He was an important man.
“No! You don’t understand,” he was saying, “I have a great deal of prestige.”
“Really?” the old man in a white smock said, with a grin.
“Yes. Really. I’m a well-respected citizen. I mean, I’m used to receiving a certain amount of respect. I have followers; people who look up to me. They rely on me to set an example. I’m regularly asked to say a few words at the rotary club dinners. People in the street recognise me and smile. Many of them approach me and shake my hand. For example, whenever I go to the bank the manager always comes forward to deal with me personally.”
“Oh! Yes, yes. That’s all well and good, but it all comes to nothing really.”
“Nothing?”
“Precisely! Nothing.”
The old man poked something in the brazier. He turned back. “When the hotel porter held the door open for you, you didn’t say thank you.”
“Pardon?”
“You didn’t.”
“Didn’t?”
“No. You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“Didn’t say thank you.”
The man tied to the chair was now sweating. “What of it?”
“Well, there you are, you see?”
“No! I don’t see.”
“Of course you don’t. That’s the problem right there. Right there it is, under your nose. The problem; as plain as plain.”
“But…” the other blurted.
“You silly Billy,” the man cooed, as he picked up the branding iron. It was glowing cherry red. He turned and smiled.
At this point the man’s eyes snapped open. He was in a cold sweat. The bed sheets were wet. He began to think. The night before, when he’d attended the dinner, when he entered the hotel. He remembered climbing the steps, remembered the porter standing back, holding the front door open with a nod of the head…
Then… he remembered.