My Business is a Machine (based on a true story)

by

John Stephen Mauldin, MLA (not AI-assisted)

All right reserved, copyright © 2025

Springtime came with "its divine spirit of discontent and longing," irresistibly calling us out the library doors into the halcyon day. We sat in the cool shade of giant oak trees on the library steps, enjoying our lunch.

The silence was not interrupted but accented softly by a zephyr through the oak leaves and branches unto a rustling exaltation, fading again to stillness as though the great trees were yawning because of the restful day.

There was, however, a stain, a spot upon this foretaste of paradise for a blind soul, who was there, oblivious to the golden day, berated a young lady. "My business is a machine! You must be a cog in the gearbox. Cold steel without feeling."

She sat motionless as he continued his harangue. Then she stood in the middle of one of his sentences and, looking down at him, said in a soft, cooling voice that seemed to come from a deep well within her. "Everyone is very sensitive, and everyone is having a hard time."

She turned and walked away, her long, flaxen locks gently tossed by the warm breeze. He became like a gargoyle atop Notre Dame Cathedral, stone still with mouth agape.