Authors: Albert Cohen
'Of course, the whole place is enormous, you know. Imagine, one thousand seven hundred doors, all with four coats of paint, which ensures that they show up perfectly white, I keep up with these things, as you'd expect, I often used to pop down while the work was being done to see how they were getting on, and, do you see, every door with its own chrome metal frame. And there are one thousand nine hundred radiators, twenty-three thousand square metres of linoleum, two hundred and twelve kilometres of electric cable, fifteen hundred taps, fifty-seven water hydrants and a hundred and seventy-five fire extinguishers! It all adds up, doesn't it? It's enormous, enormous. For instance, how many lavatories do you reckon we've got here?'
'I've no idea.'
'Go on, say a number, how many do you think?'
'Five.'
'Six hundred and sixty-eight!' he said distincdy, with barely controlled pride. 'And they've got everything, but everything, you know! Mechanized ventilation by fans which extract and replace the air eight times every hour. Automatic flushing every three minutes to cater for people who forget or are too lazy to bother. If you like, I could show you round one.'
'Some other time. I'm feeling a bit tired.'
'Right-ho, fair enough, another time. But here we are! This is it! After you, dear lady,' he said, pushing the door open. 'This is my little
chez
moi,' he smiled, his throat tight with excitement. 'What do you think of it?'
'It's very nice.'
'Obviously, it's not the de-luxe model, but it's a neat little set-up, and practical too.'
Eager to show off its many excellent features and share its delights with her, he explained the various amenities of his new coop, peering at her to see the effect produced by each. He ended with a eulogy of a metal cabinet, a most practical arrangement, with two hangers, one for his overcoat, the other for his jacket, and a Yale lock, so no chance of anything being stolen, and the dinky little drawer under the top shelf, so convenient for keeping those personal odds and ends -aspirins, iodine, indigestion tablets, petrol for removing stains. He gave a little laugh. He had forgotten to show her the most important item! What about his desk, then! It was brand new, as she could see, basically almost exactly the same as the model issued to As, very functional, really well designed.
'See? By turning the key in this middle drawer, I can also lock the left-hand and right-hand drawers too, twelve all told. It's really
terrific, don't you think? And this key is a Yale too, which means the best.'
Basking happily in the esteem he had generated, he sat down in his chair, pointing out that it was the very latest swivel type which gave excellent support to the back, then propped his feet on the edge of the desk, like van Vries, and began see-sawing to and fro gently in his chair, also like van Vries. And rocking himself in his might and power, his hands clasped behind his head the way van Vries did, this future corpse found a suitable opening to say that during a recent discussion with his boss he had been pretty outspoken, fiercely independent and a master of the devastating comment. Suddenly struck by the thought that this same hierarchical superior might come in unexpectedly, he put his feet down and stopped see-sawing. His pipe on the desk offered a reassuringly manly substitute. He reached for it, knocked it out loudly on the ashtray, and opened his tobacco pouch.
'Damn and blast! I've run out of tobacco! Listen, I'll pop out and get some from the kiosk. I'll only be two minutes. Be back soon, all right?'
'Sorry, got held up, couldn't help it,' he said, bursting through the door, simply dying to tell her about the amazing thing that had happened. (He took several deep breaths to master his excitement and strike a suitably measured tone of voice.) 'Fact is, I just bumped into the USG.'
'The what?'
'The Under-Secretary-General,' he spelled it out, slighdy ruffled. 'Monsieur Solal,' he added after taking in a new supply of air. 'USG is the normal abbreviation, I've told you several times. (A pause.) I've just had a talk with him.'
'So . . . ?'
He stared at her in amazement. A simple 'So ... ?' was all she could say about a talk with Sir John's right hand! Clearly no sense of social values! Still, couldn't be helped, that was the way she was, always with her head in the clouds. Tell her about it now but, mind, be offhand, don't give the impression you attach any special importance to it. He cleared his throat so that his fantastic news wouldn't be spoiled by any huskiness in the telling. 'I've just had a conversation with the Under-Secretary-General of the League of Nations, a talk, quite unexpected. (A faint twitch of the lip, a weird urge to burst into tears.) We had a little chat, just the two of us. (A sharp intake of breath to stifle a budding sob.) He even sat down, which goes to show he was in no hurry to get rid of me. I mean, he really wanted to talk to me. He wasn't just being polite. He truly is amazingly intelligent. (A difficulty with his breathing, caused by the excitement, prevented his speaking in long sentences.) This is how it happened. I went down to the ground floor, right? When I'd bought my packet of Amsterdamer from the kiosk, it occurred to me, can't think why, to come back via the corridor which goes past the USG's office, or rather offices, an odd thing to do since it meant going the long way round. Anyway, just at that moment he comes out through his door dressed, you'll never guess, in riding clothes, as he does from time to time. He looks marvellous in them, incidentally. But it's the first time I've ever seen him wearing a monocle. Mind you, it was black, as if he was covering up some trouble with his eye. Apparently he had some sort of accident this afternoon, fell off his horse and knocked an eye. Kanakis told me, I met him as I was coming back up, he'd just been to see Miss Wilson, she's the USG's secretary, he's on very good terms with her, and she told him all about it in confidence. It only happened a couple of hours ago, he arrived on a horse with a valet in tow, it's a habit of his, he often comes on a horse and then the valet takes the horse back, he's terribly
comme il faut,
and the first thing she saw was his eye, which was bleeding, well the eyelid actually, a cut, he must have fallen on something sharp, but he wouldn't have it seen to, he just asked Miss Wilson to send out to an optician's for some black monocles, apparently you can buy them over the counter. The man's got style! (He gave a little charmed, appreciative smile.) Straightaway he thinks of a monocle! So amusing! Anyway, I hope it's not serious, the cut I mean. You know, he's in charge of everything here, he's the best. (Another admiring smile.) The black monocle suits him awfully well, makes him look arrogant, aristocratic, know what 1 mean? Kanakis is no fool, is he? He butters Miss Wilson up something chronic. It helps no end, you realize, to be on good terms with the secretary of one of the top brass, helps no end if you want him to see you quickly, or want to hear what's going on before other people do or get a confidential tip-off and so on and so forth. Anyway, getting back to the point, the USG was striding along pretty smartly when the tapers he had in his hand, sorry, papers, slipped and fell on the floor. I picked them up. Of course I'd have done the same for anybody, only being polite. But he paused and thanked me ever so nicely. "Thank you, Deume," he said. It wasn't what he said but the way he said it, see? He remembered my name, that's the main thing. I can tell you, I was thrilled to think he knows who I am, to feel he knows I exist. It's important, don't you see? That was when he sat down and pointed to a chair facing him, all very chummy. Because just outside his offices there's this small waiting-area, with chairs, very comfy chairs of course. And then, ever so nicely, you'd never believe how nicely, he asked which section I worked in, what particular line of thing I did, if I liked the work, in short took an interest in me. So you see that if I was a long time coming back it was well worth it. A conversation lasting very nearly ten minutes! Have you any idea of what the consequences, administratively speaking, could be? He was terribly unaffected, very friendly, went out of his way not to pull rank, the two of us just sitting there, face to face. He was absolutely charming to me. And I was quite at ease and chatted away. Just think, VV walked past and saw the USG and me chatting away like old friends! What a picture. V V will be hopping mad!'
'Why hopping mad?'
'Jealousy, of course,' he smiled and shrugged his shoulders in delight. 'Also it'll have put the wind up him. It's always dangerous for a head of section if a member of his staff is on good terms with one of the top brass. It can mean trouble for him! It's like this, the chap might say to the bigwig, quite casually, without seeming to mean anything by it, he might say what he thinks of his boss, drop a few hints, suggest how the section might be reorganized, blow his own trumpet, you know, show up his boss in a poor light, or he might even come out with direct criticisms, depending of course on how the bigwig is reacting, and not pull his punches if he has the feeling the big man is none too well disposed towards his boss, I mean the chap's boss, you know, VV for instance, I mean if he feels he needn't hold back. Know what I mean?'
'Of course.'
'But I know VV. He won't show how cross he is, and tomorrow he'll be all sweetness and light. It'll be my dear Deume this, my dear Deume that, if it's not too much trouble, I realize how terribly busy you are, and so forth, and all done with a smile! He's got the mentality of a slave. I'm a threat, so it's out with the kid gloves. Anyhow, we sat there chatting for quite a while, ten minutes or so! I did wonder whether I should ask him about the black monocle, enquire if he had something wrong with his eye. But I wasn't sure and didn't in the end. Do you think I was right?'
'Yes.'
'Yes, I think so too, it would have been a touch familiar. When it was over, he got up, shook my hand, a really nice chap, you know. Very decent of him to stop and talk to me, don't you think? Especially since he was on his way to see the SG, who had asked to see him, see? So on my account he kept Sir John waiting! What do you say to that?'
'That's good.'
'Good! I'll say it's good! Just think, a conversation with a bigwig who's on hail-fellow-well-met terms with Sir John! And, mark you, not a conversation in the USG's office, not an official conversation, but a chat in the corridor, with both of us sitting down in the same class of chair, a private chat, I mean, man to man! If that's not the start of a personal contact I don't know what is! Oh, but I'm forgetting the most important bit. You'll never guess, but when he got up to go he patted me on the shoulder, or rather on the back, well anyway near the shoulder but definitely on the back, quite a firm pat, very friendly. Now to me that pat was the nicest part of the whole thing, it was I don't know intimate, spontaneous, ever so chummy. And that coming from someone who has held ministerial office in France, and is a Commander of the Legion of Honour, I mean after all he's only the most important man in the Secretariat after Sir John! And don't go saying less important than the Deputy Secretary-General because it's not true, he's more important than the Deputy Secretary-General, who may outrank him but between ourselves ... (After a wary glance around him, in a whisper:) between ourselves, he's got no influence, there are all sorts of papers which
don't ever go to him, and he never complains, can you credit it? (He looked at her. Yes, she was definitely impressed by the pat.) But that's just between the two of us, all right? And of course, much more important than the other two Under-Secretaries-General, who are small fry in comparison. It's true: whenever anybody says the USG you know it's him they mean. And the consideration he gets shown! He's the only Under-Secretary-General with a principal private secretary! Do you realize what that means? (In an even lower whisper:) Just between the two of us, I'd even go so far as to say he's more important than the Secretary-General. Oh yes! Because with Sir John it's golf and then more golf and, that apart, just a figurehead, always says amen to whatever the USG decides! So you see how tremendously important that pat on the back was. (He smiled a dreamy, feminine smile:) And anyway the man oozes charm somehow. That smile of his, awfully disarming! And his eyes, so warm, so understanding. I can see why women fall for him. Even that black monocle suits him terribly well, makes him look, I don't know, romantic. And got up like that in riding clothes! Every inch the gentleman. Obviously not everybody in the Secretariat would dare turn up on a horse. Of course if a ... (He almost said "a spear-carrier" but changed his mind, so as not to do himself down.) ... a lower-grade civil servant tried it on, it would raise an eyebrow or two. Just imagine the fuss there'd be if VV turned up one morning in riding boots! But if the USG does it, no one gives it a second thought. Seventy thousand a year in gold equivalent, plus entertainment allowance! They say he's got a luxury suite at the Ritz, with two drawing-rooms. By the way, I might forget. To be on the safe side, I didn't say anything to Kanakis about my little chat with the USG. I mention this, you never know, just in case you ever come across him. Just think: two drawing-rooms! I bet he runs up a hotel bill and a half! Anyhow, he's definitely top-drawer, bags of style, very smart, terribly aristocratic. Still, that's not the point. He's got a brilliant mind. And then there's that charm of his, it's hard to define really, a sort of gentleness but mixed in with it a hint of cruelty, it's a well-known fact that Sir John thinks the sun shines out of him, you often see them chatting together on the friendliest terms, he always looks completely relaxed, they say he calls him John, really, can you imagine? By all accounts Lady
Cheyne thinks even more highly of him! And it's no secret that he's a Don Juan, all the girls in the Secretariat are mad about him. And Countess Kanyo, that's the wife of the Hungarian minister to Berne who died two years ago, she's his mistress, she's crazy about him, it's an open secret. Kanakis saw her here once kissing the USG's hand! Can you imagine that? She's tremendously cultured, it seems. Very beautiful, still young, about thirty-two or thirty-three, very stylish and immensely rich with it, they say,' he concluded proudly. (She brushed his cheek with one finger.) 'What are you doing that for?'