You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.

For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.

When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.

Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings in unison.

...

Vacancy Available.

She had been walking past the same sign every day for almost a week to and from the beach. It wasn't the best looking shop but there was something cosy about the little fish and chips shop on the corner and the more she looked at the sign, the more she considered it. They needed the money and it was only the fear of constancy and permanence that stopped her from walking in.

If she got the job, she would be forced to stay. But she didn't know why she would possibly consider leaving. It was just a silly notion that had taken root in her brain- It was simply change that got to her. Her life had always been ruled by constancy. She lived in the same house, ate the same food every week, went to the same school- there was nothing in her life that hinted at radical change...

Perhaps besides for her...

But life had always been the same. She was so sure her life would go back to the way it was and the idea of it all had her heart leap to her throat. She couldn't go back to that life and the more attachments she made to this life, the more devastated she would be if it were taken away....

Vacancy Available.

They needed the money. They couldn't live on a loaf of bread a week. They needed food. They needed tea and coffee and jam and proper food. Not soup. She had cooked one packet every two days and they would eat that at night and in the mornings they warmed up their milk and dipped a slice of bread in it... And that was it. They had to cut back on the food to make way for their sleeping bags and their two plates and cups and their stash of money was rapidly shrinking,

She never told Riaz that she had a debit account. And it was surprisingly well filled but how could she ever use that money. That money was poison. She had earned that money with her body and she would never, ever touch a cent of it.

This money- this small meagre amount; this was hers. She had worked at a bakery for a few months and she remembered coming home with an aching body and tired feet but that money was hers. That was her own hard work manifesting itself into a monetary reward but it was hers.

It was her own accomplishment.

Not that money. That dirty sick money that her mother thought would make her happy. That dirty money that he asked their mother to give her...

She didn't want that.

She had cut up her debit card before she had left- she didn't want him to trace her and find her. He would never find her and she would make damn sure of it...

Vacancy Available.

The bell chimed above her as she stepped foot inside the door.

...

Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune.

But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of Earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born.

"You married, son?" His supervisor asked as they rode the elevator up to the third floor.

"Ya."

"How old are you?" He looked up at the massive figure before him wondering how this giant of a man decided to become a chemical engineer when it was clear he was built for other things.

"22."

"Oh- You're a bit young to be interning here aren't you?" His interns were usually 25 and up and the more he looked at this mystery before him, the more intrigued he became.

"I guess not." He shrugged of the question.

"Hmm... I guess the guys up there thought so too."

"I guess so."

The elevator door slid open without a sound as they walked down the narrow passageway. He hated the fact that the walls were painted a deep maroon colour or the way it smelt of generic freshener. But through all the man's babbling, Riaz kept silent never offering more information than necessary and never entertaining his ridiculous notions that Riaz got the position through means other than hard work. "We'll show you the ropes over here in the office first before we take you out into the field. I hear you're interested in working at the refinery."

"Yeah."

"Ya we'll probably take you out on the boat a in about a month or so. Show you the pumps and all of that and then we'll take it from there."

Boat...

His fingers tapped subtly against his thigh. He didn't know anything about a boat. He had made it clear that he was working on shore and on solid ground... He wasn't going anywhere near those pumps if he had anything to do about it.

"Hello?" Mr Devenport snapped his fingers in front of Riaz's face much to his annoyance.

"Yes?"

"Where did you go to?"

Riaz only looked down at him, waiting for him to continue his speech.

"So ya- I saw your results."

Riaz quirked an eyebrow at him.

"They were impressive. They were very impressive." He mused. "I can see why they accepted your application."

"Thank you."

"So right this way..."

...

You have been told also that life is darkness and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary.

And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge.

And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge.

And all knowledge is vain save when there is work.

And all work is empty save when there is love...

"Can I help you?" He was short and portly. His voice was dry and hoarse with decades of smoking and his face had become and lined and marked with years and years of stories.

"Uhm..." It had been a while since she had gotten a job and for a second Tasneem was unsure of how to go about doing it.

"Ya?" He peered at her impatiently.

"You have a sign advertising a job."

"Uhm hmm." His impatience seemed to slowly ebb away with her words.

"For what position is it exactly?"

He looked at her curiously. She didn't seem the type to take up the job they were offering. She was too well spoken and too well polished and everything about her spoke only volumes of good upbringing. If there was one thing he was good at besides frying the best fish- it was reading people and he could read a rich person when he saw one.

"I don't think this job is what you're looking for." He said gruffly. She was probably wasting his time anyway. He had enough chancers over the past few months and he had just about lost all rationality when it came to dealing with them.

"Why?"

"We need someone to gut fish and cut the potatoes."

"I can do it." Tasneem said without a moment's hesitation. She could descale, gut and fillet fish in her sleep.

"You?" He looked at her skeptically. "You can gut a fish?"

"Yeah."

"What's your name anyway?" He asked. He looked at her as if she was a puzzle. She felt uncomfortable under his gaze but she stood her ground never once looking away.

"Tasneem."

"So what qualifies you for the job exactly?"

"Uhm..." She wasn't sure. She never actually saw herself working at a fish and chips shop before and it almost felt almost as if she was ashamed to admit just how she had procured such information. "I studied at the Bloemfontein Culinary Institute."

"So you're a chef?" What the hell does a chef want gutting fish at a fish and chips shop?

"No. I didn't complete the course."

He only sighed, shaking his head at her. "Come to the back. Show me what you can do." He waved her over to the break in the counter as he walked slowly towards the back. The fryers were all on and she could hear the sizzle of the chips as they heated up and she could smell the fish that lay to warm in the ovens and even the bread had its own aroma. She felt a prickle of excitement throughout her body and an itch through her fingers at the idea of working once again. She loved working. She loved keeping busy. She loved going home with an ache at the base of her back and she loved working so hard that she had forgotten everything else. It was brutally beautiful to feel the essence of your labour at the end of the day and to know that you've done something.

The job might not have been the most glamorous job but...

If she got it, it would be hers. She could control it and it would be hers.

He led her towards a room in the back. It was small and the pungent odour of fresh fish assaulted her nose immediately causing it to crinkle in distaste. "Ya. You get used to it after a while."

She could only nod, not at all enthused about getting used to that smell. She watched him walk to the cold room on the right before he wheeled out a cooler. "I finished the rest of them this morning but I never got down to cleaning up the last one." He said, bending down to pick up the fish from its bed of ice. "So," he said placing the fish on the counter. "Let's see then."

He handed her an old butter knife and watched her go to work...

...

"So this is a basic manual of what goes down at the refinery. You need to go through it and you see these tags," Mr Devenport pointed at the sticky notes besides him. "Green means you get it, Blue means you're unsure and red means you don't know what the hell's going on. No shame son, what you don't understand I'll explain." Riaz shuddered at the idea of reading it all. It wasn't just one book. It was a volume of books he had to get through...

He could already feel his eye twitch behind his glasses at the idea of it.

"So for the next three days, you come straight here and you work on these manuals right."

"Okay."

"Good. I'll see you in an hour or so."

He nodded distractedly before he set his jacket on the chair before he rolled up his sleeves and got to work...

...

"Is that real gold?" He pointed to the ring on her finger as Tasneem squeezed out the entrails from the inside of the fish into the bucket besides her.

"Ya."

"Good. It won't turn black then. Though I'd suggest don't wear it here again. I don't want it to get lost."

She nodded absentmindedly as she rinsed the fish out gently barely realising what he had just said until...

"Wait," She switched off the tap. "Are you giving me the job?"

"You can gut a fish can't you?" He said- though she would only figure out much later that his even tone and non-caring words would only ever imply that he was impressed with her.

"I suppose I can." She smiled down at the severed fish in her hands.

"Finish it up and go home. You'll start tomorrow."

"Okay."

He didn't know why the hell she was smiling like a fool. When she heard the hours, she'd definitely stop.

"On Mondays and Thursdays, the fish comes in fresh from the harbour so you need to be here by 5. On Fridays and Tuesday's, the vegetables come in so you need to be here by 5:30 but the rest of the week you can be here by 6."

"Uhm hmm." She said, rubbing the fish dry before storing it back in the cooler.

"If you work Saturday nights, you get overtime but the rest of the week you knock off at 5. I pay you One-Two a week and from tomorrow you get to wear gloves at work." He stopped, considering his information. "Anything else?"

"What do I call you?"

If he were anyone else he might have felt embarrassed at the question. But he was old and busy and names were of no real importance anyway. "You can call me Mr Umar."

"Okay."

"You done?" He asked watching her deposit the knives in the draw besides the counter.

"Yes."

"Here," He walked over to the cupboard at the corner. "The lemon juice stays here. Wash your hands with it for the smell and go home."

"Thank you."

"And it's not safe here early in the mornings. Don't come alone."

"Okay."

"Good."

And then he walked away as if he was never there at all.

Tasneem smiled, stretching to crack her back before she walked to the sink on the far end of the room...

Today was a good day...

...

And all work is empty save when there is love.

And when you work with love and you bind yourself to yourself, and to another and to God.

And what is to work with love?

It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear the cloth.

It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.

It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit.

Work is love made visible...

"Hey." He walked in, closing the door softly behind him.

"Hi." She smiled up at him before looking down at her fingers as she tried to remove the ring that had seemed to magically contract around her finger.

"What are you cooking?" It smelt different than soup and the thought of it had his mouth watering. He was so, so sick of soup but he would never actually tell her that.

"It's nothing special. It's just mixed vegetables and sweetcorn." She was just as sick of soup as he was. "I figured we could celebrate just a little."

He dropped his jacket and his bag near the wall before sitting down on his sleeping bag. "What are we celebrating?"

"I got a job today." She smiled again and for the first time since he had seen her again, her smile had reached her eyes. He was sure he had never seen her looking more beautiful that just then. She was dressed as she always was with her hair in a high ponytail but as the lampshade case a soft glow on her face and her smile glittered in her eyes- She was just beautiful.

"What job?"

"Skinning fish and cutting chips." She said, tugging her ring just a little more forcefully now even as she looked at him.

"But you can do that in your sleep right?"

She chuckled lightly as her eyes widened. "You still remember?"

He only shrugged before he looked down at her hands. "Do you want some help with that?" He held his hand out to her. He needed her permission to touch her again and he wished she would give it to him.

"Please." She sighed, exasperated at her situation. "Nothing seemed to work. I put my finger under hot water and I used soap but it just won't budge."

He twisted the ring experimentally, feeling his hands grow a bit cold with her frozen fingers. "Just one second." He stood up walking over to his suitcase perched before rifling though it for whatever it was he was looking for before he walked over to the sink to pour a little warm water in his hands.

"What's that?"

"Magic." He teased, mixing the solution in his palm with his index finger before he sat down and took her hand in his once again. He held her palms straight before he scooped up the warmed jelly between his thumb and index finger and gently rubbed the skin around her ring.

"Is that Vaseline?" Her voice sounded tight as she looked down at him slowly twirling the ring in order to get the bottom coated.

"Ya."

"Oh." She wanted it off her. She hated Vaseline. She hated the smell of it and the feel of it. She hated looking at it on her skin. She just wanted it off her.

He felt her fingers tense only slightly as he coaxed the ring softly over her knuckle before sliding it off her finger entirely. "There you go." He held her ring before her as he placed her hand back onto her lap.

"Thank you." She took her ring, storing it in her pocket before she stood up and walked over to the bathroom. "You should probably wash up for Supper."

She walked over to the tap, scrubbing her hand furiously beneath  the scalding water as she tried to get rid of the feeling of the Vaseline on her skin. She just wanted it off her but no matter how much she tried she could still smell it and feel it and it just wouldn't go away. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed till the skin on her finger was raw and red and only when it hurt to touch it...

Did it finally go away...

A/N The poem used in this chapter is called Work by Khalil Gibran.