Bubbles (2)

 Part 1

-- 

 What is the most polite way to inform someone that their breath smells like rotten onions?

Amina pondered this ethical dilemma as the man hovering over her desk enthusiastically regaled her with tales of his latest fishing trip.

His name was Allal. He was in his fifties, bald except for exactly five stray grey hairs that sprang out of his skull.

Amina tried covering her mouth, coughing, glaring at him with mild hostility, but it seemed to only encourage the man. He was now enumerating for her pleasure, the list of the best fishing spots in the country, what type of bait to use, and the optimal way to land the hook.

She considered telling him about an alternative place he could stick his hook, but it was only her first week here. First impressions are important, she reminded herself.

- “Hey Allal, I just got off the phone with Mike. He wants to see you urgently.”

That voice came from her desk mate Mourad. Amina quickly noted two facts: Mourad didn't have a phone. As he explained, his phone broke five years ago, and he never bothered to replace it.

She was also about 99% sure nobody named Mike worked here.

- “Oh, Uhh, who is…

- You’d better go see what he wants”. Mourad replied with a serious face. “You know how impatient he is these days.”

Amina nodded gravely. “Especially in the morning.”

Allal looked at them sheepishly. Alarmed and confused, he walked away while muttering to himself.

Amina and Mourad exchanged a glance.

- “Lonely.” He explained

- I hear toothbrushes make for excellent companions.”

He shrugged.

- Yeah. I suppose he let himself go a bit. His wife died a couple of years ago.

- Huh.”

 He gave her a soft smile and turned his attention back to his computer.

Amina caught herself glancing back towards Allal. He was walking from cubicle to cubicle, probably asking people where he could find Mike.

She felt a tiny hint of guilt, and then a strange, cold dread crept up her spine, as she spotted the tall, pale man silently following him around.

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