Excerpt
Chapter l
Some have sacrifice thrust on them. Others choose it. Those who engage it, live in its consequence, always painful, sometimes surprisingly fruitful,
The day Yurt’s new life began, spring had come to New York. Sun warm, trees flowering along the avenues, the city looked it’s best. Pretty women clicked fashionably along, and so many. Their looks of interest, the inspiring weather, filled Yurt with optimism, as he hurried to his first appointment. Hours later, optimism wilted, he walked the street again. Interviewers had been courteous but uninterested. He’d never felt so out of it.
The day went like that, as did the week. I’m getting good at smiling confidently, as I’m politely told I’m worthless, he growled under his breath. Discouragement washed over him. Being out of a job and no money coming in didn’t bother him so much as being a nobody again. Being a somebody imparts comfort and armor; shrugging rights.
Talking to Marty, “So far I’ve been interviewed by five different law firms, filled out six questionnaires, waited for a partner to talk to me, who didn’t show up, and shot the breeze with three law clerks.”.
“Ah what the hell, Yurt; par for the course.
“It’s a shame Jake sabotaged the Movement, after he forced me out. We made real progress in our projects,” he told Marty.
“Yeah, too tame for those characters. Jake packed the AYRM with his kind. Wanted the hell raising to go on, the more the better. And, there was all that cash they got their mitts on from Recordassette. Come on Yurt, it’s over. Forget it. Jake and his creeps, it’s their baby now. If you had any doubts about today’s AYRM, the vote on your reinstatement should’ve convinced you. They’re all for Jake.”
Yeah, Jake should know better. But he’s been against me since Washington. Been boring in from the inside. Got his big chance, when I was working the Movement in California and left him in charge of the home office.
“Jake blew it when he ripped off Recordassette. The pros quit, company’s bankrupt. Soon as the Sarah foundation got wind of it, they cancelled. Willibalt, right after.
“Yeah, I heard, Marty. Makes me sick; all those projects we worked on. The foundations will carry the colonies that keep up standards, but no new ones.
“Regional managers like me all quit. I’m back teaching again. Do what I can Yurt, but on a one on one basis.
“So close I can taste it, Marty. Dam it, wish it could have gone critical. Had it all, the organization, the American mainstream coming around, everything, and then, nothing.”
“It’s not only Jake, the members blew it too. Didn’t realize they the establishment on the run, almost convinced. Concentrated on the trivial, and that’s what they got. The only thing we got it altogether on was the war.”
“Yeah, what now, Yurt.”
“Keep looking for a job. Some law firm ought to be able to use and experienced layman like me. For what, I don’t know.”
“You’ll do all right .Get your foot in the door, and it’ll be like the Movement, Marty grinned at him.
“I don’t know. This Movement thing is a big put-off no matter where I go.”
“Ah Yurt, you’ve got it. All you need is to get started, then nothing can stop you.”
Before starting his job search, Yurt took a day to shop for clothes. Had his hair cut, shaved off his beard. Have to look successful, even when I’m flat broke and have a new degree and no experience, he said to himself. Taking his new clothes out their boxes, unpinning his shirt, hanging up the ties, Yurt felt confidence seeping back. The smell he liked, the fabric felt good to his hands, the colors blended.; not at all like the usual jeans and tee shirts.
Yurt looked at himself in the free-standing full length mirror, his landlady’s pride, the room’s only selling point. He admitted that it came in handy at a time like this. The room had nothing else, except a beat up bureau and a bed.
Yurt checked himself critically—young, tall, lean, wide-shouldered, in a dark suit, standing on sturdy prosperous shoe leather. A soft collar off white shirt set just the right tone for the small-figured dark blue tie. His black hair much shorter now, he wore cut full, combed neatly, conservatively. The heavy black beard, gone; the mustache, well trimmed over a wide grin—the basic man revealed. No change to the intense blue eyes, the slightly hawked nose, the light pocked cheeks, hidden all these hairy years.
“If kit saw me now she wouldn’t recognize me,” he said out loud.
Different, he thought, not unpleased. “Shit man, you’re a lawyer now,” he intoned to the empty room, pleased to hear the resonance unchanged, strong, vibrant. His cash didn’t please him. Had to get a job and soon. One thing, I’m not asking the old man for money. Got to make it over the rough spots myself.
Getting booted out of the organization he’d founded did a job on his self esteem. Only thing left is to pick up the pieces and start allover again.
All week long Yurt visited law offices in Philadelphia. In the evening he wrote letters to out of town law firms. The few interviews He’d managed to get made him feel alien, out of it.
Marty called Friday night. “What’s the score, man?”
Funny, Marty in all the hell raising times never called him ‘man’. Must be the influence of his current college universe.
“No luck, Marty,” Yurt said. “I’ve been pounding the pavements—nothing. Nobody’s interested.-- too much of a freak. no experience, years out of school.
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