On the Books

As well as organizing and digitizing the files that are already present in the Church, Listen’s duties also encompass the archiving of current records. He sets time aside at the end of the day to look at any new file someone may leave on his desk– since, really, there aren’t usually very many new things coming in.

Today, though, there is a service– and with services come donations. It used to be that Mercy kept all records of donation in one big logbook– but ever since Listen took on the job, he prefers they hand him a single sheet of paper, which he uploads to the new system he had installed.

Typically, he likes this sort of work– but every week, the system tells him that he’s input the numbers incorrectly. This forces him to pull out Mercy’s big logbook, and put all the numbers in there himself.

So, today, he’s set himself some time just after his lunch break to talk to Mercy about calling in a guy, or something. Certainly, there’s something wrong with the program. He’d blame his own dyscalculia if it didn’t happen every time.

At one in the afternoon, Mercy enters the archive room– right on schedule. They place the single sheet of paper in the basket.

“Good afternoon, Harmony,” they greet.

“Hi,” he returns.

They turn to leave– Listen doesn’t usually make small talk on the clock.

“Oh, actually, Mercy– I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says.

“Of course,” they reply. “What’s happening?”

“Uh, I may just be doing something wrong,” he begins, “but every time I go to input the donation record, the program tells me it isn’t adding up.”

“Is that so?” they ask. “How have you been keeping the record, then?”

“I’ve just been using your old logbook,” he answers.

“I see…” They nod slowly. “How long has this been going on?”

“Well, I was able to log them for the first few weeks, but almost ever since, the computer tells me there’s a problem. And I- I do input the numbers four or five times, just to be sure.”

Mercy gives Listen a very long look, but he’s busy logging into the program and doesn’t notice.

“I also keep the original pages you give me,” he continues, “so you can compare the numbers and make sure they’re correct. I’m confident they are, but you could check them over to be sure, if you’d like.”

“Of course…” they trail off.

“Do you want to look them over?” He turns his gaze up to them.

“You should leave it for now,” they instruct. “Keep logging them in the book.”

Listen pauses. Leave it for now is code for do nothing in his experience. “...Not to speak out of line, but in my experience, people make more mistakes than machines.”

“Is that so?”

“...I’m asking you.” Listen tilts his head to the side. 

“It didn’t sound like much of a question.”

“I… suppose it wasn’t. It was-”

“That’s alright,” Mercy interrupts. “If I could, say, procure the missing donations, would you be willing to continue logging these by hand?”

There are missing donations? Listen wonders. He stays very quiet for a moment, replaying the interaction in his head.

He let Mercy know that the machine wasn’t working, then asked them to look over the numbers they’d been giving him– indirectly, at first; he’d never admit in so many words that he suspects he’s making mistakes every week, disability or no. Mercy’s tone changed when he asked point-blank for them to look at them; then they, out of nowhere, brought up missing donations.

Oh no.

This conversation is not at all what Mercy thinks it is. And now, Listen has some information that he doesn’t think he should have; and no time to think of what to do with it. He thinks. What else could this be?

“Uh…” Listen shifts his eyes around invisibly under the blindfold.

“Alternatively, I could relocate you,” they continue. “Maybe you’re overwhelmed with all of this archiving. It’s a lot of work, isn’t it? Reception is simple enough– and you still write and keep times and dates.”

“Ah, no, I would- I’d very much like to stay here,” he says quickly. “I’ll- yes, if- if you could find those missing donations, I’d, uh, be happy to log them properly, by hand.”

“That’s good to hear.” Mercy smiles at him. “Thank you so much for all your hard work, Archivist.”

“For sure.”

With that, Mercy turns and leaves. Listen lets out a long exhale… and gets back to work like nothing happened.