Taletyper

By Tõnu Paldra

The tales we know, the stories we tell, these are tightly connected to the world. If the tale is lost or changed, the world reacts. So the Factory makes sure tales remain unchanged forever. But if someone has the skill to change the tales, results will be unpredictable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tõnu Paldra
• Release date: Apr 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201047290

Book preview

1. 

The image in mirror looked at me,

why I started to scratch my head,

higher price tag on me I hope to see,

went to work, earning my daily bread.

––––––––

On such an important day, Triinu wore her best light brown suit with thin pink stripes. An employee of the human resources department who had interviewed her had emphasized, even several times, that any kind of revealing clothing was strictly forbidden for the employees of the Factory. Interviewer had used the phrase vulgar vest, which had seemed strange to Triinu. She would have normally snorted when hearing such an expression, but in a job interview, especially when the representative of the potential employer remains fatally serious, it is better not to snort at the funny expressions. No matter what, Triinu could not remember the interviewer's name. He may not have introduced himself.

Brown was not the favorite color of Triinu. She liked the bright yellow, striking like a spring dandelion, much more. Yellow, which improved the mood and radiated the face. Or azure, the kind of slightly transparent yet intense blue that you can see in the sky after the rapid departure of thunderstorms in July, when the air is no longer suffocatingly warm and the first sparrows have squeezed into a shallow puddle and are beginning to bath while chirping all at once and splashing fresh rainwater.

Triinu was sure that both yellow and blue were colors that were perfect for vulgar vests. The employee of the human resources  department had been wearing a brown suit, and as far as Triinu had managed to see other employees of the Factory from the corner of her eye when going to the job interview, everyone else was wearing brown clothes too. Apparently, brown clothing was strongly recommended, if not mandatory, in the Factory. Well, today she will check over her coworkers with a clear mind, and if possible, will investigate about the clothing in more detail.

She wore modest, light-brown shoes with low heels. Good shoes, comfortable and long-worn, which is especially important on the first day of work. No one wants to suffer from squeezing shoes or rubbing straps when all their attention should be focused on learning their new job.

Of course, Triinu was especially proud of the brooch with the Factory logo, which the employee of the human resources department (whose name she still couldn't remember) had handed to her with congratulations for joining the ranks of the Factory staff. The brooch was made of metal, but Triinu could not figure out what kind it was. Certainly not gold or silver. Gold and silver jewelry were too rare and quite expensive, even the Factory would not hand out gold brooches to all its employees. When Triinu sniffed, she could smell metal, when she touched it, she could feel the metal against her fingers. She didn't want to taste the brooch, and she didn't really know what sort of taste different metals had. The jewelry did not appear to have rust stains, although the metal surface had obviously been scrubbed many times. Triinu also rubbed the badge with a soft cloth, just in case, although the metal shone quite the same before cleaning it with the cloth and after the procedure.

Looking at the large mirror next to the wall, the image of Triinu seemed a little worried, although she tried to look brave. The brown suit was clean, the shoes brushed, the brooch shiny, the buttons as well. She pulled fingers through her short hair a few more times, one particularly stubborn tuft always stayed up. Triinu didn't want to cut it off either.

She was ready, as ready as she could be. It was already time to leave, or she would be late on the first day. Mirror-Triinu frowned slightly, it didn't seem like a good idea to be late. Triinu took a leather knapsack from the rack next to the door, with some spare socks and a couple of handkerchiefs and a red apple in case of an empty stomach. She opened the heavy iron door, departed, locked the door behind her with a large key covered with intricate ornaments, and entered the street through a short vestibule.

2.

Trotted horse, dashed steed, donkey walked,

some of the goods were behaving badly,

barked dog, tweeted chick, mouth talked

all the damned in hell were laughing sadly.

––––––––

The Capital, another remote provincial settlement on the world scale for centuries, small and pale compared to the largest metropolises. But with the success of the Factory, the Capital expanded next to it. The Factory grew and opened a new workers' quarter - the city built a network of water and sewerage tunnels under the streets. The more department heads and deputy directors started working in the factory, the more reinforced concrete houses with countless floors strived high in the Capital. Even in the port, small fishing boats no longer clattered the anchor chains, but magnificent white cruise ships docked from distant lands by the large straight piers, scattering curious tourists every morning.

The first group of tourists nearly ran into Triinu almost immediately.

Look there! The guide waved his hand: That is the main building of the Factory, the largest and in the opinion of many the most beautiful house in the world! Built from local Vasalemma marble. Look, look!

Tourists, their necks crouched, studied the main building. Some even tried to capture it with an image machine.

Sorry, a tourist muttered, placing his heavy three-legged machine in front of Triinu's door. The brass and copper buttons on the sides of the machine shone, and the oiled leather lens barrel rattled for focus.

Don't be left behind, the guide shouted. Let's move, move, there is still a lot to see!

Triinu took a brisk step towards the main building on the heels of the tourist group. Of course, walking was much easier on the new stone paving slabs. When Triinu was still young, mud or dust covered the streets of the Capital. In winter and in the rain mainly mud. But in the summer dust instead. Both were quite poor for walking. And neither was liked by tourists.

Jaan waved at him from the corner counter. At the counter Jaan sold all kinds of vegetables and fruits, which were hauled to the city in the morning by surrounding farmers. Jaan had also given Triinu a red apple and, as always, did not take any money from her. Although apples were relatively expensive. It was more like a game for them that Triinu still offered Jaan money, even though they both knew that Jaan would not accept it.

When younger, Triinu and Jaan had played a lot of hide and seek or tag along the dusty streets. Or wash their bare feet clean of mud. That was before the Factory.

Triinu waved back, but hurried on. Quite a distance to go to the Factory, no time to talk. Jaan himself had already a number of buyers in front of the counter, some examining carrot bags, some touching the heads of cabbage. He had to keep a close eye on them, some urchins were always trying to snatch a fruit between the adults, or some seemingly decent and well-fed lady attempted to slip eggs in their chest pockets. When Jaan noticed the egg thieves, he did not bother the constables about such a trivial thing, grabbed the thief in his arms and hugged him truly long and hard. No one tried to filch goods from Jaan's counter for the second time.

Sweaty horses lined up on the road, heavy loads behind. There were rolls of paper and soot bags needed to make ink, these, of course, headed to the Factory. But there were also goods for ordinary people, soup pots and knitting needles, spinning wheels, and fly whips. The drivers shouted and the hoofs of the horses clacked on the stone plates.

On the cross of the next street, a load of porcelain cat-shaped salt shakers had rolled around the street due to a broken cart wheel. Some porcelain cats even idled on the sidewalk. Triinu stopped and picked up a salt shaker, the cat's face, painted in blue, winked at her. Hey, give it back! the wagon driver grabbed the porcelain cat from Triinu. Then he noticed Factory’s shiny logo on Triinu's jacket, grabbed the flat cap from his head in fright and bowed awkwardly. Sorry, Mrs .... all kinds of crooks sneak around here.

The horse, harnessed in front of a wagon with a broken wheel, calmly ate weed from the roadside. The wide striped crossings were filled with tourists crossing the road, many of them already had large framed pictures under their arms. The guides carried gorgeous colorful posters with the names of a tourist group such as Mysterious Group Number Six and Housewives Summer Tour. The bigger the poster, the more expensive the tour, so a group with a smaller poster stepped aside politely when encountering the rich.

From the open door, the smell of coffee and fresh cinnamon carried to the sidewalk. The square in front of the main house was full of people in brown suits, hurrying to get into work. Horse-drawn carriages with important specialists arrived constantly to the site. Triinu stepped briskly through the large glass doors, melting into the other brown arrivals.

There were a dozen passages in the spacious lobby, a security guard in a gorgeous uniform at each gate, a list in hand. People distributed evenly between the gates and the short queue in front of Triinu moved faster than she would have expected.

Name, the security guard muttered, glancing at Triinu's brooch.

Triinu Sirel, daughter of Mihkel, said Triinu.

The security guard quickly flipped through his list. First day? he asked.

Yes, Triinu replied, feeling with her back how the queue behind her grew.

Go up the stairs, then right, third door, number 306, the guard said.

Triinu nodded. Up the stairs, right, third, 306, clear!

The guard opened the gate: Welcome to the Factory, Triinu, daughter of Mihkel.

3.

Waiting for the work to end,

cranking heavy wheel around,

this machine is not my friend,

wicked face and evil sound.

––––––––

In the evening, looking back at her first working day, Triinu concluded that it was generally satisfactory. In room 306, where fourteen new employees gathered with Triinu, they had been received by Ms. Georgberg, a trainer for novice typers and a third-level senior editor. A strict middle-aged woman wearing round glasses who probably never smiled.

The editor's desk, one step above the floor, stood proudly in the middle of the room, with the typers' desks around it in a semicircle. The editor asked everyone to choose a place and Triinu quickly sat behind the first free writing desk. The chair was a little worn on the edges, made out of plywood, but with decent legs, it did not sway or tremble.

There was a typing machine on each desk, right in the middle of it. Beautiful bronze keys for each letter, red velvet and oiled wood. Triinu slid her fingers over the letter keys, the carved symbols twisted in intricate loops and whirled their tentacles. Some of the keys had worn a bit under the human fingers over the years, while others looked new, completely unpressed. The red velvet on the sides of the machine was also worn at the corners, even slightly stitched in one place. A thin crack ran from one side to the other on the oiled wooden machine cover.

The senior editor began to explain the working principle of the typing machine in a clear, slightly cold voice. Triinu actually knew the machine from a long time ago, her mother had introduced her to the machine many years ago. As a rather small lass, Triinu had diligently pressed the keys, her nose barely reaching over the edge of the table, writing down the fairy tales filled with strange characters her mother told her. The machine at home did not send the text anywhere, only open pipe ends and empty compressed air plugs were behind it. But in room number 306, shiny copper pipes connected from the backside of each machine to the editor's table, and thinner twisted hoses disappeared into the floor.

There was a larger machine with more keys on the editor's desk to correct typos in the typers' texts. The corrected and approved texts disappeared through the pipes into the editor's desk.

Triinu did not know how many such rooms there were in the factory. Probably a lot. And in every room, many workers typed texts every day. Lots of rooms, lots of machines, lots of typers. Triinu sighed and began to boil water for the tea. Decent tea powder was not to be wasted, but on the first day of work one could afford it a bit. Might even allow a piece of sugar.

The editor Georgberg had read out some of the test sentences in her slightly cold voice, which the typers then entered into the machines with the clicking of the keys. The kitten was licking milk, was one sentence. The other was After a heavy rain, a rainbow appeared in the sky. At first, some of the keys had seemed a little rigid to Triinu, as if the springs under them had been stiffened for a long time of nonusage, but the more she wrote, the smoother the keys moved.

The editor checked the texts, corrected the errors and showed the correct