The Fixer by Bernard Malamud Page B

this time of my life, head for business, I have kept it going, although, I confess, barely profitably. My foreman Proshko is in charge, an excellent technical person who is otherwise an ignorant man, and confidentially, the drivers who work under him have not been accounting for every brick that leaves the yard. I would like you to go in as a sort of overseer to handle accounts and, on the whole, look after my interests. My brother was involved in every phase of the operations, but I have little patience with bricks.”
    Yakov, though he had listened with excitement to the proposition, confessed he was without experience in business. “I know nothing about bookkeeping.”
    â€œCommon sense is what’s needed in business once honesty is assured,” said Nikolai Maximovitch. “What there is to learn you will learn as you go along. I usually visit for an hour one or two mornings a week, and what you don’t know I’ll try to help you with, though I frankly confess my knowledge is limited. There’s no need to protest, Yakov Ivanovitch. My daughter, whose judgment in these matters I respect, has the highest opinion of your merit, and you may believe me, I thoroughly share it. She considers you a man of sobriety and sound sense, and I am confident that after you have mastered the fundamentals you will do a responsible and
effective job. During the period of your—ah—appren-ticeship I will pay you forty-five rubles monthly. I hope that’s satisfactory. But there is another advantage for you that I should mention, frankly one that will work to our mutual benefit. My brother converted part of a loft over the brickyard stable into a warm and comfortable room, and you may live there without payment of rent if you accept my offer.”
    The forty-five rubles astounded and tempted the fixer.
    â€œWhat is it an overseer does? Excuse the question, but I’m not a man of the world.”
    â€œWorldliness is vanity, it doesn’t appeal to me. The overseer manages the business end of the enterprise. We manufacture about two thousand bricks daily—many fewer than we used to—a thousand or so more during the building season, not quite so many this time of the year; and it has been fewer lately although we have a contract with the Kiev Municipal Council for several thousands of bricks. The Tsar himself has given orders for civic improvements to be made before the Romanov Jubilee, and the Municipality is tearing up wooden walks and laying down entire streets of brick sidewalk, though this is done of course when the weather permits, not in the winter snow. And we also hold a small contract for bricks for the restoration of certain fortifications above the Dnieper. Yes, I would expect you to keep track of orders received and, to be sure, of the exact number of bricks manufactured as well as those carted out. These figures you will get from Proshko, but there are ways of checking. You will also send out statements requesting payment and enter payments received in the ledger. Once or twice weekly you will turn over bank drafts and other monies to me, and in the meantime keep them safe in the strongbox. Proshko will of course retain the responsibilities of the technical foreman, and I will tell him I expect him to place all orders for supplies through
you. You will also make out the wages inventory and pay the workers at the end of the month.”
    Though beset by self-doubt and every kind of fear, Yakov was thinking this might be his important chance. A few months’ experience at this kind of work and other opportunities might open up for him. “I’ll think it over carefully,” he said, but before Nikolai Maximovitch had descended the stairs, he had accepted.
    The landlord returned with a vodka bottle to wet the bargain. Yakov had two drinks and his uneasiness wore off. He was preparing himself for a better future, he told himself. He slept for a while on the floor and