Job Interview

"Okay, well, I think you've answered all my questions."

The interviewer, who had introduced himself as 'H, just plain H, my friend', shuffled the papers on his desk, then glanced up at the candidate with a quick grin.

"Let me just expand a little on what I've already told you about our operation here," he said. "I want to make quite sure that you're familiar with our enterprise and happy about your – uh – potential role within the organization. Although the successful applicant will be working by himself for most of the time, we do feel it's vitally important that he's as totally committed to the House of the Hart as the rest of us." He spread his arms wide. "We want you to feel part of a team."

The candidate nodded eagerly, shifting forward in his chair to convey his enthusiasm.

"Right. Well, as you know, the Hart is an entirely new concept. It's larger than anything that's ever been seen before, and part of our problem is going to be attracting enough people of the right sort." H ran a hand through his fashionably greying hair and smiled encouragingly at the candidate. "That's where you come in. As you're aware, we're a little off the beaten track, although we are of course taking steps to create the necessary infrastructure in the immediate locality – new roads, that kind of thing.

"But what we really need is publicity. We have to put the Hart on the map, get it talked about. Obviously, we don't expect this to happen overnight – " he chuckled merrily at the thought " – which is why we're proposing a twelve year contract. We want to attract some big names, make the Hart the place to be seen.

"Incidentally, we're talking serious luxury here. Good food, good drink, graceful surroundings, and really high class entertainment. Quality, that's the keynote. We'll have poetry recitals, we'll have some of the best musicians in the business performing regularly…

"All of which is fine. But you know as well as I do, my friend, that in this day and age that isn't enough.

"What we need is a hook, a gimmick, a peg on which to hang the whole enterprise. And what people want these days is a whiff of danger, a hint of the horrors lurking in the darkness beyond the campfires of civilization.

"And for that I do most strongly feel you could be our man."

He leafed through the papers on his desk until he found the relevant sheet.

"Now, I'm empowered to offer the successful candidate a choice of remuneration. Either, a flat salary plus five percent of the take, or – and this one is a bit of a gamble that could just pay off very nicely indeed – fifteen, yes fifteen, percent of the take. Whichever you choose, you also get three meals a day provided by the company kitchen – though naturally you won't be eating in the staff canteen! That wouldn't do at all now, would it?"

The candidate smiled at the incongruity of the suggestion.

"Yeah," said H, consulting the sheet of paper again. "Three meals a day, and living accommodation. A rather nice apartment by the sea, running water, central heating, all the usual offices… The only snag is the isolation, but of course in this instance that'll probably prove an advantage. It means a bit of a journey to work, but nothing you won't be able to cope with."

He beamed at the candidate. "We leave the number of hours you put in pretty much up to you, though we do expect you to be on call in the event of an emergency."

The candidate raised an eyebrow. "What kind of emergencies do you envisage?"

H shrugged. "That's not something I would feel ready to commit myself on at this stage of the game. Frankly, until the show is up and running we just can't tell what kind of eventualities may occur. But I suppose at the moment I'm thinking in terms of the unexpected arrival. You know the kind of thing I mean, the youngster with a reputation to make suddenly turning up out of nowhere." He frowned, his face suddenly serious, dropping his voice as he leant across the desk. "Let's just say there may be occasions when we need you to remove disruptive elements at short notice, and leave at that, shall we?"

The candidate nodded. "Fine by me."

"Well, that's great, just great." H rose from behind the desk and took the candidate by the arm, ushering him towards the door. "Now, I expect you'd like to have a look around the area, maybe check out your apartment, because I can tell you, my friend, that the post is yours when you give the word."

The candidate sighed with relief, then paused.

"Oh, there is just one last thing," he said hesitantly.

"Yeah?" said H when it was obvious he would not continue without encouragement.

"Can I bring my mum?" asked Grendel.

Grendel was a marketing ploy to make Hrothgar's new hall the talk of the North. Hrothgar a company executive in a smart suit. PR man? Grendel the spice of danger – big brooding bouncer at the nightclub. All got out of hand. Mum taught him all he knows. Loves his mum, and his mum loves him. Interview for the job with the PR man? H?

[In the epic poem, Beowulf kills Grendel the scourge of Heorot, but just when they all think it's safe to go back in the hall, Grendel's Mum arrives seeking vengeance.]

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