The story is about a very poor worker named Michael K. in the times of war in Africa. He has a hare lip and he starts out the story trying to take his dying mother to her homeland.
I was in a Starbucks, reading the book when I happened to look up. There, at the counter, was a woman who looked at me and smiled.
I half-heartedly smiled and returned to my reading.
Michael had been traveling for days without food and had finally come across an abandoned farm where there was a herd of wild goats. He had managed to get a hold of a goat and with a small knife, he struggled while he tried to slit its throat. He resorted to trying to drown it in the river but was so weak, he struggled, water splashing, knife slipping out of his grip as he drove the tiny blade into the goat’s throat.
At that moment, I felt someone approach and looked up to see that same woman from the counter walk up. She greeted me.
“Hello Fumiko. How are you?”
I looked at her blankly. Who the hell was this woman? How does she know who I am?
“I’m Joaquin’s sister,” she said.
Joaquin? The CEO at work? But I don’t know any of his family. I still had the cloud of the book about me and Michael was still trying to kill the goat.
“Joaquin. You know, he works in Post Booking on the second floor…”
Fucking goat would not die.
JoaquinJoaquinJoaquin. Who the hell are you? And how the hell do I know your sister? Are you someone I am actively trying to avoid? Did I throw a turnip at your head and now you are head over heels in love with me? Did we sleep together?
“You know, he has curly hair, in his 40s…”
That four-legged motherfucker finally died.
“OH, THAT JOAQUIN!”
The very nice, married man who I’ve never slept with nor thrown turnips at.