

Charlie appeared to swallow something inside and looked at Edmund in the mirror. He then turned to face him.

‘Can I tell you something?’ he asked.

‘Of course!’ Edmund replied. Charlie again seemed to enter a moment of deep contemplation before looking at Edmund again.

‘I’m not sorry for myself. But I am afraid that Hayley is still only marrying me because of how it would look if she left me.’

Edmund was confident that Charlie was wrong but he could not tell if this was his head and heart talking or if he was hoping himself that the truth fitted an ideal narrative. What Edmund said next he could not tell if he said for the sake of Charlie or himself.