The Job of Jones Avenue

By Randy Boyagoda

April 1, 2013

Fiction from Randy Boyagoda

"And you know what, sir," Lawrence said to my grandfather, "you see Adam over there, his wife is expecting their sixth child! You should see her, so big! And when my little brother goes home tonight and tells her he got lucky at work today, she'll be so happy for him Lawrence Litvack believed that a Jew who ran a business had to deal with two types: the hard-working anti-Semite and the lazy anti-Semite But if his opinion was asked, for instance, on how much money a family should rightly spend on malt vinegar in a month, he'd be right into it, making Lawrence and Adam laugh by informing his response with casual references to Litvackia: to the agreements Marvin had accepted with Mrs After a third attempt, my father finished clearing off a skid and then turned to Lawrence and asked, respectfully, "Sorry, six million?" When Lawrence's eyes bugged (Fish-Man!) and he could say nothing, Lucky smiled, bobbled his head and went back to work When Lawrence would call Adam the Job of Jones Avenue in front of others, be they Gentile or Jew, rabbi or mailman, new Sri Lankan employee or old Latvian father, Adam wouldn't utter word one of reproach Listening to my parents speak while scrunched up in the hallway, I was with my father here; I didn't understand what was wrong with getting lucky at work instead of at home, or in an elevator with two roommates for that matter The brothers had given Oscar a lot of attention; Adam had been kind, offering tea, and Lawrence was grandly deferential, gushing about how grateful the company had been to find Lucky Putting colours and numbers on players was such an American thing to do, like they were slaves or cattle, my father later explained to us, after his promotion put him at a work table in the main office between the poster and the avocado tree And I didn't get much more from my mother when Lucky asked for a clarification; she shifted into Sinhalese

Read more...