Aminadab 0803213131 (20 page)

why would we think? To what object could our thoughts ever turn? If it were not for the rules, we would probably experience the emptiness of our souls as an imperfection that would make us suffer, but, as it is, we are glad for it and see it as a sign of good moral standing, from which we derive a certain joy. This rule, which, I repeat, is excessive and certainly a recent invention, has had the most unfortunate consequences. When the domes tics decided to put it into force, they found themselves confronted with the embarrassing case of the sick. In principle, one text applies to all; no ex ceptions are allowed, for this would occasion an infinity of abuse; but in reality, everyone can find some excuse to behave however they wish, up to a certain point at least. But when it comes to the sick, the domestics were particularly insistent on applying the new rule to them; one might even suspect that they established the rule only for the sake of these people who are called half-tenants because now they only partly belong to the house. The sick are a torment for the staff; not that they complain or make de mands but precisely because they never complain, and it is a noteworthy event when one of them goes so far as to express a desire. The staff finds this unacceptable. They cannot bear being kept at a distance. They are tor tured by the silence of those who would have the most to say. They would at least like to catch them at their groaning. In vain. The sick, it is said, do not fall under the influence of the staff, and that is supposed to be the cause of their illness. But with the new text, the employees saw their chance to transform this situation. They began by enforcing the rule with people who were only slightly sick and who, no doubt, were not completely free from their control. They were ordered to speak and act in accordance with whatever thoughts they had. The experiment was dreadful. It was scan dalous to see these creatures, fevered and paralyzed, exerting themselves ridiculously to rise from their beds and attempting to express the thou sand idiotic notions that rattled their feeble minds. Naturally, these sick people saw their state growing worse, and they fell into the inalterable and incomprehensible - not to mention worrisome -state of repose in which the false commands of the law could no longer reach them. The domes tics, however, refused to accept defeat. They decreed that the text was still applicable to everyone, and they explained that the case of certain sick per sons only constituted an apparent exception, that these latter kept silent only because every thought had vanished from their minds -which, after all, is quite possible. But since as a practical matter they could no longer

force obedience on any of the tenants officially admitted to the infirmary, they took their revenge by giving them the runaround. From that day for ward it became very difficult to obtain any care and to enter into the special rooms; the formalities are interminable; one can hope for a doctor's visit and expertise only by providing grounds for believing there is something wrong; but how to prove that there is an illness without a doctor? By con sulting with the domestics? Precisely, and there you have it. Then one is faced with unlimited postponement and the certainty of countless frustra tions; for the domestics are convinced that illness is a particularly vicious form of indiscipline, and they consider it one of their duties to prevent its ravages by turning away from those whom it threatens. So they deliberately neglect the tenants who are most in need of their help. They do not allow them to be sick, and yet they treat them as if they really were. It's a hope less situation. You can see the consequences for yourself," the young man added sadly. "Most, not to say all of them, are very seriously ill. They suffer without respite, and all they know of the staff is its meticulous, tiresome control that brings no real help." "Well," said Thomas, "here are some grievances that lead you to make judgments." The young man had turned to face his companion, and Thomas saw that he had taken his hands and was preventing him from standing up. He returned no less quickly to the conversation. "We are coming to the end," he said. "But it is not the one you have in mind. Look," he continued, in good humor, "just reflect on the situation. The servants behave very badly, no doubt about that, and although they have excuses to justify everything they do, even in our eyes - despite the fact that they can legitimately be proud of all their actions that are inspired by a respect and love for their calling - they do not for all that deserve any less resentment from us. And why do they deserve it? Because of the dif ficulties they create for us, only a few of which you're aware of? That is one reason, but it is not the real reason; from the moment they act under the cover of the law, we have no more grounds for resenting them than we would have to resent the law. What protects them from judgment also spares them our anger. Such petty sentiments could never touch them any way." "I do not share your point of view," said Thomas. "What are you dreaming up now?" said the young man. "Your head is 106

stuffed with ideas from the outside. You always believe that everything is mysterious; I bet you are thinking about some judgment. Never mind this idea of judgment, just let it be. Never mind this idea of judgment, just let it be.l Look, we cannot judge the domestics; and, what's more, according to you, we're supposed to judge them because we have grievances and re sentments against them? Really, what a piece ofwork you are." He looked at Thomas reproachfully. ''And yet," said Thomas, "you hate them." "Granted," said the young man, "I regret having confided in you, for God knows how you may end up interpreting all this; but I cannot take back what I have said. Yes, we hate them; there, are you satisfied? Does this get you any further? Do you even know what we mean by hate, anger, ill humor? With your crude ideas - allow me to express myself this way; there is nothing hurtful in it to you- with your overflowing imagination, you must certainly be subject to confusions that hardly bring you any nearer to the truth. So I will stick to the facts. It may be that we hate the staff and that our desire to control it, to judge it, as you say, can be understood in terms of this feeling; for my part, I am convinced of this; and I will tell you my reasons in a moment. But I recognize that others have a different point of view, and although in my opinion it is cowardice - the simple fear of see ing things as they are - that leads them to these thoughts, they merit con sideration nonetheless. What they say is easy to understand. Their main argument is that we cannot hate the domestics; we can complain about them; we can heap them with insults if we give in easily to anger; if neces sary, we can punish them; but truly hating them is inconceivable, if only because, however clumsy and disagreeable they may be, they are still in our service and consequently deserve a minimum of gratitude. These ten ants add that we could hardly hate the servants, given that we are incapable of hating anyone since all real feelings are now unknown to us. How are we to answer that? Is it possible to give a serious answer to a joke? We are rather tempted to say the opposite about ourselves. The habit of living in our own world without any external diversions and the meditations that we continually discuss among ourselves, as I am doing now, these have greatly developed our sensitivity, and the slightest incident echoes end lessly through our lives. Our relations with the staff are in this regard quite
1.

T he French text repeats this sentence verbatim. - Tr.

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remarkable. In truth, there is nothing to prevent a perfect understanding between us. Whenever we think of them with calm, rejecting all interpre tations driven by passion, we understand their behavior and approve of it. They find that deep within us there is complete adherence. But that is where the drama lies, for we are even less inclined to pardon them when we admit that they are right. We have for them a groundless hatred that seeks in vain for grievances, that rejects the ones it finds because they are not worthy of its violence, and that is content in the end to burn and smol der in this absence of a cause. The truth is that the domestics naturally inspire hatred. One does not realize this right away; it is often tenderness that one seems to feel for them; but one day it becomes impossible to es cape from the obvious: the staff is despicable. What are the reasons for this? That is something we should not dwell on too much, for in reft.ecting on this we risk looking for extraordinary mysteries where there are prob ably only very simple causes to be found. It is natural that there would be something weighing down and obscuring the fate of the servants, who, if some of their qualities did not turn us against them, would end up re ceiving from us such excessive sentiments of friendship and respect that the whole order of the house would be disturbed. We would be reduced to worshipping the servants. Now, such excesses are absolutely forbidden. The domestics are so distant, and show such indifference in our presence, only because it is imperative for them to maintain the hierarchy; they take advantage of it, with their depraved character, to make us feel how high above us they soar; they humble themselves - as we plainly see - so as to place themselves on our level; but, whatever their intentions, the general equilibrium is preserved. We might therefore believe that this strange feel ing, so unjustified in certain respects, is nonetheless indispensable to the harmony of our little community and that it is even dictated to us from high above. It is the gaze of the law upon us. We are its instrument, and it would be a grave fault if we tried to empty ourselves of the passion it imposes on us or to find grounds for it according to our point of view. Can one try to justify the law? As a result, we have only to feel as it wants us to feel, without giving ourselves over to empty disputes. This feeling of hatred - how could it be otherwise? -is very painful and heavy. It dries us out; it takes away our taste for everything. We hardly experience it, so insensitive does it seem to make us; we sense in our organs the surge of a vague warmth rising like a thin column of fire; our cheeks turn red; our 108

eyes begin to shine; our mouths go dry; all we can do is keep silent. Since such a feeling is more disagreeable to us than it is pleasant, we tend to see it as a righteous sense of justice, though it no doubt has nothing to do with justice. But it is all the more unassailable, since it eliminates all delibera tion and all judgment. We need only look at the man who is in the position of the culprit, we need only judge him, as you put it, and the interrogation, the examination of evidence, the verdict seem useless; or rather all this is implicitly hidden, and actually contained, in this simple look, burning and empty, through which we in turn enforce the law." At that moment Joseph tugged at the young man's arm to make him be quiet. Perhaps he did not want Thomas to hear any more. For his part, Thomas was relieved to escape from the conversation. At first he had found in it a certain comfort and rest; he forced himself not to interrupt; he would have liked for everything to be explained to him. But now he thought only of how to get the young man to stop talking. Not only was it extremely tiring to try to follow the conversation - for at each instant it seemed to him that the most important words were escaping him - it also made him uneasy and weighed down his mind with details he would have preferred still not to know. He stood up. "I was only passing through," he said. "I must go." " That's not possible," answered the young man. "What are you thinking? We'll begin our work in a moment." Thomas tried to make Dom stand up too, but he had fallen asleep and didn't understand what was being asked of him. "Exactly," said Thomas. "I am a stranger to this work. It is not possible for me to take part in it." "What are you saying?" said the young man slowly rising, as if he were mentally repeating the words he had just heard. "How could you stay out of this affair?" He reflected for a moment in order to examine the objections that Thomas might make and added: "You're mixed up in it in any case." "You are certainly in error," said Thomas. "I came in by mistake, and I have no right to participate in your discussions." "I understand your hesitations," said the young man in a milder tone. "But I can ease your mind with just a few words. Although you are right to consider your presence here as a privilege -a privilege whose value you yourself are unable to appreciate- there is no one who is not to some ex10 9

tent in the same situation as you. So rest assured. Your presence will be tolerated." '(That is more than I can ask," said Thomas, and he tried to wake up his companion. "Just a moment," said Jerome. "I don't want to go back over your strange statements; they concern only you. But it is my duty to point out to you that you have misunderstood the reasons for your presence in this room. You have forgotten that you did not come freely but in response to an order. Therefore you cannot leave until you have fulfilled your obligations." "That is not quite correct," said Thomas. "The order did come from here, but the desire and the action came from me. I responded to the call only because the call seemed to me worthy of respect." "The order came from much farther away," said the young man, "and it came from you as well. Did you not go into the gaming room?" "Yes," said Thomas. "Then you cannot escape your duty," said the young man. "We must judge these two men," he added, pointing to the two players. "You are one of the witnesses." "Well that changes everything," said Thomas, as if he had been waiting for this conclusion. "What are you accusing them of?" "We aren't accusing them," answered the young man. "They themselves have come to ask for our judgment." "Then what fault," asked Thomas, "has brought them before you?" "You and your strange questions," said the young man. "Why do you think we would keep ourselves informed about everyone's little secrets? If they are here, it's because they have been attracted by our room, and as soon as they entered, they were taken under our jurisdiction. What drove them here? We could only learn that by chance. Perhaps they cheated, as they claim; perhaps they had a disagreement with a member of the staff; perhaps they have passed through one of those crises that ends with a desire to leave the area where they live, the floor they are allowed to enter, and to go somewhere else; perhaps - and this is the most serious - they themselves do not know why they have come, and they entered on an empty pretext, pushing the first door they came to." Thomas looked at the two men who were drinking slowly from their cups. "One of them," he said, "is an employee." The young man also looked and said: "They are both members of the staff." 110