by Unknown
few improvements here - and the improvements would not be superflu ous - seems to you such an unpleasant thing to imagine." The employee sadly shook his head. "You are ignorant of a great many things," he said. "You have been in the house no more than a few moments; how could you take part in discussions in which only the most experienced among us really have something to say?" "Then tell me nothing," answered Thomas. "Obviously," said the employee with a sigh, as if he had received such re sponses from time immemorial, "you know only too well that I will speak; and even if I refused to speak, I could not prevent myself from telling you how things stand. Tell me what else I could possibly be thinking about. What could I discuss with the people who come here if not that? Is there any other subject of conversation?" He looked at Thomas with annoyance and anger; one would have thought that Thomas himself had no right to any other preoccupations. "If you will permit me," said Thomas, "I would like to ask you a question; but it is very indiscreet." The employee said nothing. "Well that's what I thought," said Thomas. "I won't ask it then." "That," said the employee, "is how everyone is when they come to this desk. They want nothing other than silence, and then they interpret it as they wish. I authorize you to speak." "How long," said Thomas, "have you been in the service of the house?" "Very well," said the employee, leaning back suddenly as if to gather his strength. "If I answer you, do you promise not to place any importance on my answer in your future relations with me? An easy promise, for you will probably never have the opportunity to see me again." "That's a surprising request," said Thomas. "How could I promise you to forget words that will no doubt have a great impression on me, judging by the apparently justified precautions you wish to take?" "What I can tell you," declared the employee with weariness, "has no im portance for you, but it has a great deal of importance for me. I could not tolerate it if my words were handed over to a stranger who would then take the liberty of making whatever use of them he pleased, especially when it comes to a question of service." "Are you obliged to answer me?" "Yes," said the employee, "but I am not obliged to tolerate your insults. Keep in mind that I am the oldest employee in the house." 58
"Now that is something," said Thomas, "that I wasn't supposed to know." "Did I not tell you so?" shouted the employee, suddenly rising. "Did I not tell you so by presenting myself at this desk, while the public session is over, whereas the other employees, however well trained and capable they may be, could not stand the fatigue and do not even have any voice left to make themselves heard, while I stand here before you -you who stare so intently at my face, as if you wished to hide some secret from me? It would truly be the height of audacity to try to make me responsible for your ignorance. No, I am hiding nothing from you." Thomas looked at the employee in silence. "Why are you looking at me?" said the employee. "Do you want to make me regret my indulgence? Have you made up your mind to disdain the ex planations I am disposed to offer you, despite the favor they represent and the excess work it involves for me? The only thing for you to do is to listen." "Fine," said Thomas. "What's the story then?" The employee gave him an irritated look, but he said with resignation: "It is a very simple story. In times past, the room you are in now was not a gaming room; it was reserved entirely for our services; people came only to receive information, to look at the employees assigned to the informa tion services, to'breathe the air -that was enough for most of the petition ers. But one day we received the order to install a machine for games of chance and to transform our writing desks into gaming tables. Who gave the order? There was no way for us to know. Had the order really been given at all? To what concerns did it respond? Of course, each one of us immediately thought of an explanation. At the time when we changed the setup and the purpose of the room, our services had been abandoned for a long time, the room remained empty, only a few people came with their floor mats to take advantage of the warmth and to sleep. The reform thus served to bring as many people into the room as there had been before, and in this regard it was good; but in another sense it was bad, because now no one cared about receiving information or had anydesire to clarify his posi tion with respect to the authorities. Did they commit an error in ordering this transformation? Or were they perhaps in the right? One can discuss these questions endlessly. For it is quite true that the room had lost its re nown and that the path leading to it had been erased. We spent entire days without seeing anyone at all; we remained motionless and silent, numb from the heat and the discouragement; nothing ever happened. Nothing. 59
And ifby chance someone entered here, perhaps with the intention of con sulting us -who knows? such a case may have occurred - we did not have the strength to speak to him; all we could do was to turn slowly toward him, and our looks expressed so much indifference -whereas deep down we were burning with enthusiasm and devotion -that he went away with out revealing the meaning of his visit here and only added his voice to the rumors that depicted us as dead or stricken with some grave illness. Obvi ously, from this point of view, a certain progress cannot be denied. Life has returned; the room attracts even those who know nothing about it, like you; we recovered the habit of speaking and can tolerate seeing others' faces again, although we are far from being capable of the resistance that distinguished us in former times, so that at the end of each meeting even the youngest of our members are almost in a faint. We only came to real ize all this little by little; at first we noticed nothing but the misfortune that had struck us, and even now we do not know whether all these advan tages are not simply the sign of a disaster whose effects are only reaching us by degrees. For in this past that we evoke in order to compare it to the present, if the room had fallen into disuse, to such a point that in the rest of the house no one knew if we still existed, at least it had kept its reason for being; it had remained intact; it was the information room; and we could even say - and this is indeed what we said among ourselves at the time that if no one ever came anymore, then it was because no one ever needed to come, because the room fulfilled its function so well that its mere exis tence was enough for the house still to have its share of light and for the tenants to live in a way that befitted them, instead of groping in darkness and ignorance, as would have happened as a result of their abandonment. All this was represented by this room, the grand hall, and that is what it lost. As for us, is our situation, which is apparently much improved, not in reality a hundred times worse? If we give the impression of being alive, and if we have recovered the privilege of speaking and seeing, is it not be cause at bottom we have sacrificed our true life and have renounced other much more important privileges? When we are overwhelmed by fatigue, is it because of our work or rather, on the contrary, because we have the crushing feeling that the whole day has passed without our having fulfilled our task, because we have failed in our duty and because - even worse we have devoted all our strength to making it impossible to fulfill it. It is this feeling that, after a few hours, reduces the less robust among us to a 60
state of utter weakness; and they are not the ones to be most pitied; be cause of my vigor and my age, I am condemned to turn this affair over on every side, to scrutinize its every detail, always to invent new explanations without finding in this painful malaise a single moment of peace." The employee had been standing, but now he slowly sat down, as if the words had been spoken by someone else, and he had been waiting respect fully for the end of the speech before sitting down. Thomas turned to look at the room; it was empty and filled with darkness, though a thin slice of light still shone on the mirror that reflected the machine. He said: "So after all, it's only a gaming room?" "What do you mean by that?" said the employee, raising his head with an air of caution. "I am very grateful to you for the explanations you have given me," said Thomas. "How could I not appreciate such a mark of favor? However, de spite the interest I have taken in it, I cannot hide the fact that I am disap pointed. My disillusion is complete." ''And why is that?" asked the employee proudly. "Well," said Thomas, "is it not perfectly clear? I came here to be informed on the
ways of the house, its regulations, the formalities it binds one to. Could I have chosen a better place? You are admirably competent; you are familiar with aIr the customs, and you take your task to heart. One could not dream of anything better. Unfortunately, it is a dream. For it all be longs to the past. I do not want to insist on the causes ofthe decline that has gradually deprived you of your status and brought you from the glorious position as a member of the bureau of information to the function of an attendant guard in a gaming establishment. You have given a magnificent account and even the dullest mind would have the means to understand it. As for me, you have poured out great streams of light. It is unfortunate that I did not understand how much you suffered from the actual state of things and that I did not understand more clearly how in coming here I had gone astray. I have therefore committed an error. There is nothing for me to do but take my leave." "That is a misinterpretation," said the employee abruptly. "Where is the misinterpretation?" asked Thomas. "I see only a misunder standing, the one that led me here full of hope, thinking I would find a flourishing organization run by a large number of enlightened employ ees, whereas all I see here is a room for public spectacles from which every vestige of the past has vanished." 61
"That is a misinterpretation," repeated the employee, shaking his head, "a regrettable misinterpretation. Your eyes are not yet accustomed to look ing at what's before you." He stared into the darkness and fell silent. "Do you seriously believe that?" said Thomas. "Very seriously," said the employee. "What have I not been mindful enough to see?" asked Thomas. "The room," answered the employee quietly. "It would appear that every thing is as you have indicated. The room has changed, and there is nothing more in it that corresponds to the original purpose it served in times past. It is no longer the same room, and we are no longer the same men. There fore, in a sense, you are right; you are perhaps even more right than you think, because, in truth, you are a thousand miles from that room, and you will never be there. But, from another point of view, the real situation is completely different. They wanted to transform the room, and not only transform it but destroy it from top to bottom -a childish idea. They did everything they could: scrape the walls bare, cover the wooden floors with carpet, raise our desks in this ridiculous way, and, especially, install in a pit this sinister machine that shakes the foundations and pollutes the atmo sphere; but what has come of all this effort? The transformation did modify the outward appearance of the room for those who had never seen what it truly is, and they have continued to see nothing. But the others? What do they see? What has changed for them? They open their eyes and see that everything is as it was before. How could I explain that to you? Take our work, for example. The papers I hold in my hand seem to bear no relation to my oId occupation; given the disorder that reigns here, they are usu ally worthless; it even happens sometimes that I rip them to pieces simply to prove to myself their insignificance. What's more - and this would be enough to make them contemptible - they come from the machine; it is the machine that prepares the decision, we have only to apply it. The ma chine seems therefore to control everything. And yet is it really so? No, it is not; our affairs proceed quite differently. For the machine itself, this ac cursed apparatus, has been put into the service of our bureau, and it has become its principle working tool. On any day whatever, at any moment whatever, someone may push the wheel and send it spinning. We are not the ones who provoke this gesture; we sit here quietly, like so many under lings, and do not see anything. But when we hear the sound of the axle 62
scraping against its casing, we know that the machine is working for us. At the same time, a secretary takes from the mass of documents spread on his table all the papers he keeps for us. Do these papers correspond to any in dication given by the apparatus? Is it not more likely that they are prepared and written up before any indication is given? This is something we have no way of knowing. The secretary, for his part, thinks only of getting out from under his task. He gives his papers to a domestic, and the domestic, although he pretends never to make a mistake, passes them around to suit his whims. Seen from the outside, the documents are irreproachable. They are written out legibly, and for each name there is a corresponding num ber. But as soon as we cast the slightest glance at them, we see what they are, grim piles of paper that will be meaningless until we have deciphered them. Just look at them," said the employee, pointing to a large white sheet on which some names were written. Thomas could examine them only from a distance; the employee did not allow him to come closer. "The writing has no elegance," he continued, as he looked at the paper himself. ''After reading it, one comes to realize the immensity of the work that remains to be done." "What work?" asked Thomas. "I have nothing to hide from you," said the employee, "but all the same I cannot explain our methods to you. Besides, they would reveal nothing. What happens is perfectly dear. The machine works in such a way as to avoid any cause for complaints. But of course it cannot express the ver dict itself. It is in need of competent, authorized men who interpret the sentence, or, as we say, who transcribe it. It is therefore necessary for the public to turn to us, and each one files before our desks in the hope that our gaze will enlighten him. Occasionally, we call to one of the petitioners and ask him to approach. Does this mean that he has been chosen? No. And yet it signifies much more than that, for we add new information to his file; we complete the description of his face; we make his identification easier; all this in order to enlarge the dossier that is handed over to the employee who is responsible for reading the list of winners." ''And this is not one of your responsibilities?" asked Thomas. "It is an insignificant task," answered the employee. "Whoever has walked through the room, and whoever has presented himself before us, knows more than any crude reading will ever teach him."
Thomas moved a few steps away to look around the room. Was it true that his eyes did not allow him to see everything? To him, the room ap peared large and beautiful; it would probably be pleasant to walk all the way through it. The impression it gave was not a bad one. It was rather the employees who were disappointing to him. "Now," he said when he came back, "it is time for me to withdraw." "So you are leaving," said the employee timidly. He came down from his high desk, and after struggling with his legs, which had grown numb from such a long period of motionlessness, he found himself next to his visitor. He was short and scrawny. Thomas had to bend down so as not to tower over him. "No doubt you do not believe what I have told you." The employee spoke in a low voice. Thomas did not answer; he was in a hurry to leave, to go at least to the far end of the room. But the darkness prevented him from going away without help. "You should not judge my words too quickly," said the employee. "I have not explained everything, and I can begin my story again. Do not worry about tiring me; certain people have only understood after the seventh narration." "I thank you," said Thomas, "your explanations have enlightened me." He began to walk with slow steps. The room was almost entirely filled with darkness. From time to time a patch of light seemed to shine somewhere far away, but the shadows were no less dark for all that. Where were they now? Had they come again to the middle of the room? Were they far from the machine? Thomas saw the dim reflection of a metal cabinet that then disappeared into the shadows. So as not to discourage the employee, he asked him: "Do the windows open onto the street?" "There are no windows," said the employee. "Where are we going?" said Thomas. He did not need an answer; the darkness rendered it superfluous. He took a few more steps, and then, after touching the wall and noticing its gentle curvature, he called to his com panion. He responded in a trembling voice, as if walking had taken away the last of his strength. "What else do you want to explain to me?" asked Thomas. "Aren't you leaving?" said the employee. "Yes, I am," said Thomas. "Besides, I have no right to stay." "Well then, go! " said the employee .
I :
.i
Struck by this abrupt change of tone, Thomas turned around and took the man's arm. He wanted to hold him back, but they began to make their way again. Nevertheles
s, he felt the need to hear his voice once more. He almost shouted: "Who are you?" and violently shook his arm. He heard the clanking chains that bound him to Dom. It was Dom he had next to him. The man had already left. He thought he could explain the mistake, but it mortified him. He had completely forgotten that the chains had not been taken off. It seemed to him that he was emerging from a long insomnia in which no one could communicate with him and in which he himself was unable to express his thoughts. So the employee had left? He had been unable to keep him near? Perhaps he would have been able in the end to understand his language and to listen to him. Now it was too late. After a few slow and weary steps, they reached the far end of the room and found a large window that let in a feeble light. But they tried in vain to see anything at all. What was outside? Was it nighttime? Was the street there? When they opened the window, they were struck in the face by the icy air from outside. How calm it was here, how far away everything was! They moved forward again, and de spite the unchanging darkness, Thomas recognized the balcony. He was not disappointed. No doubt he had taken the wrong path, but the night transformed everything. The balcony appeared larger to him, and more isolated. It was like a vast terrace where one could walk in every direction without encountering any obstacles and where nevertheless one did not have the feeling of getting lost. One was already lost. Thomas lay down along the railing, pulled his coat over himself, and Dom's enormous body pressed with a shiver against his own. Suddenly he was being shaken: "They're waiting for you," someone shouted to him. He sat up wearily and said in a solemn voice: "Why have I been dis turbed?" Was the night already over? He lay down again in search of sleep, but he was shaken a second time. It was an authoritative appeal; whoever was there had no doubt that he would be obeyed. Thomas waited for him to explain why someone had been sent to look for him. He was still huddled under his coat, but he listened carefully and did nothing to make one think he was asleep. Nevertheless, the messenger remained silent, and after a few moments he went away. During part of the night, he walked around with
