Posture and Speed Win the Vie for Dominance
From Hammers on Bone, by Cassandra Khaw:
His accent is industrial, a Liverpool drawl. “Who are you and who the fuck do you think you are barging into my office like this? You made an appointment with Tessa?”
Smoke tendrils from my grin. “Like you could afford a Moneypenny.”
His eyes harden.
Before he can retort, I move, one hand braced against the thrust of a hip like an extra from an old gangster reel. The foreman doesn’t question the gesture, doesn’t challenge it. It’s clear that under that ugly mug, there’s a thumbtack brain — sharp, small, and specialized — and it recognizes a man who means business.
“What ya want?” His mouth peels into a scowl.
“Information.”
Fifteen feet, ten feet. Five. I almost lose my cool when I break into the man’s personal space. It was here, was in him, is still in him. Its scent clots hot in his every exhalation: febrile, fecund, dried plasma and mold.
Much of Cassandra Khaw’s novella Hammers on Bone deals with the position of one character in relation to another. Their bodies and their souls. In many cases, the closer two people (or monsters) are, the more dangerous the situation becomes.
The scene here intensifies as the private investigator, John, moves closer to the foreman. John’s position changes; the foreman remains static. And through descriptions of John’s posture and speed, you see how to interpret the conflict between them.
Caution arises first. It’s revealed by John’s posture.
He’s an extra in the gangster film, you’re told. Not the main character. An extra doesn’t carry a gun, or if they do it won’t be used, so their stance is everything. For John, he plays the part of the extra for only a moment, stealing the posture for effect and to prepare for his coming movements. A hand on the hip from a lead gangster could mean he’s reaching for a weapon. John’s still feeling out the room. At this point, he’s barely through the doorway of the foreman’s office and has time to examine the space.
Then there’s the willingness to expedite. It’s revealed by John’s speed.
He moves five feet at a time. He doesn’t dash, rush, run, hurry, sprint, or demonstrate any other adjective toward the supervisor; yet he’s still fast. John is measured and in control — an extension of his posture. He’s a swift force taking action on his own terms. His switch from background to foreground wastes no time on pleasantries.
Khaw makes sure John will retrieve the information he wants in the manner he wants it. Retrieval is key. He forces the situation. He takes instead of waits.
On the opposing side, she lets the foreman sit. He’s loud, but he has no impact because he never moves. John says next to nothing but, through his precision movement, puts himself in a place of power.
In half a page, Khaw lets John play the role of a questioner, bystander, and challenger. In that same space, what is the foreman but a spewer of sounds?
It’s impressive how Khaw separates these two individuals by the personalities they bring into the room. They each try to impose their own will, but it’s clear by the end who has control.
One has only a voice. The other has action behind his few words.