Check Out a Sneak Peek of Kaliane Bradley’s The Ministry of Timeistry for June’s Book Club

The interviewer mentioned my name before interrupting my thoughts. I never say my name, not even internally. She got it right, but usually, it’s not the case.

“I’m Adela,” she introduced herself, sporting eye patches and blonde hair reminiscent of hay. “I’m the Vice President.”

“Of…?”

“I hold a position.”

This was my sixth interview. The role was an internal posting, involving Gausch’s use of top secret stamps for documents with salary bands, classified as “security clearance required.” Since I had never reached this security level before, I was puzzled as to why no one explained the job to me. I was thrilled, as my current salary was about to triple. I had to maintain impeccable grades that necessitated my role in emergency response, protecting vulnerable populations, all while managing my home office in the UK. I anticipated working closely with refugees, particularly those with high profit status and specific needs, without realizing the extent of their operations. I assumed they were primarily politically significant exiles from Russia or China.

Adela, the vice-director, held knowledge I could only imagine.

“Your mother was a refugee,” she initiated, a common opening for job interviews.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“From Cambodia,” she continued.

“Yes, ma’am.” I had faced this question repeatedly during the interview process. Typically, people don’t originate from Cambodia, so I posed my answer hopefully, wishing to adjust their perceptions. You don’t Look Cambodian, an earlier interviewer had remarked candidly, inferring I appeared bright like a pilot light under the gaze of camera monitors. I often received such comments, which implied: You resemble someone from a more Mediterranean background — perhaps Spanish — and you don’t reflect the weight of genocide.

There was no further inquiry regarding adaptation to genocide. (Family still there) Understand that? Have you ever traveled there? Sympathetic smile? A beautiful country yet shadowed by sorrow. When I visited I could see it in their eyes. They were exceptionally welcoming… Adela nodded. She requested an unusual fourth option and pondered if it was appropriate to say “dirty country.”

“She wouldn’t label herself a refugee, nor even a former refugee,” I mentioned. “It’s peculiar to hear people use that term.”

“The individuals you assist are unlikely to prefer such terms either. We prefer ‘foreigners.’ In response to your query, I am the deputy director of the expatriates.”

“And they are foreigners from…?”

“History.”

“Excuse me?”

Adela shrugged. “We have time travel,” she stated, as casually as one might explain the coffee machine. “Welcome to the Ministry.”

This excerpt is shared with permission from Kaliane Bradley’s Time Saving, Published by Scepter. This is the latest selection for the New Scientist Book Club. Join us and read along here.