Amélie Nothomb - Fear and Trembling

“The Yumimoto Corporation has offered me many wonderful opportunities to prove myself. I will be eternally grateful for that. Sadly, I have not proven myself worthy of the honor.”

At first Mister Omochi was taken aback, probably because he had completely forgotten why I had come to talk to him; then he burst out laughing.

I had imagined that by debasing myself, so as to offer nothing for which they would have to reproach themselves, I would elicit polite protestations. Something along the lines of, “Yes, you were, Amélie-san, please. You were worthy.”

This was the third time I had delivered my little resignation speech, and as yet there had still been no serious refutation. Far from disputing my deficiencies, Fubuki had made it clear that my case was more serious than even I had suggested. Mister Saito, embarrassed though he may have been, had not questioned the basis for my self-denigration. As for the Obese One, not only did he find nothing to contradict, he seemed to welcome my announcement with enthusiastic amusement.

I remembered a line from André Maurois: “Don’t speak too ill of yourself. People will believe you.”

Mister Omochi pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, dried his tears of laughter, and, to my utter amazement, blew his nose. In Japan this is seen as the height of bad manners. Then he sighed.

“Amélie-san.”

He said nothing more. I decided that he considered the matter closed. I stood up, said good-bye, and left.

THAT LEET ONLY God.

I was never more Japanese than when I offered my resignation to Mister Haneda. My embarrassment was genuine, and expressed itself in a tense smile and stifled hiccups.

He greeted me with exceptional kindness in his huge and brightly lit office.

“I am coming to the end of my contract and it is with very great regret that I announce that I cannot renew it.”

“Of course. I understand.”

He was the first to react to my decision with any show of humanity.

“The Yumimoto Corporation has offered me many wonderful opportunities to prove myself. I will be eternally grateful for that. Sadly, I have not proven myself worthy of the honor.”

He replied immediately.

“You know very well that what you say is not true. Your work with Mister Tenshi demonstrated that you have superb abilities in a field that suits you.”

Now this was more like it.

He sighed.

“You’ve been unlucky. You came at the wrong moment. You’re right to leave, but please remember that if someday you change your mind, you would be most welcome to return. I’m certainly not the only one who will miss you.”

I knew he was the one who was wrong, but was moved nonetheless. He spoke with such persuasive goodness that for a fraction of a second I was almost sad at the thought of leaving the Yumimoto Corporation.

NEW YEAR’S: THREE days of rituals and compulsory rest. This kind of idleness is fairly traumatic for the Japanese.

For three days and three nights, they are not allowed to cook. They eat cold dishes, prepared in advance and stored in beautiful lacquered boxes. I used to love the omochis, a kind of rice cake, but that year I couldn’t swallow a single one. When I brought one to my mouth, I was sure that it was going to roar “Amélie-san!” and burst into raucous laughter.

MY LAST DAY was January 7th, and after New Year’s I went back for my final three days of work. The whole world was focused on what was happening in Kuwait. I had my eyes trained on the bay window; all I could think about was January 7th.

On the morning of the last day, I couldn’t believe it had finally come. It felt as if I had been at Yumimoto for ten years.

I spent my day in the ladies’ room on the forty-fourth floor in a mood of sanctimonious piety. I performed each tiny gesture with priestly solemnity. “In the Carmelite order,” goes the phrase, “the first thirty years are the hardest.” I almost regretted not being able to test the truth of that.

At six o’clock, having washed my hands, I went around the offices and shook the hands of those who had, in their various ways, let me know they thought of me as a human being. Fubuki’s hand was not among them. I felt no rancor toward her. It was my self-respect that forced me not to say good-bye. I later thought that my attitude had been stupid. Choosing pride over any occasion to contemplate such an exceptional face was an error in judgment.

At six-thirty, I went back to my monastic cell. The bathroom was deserted. The neon lights didn’t prevent my heart from feeling heavy. Seven months of my life—no, of my time on this planet—had been spent here. Not something to get nostalgic about. And yet I had a lump in my throat.

Instinctively, I walked over to the window and pressed my forehead against the glass. I knew that this was what I would miss most.

The glass stood between the glaring light and the velvet darkness of the outside world, between the cramped stalls and infinite space, between what was hygienic and what was truly pure. So long as there were windows, I thought, any human being could enjoy their small share of freedom.

I threw myself, one last time, into the view. I felt my body fall.

This final defenestration completed, I left the Yumimoto Corporation, never to return again.

A FEW DAYS later, I went back to Europe.

On January 14th, 1991, I started writing a novel.

January 15th was the date of the American ultimatum to Iraq. On January 17th, war broke out.

On January 18th, Fubuki Mori turned thirty.

TIME, AS IT always does, passed.

In 1992, my first novel was published.

In 1993, I received a letter from Tokyo. Written in elegant Japanese characters, it read in its entirety as follows:

The letter brought me great happiness.

Belgian by nationality, Amélie Nothomb was born in Kobe, Japan. The author of eight novels translated into fourteen languages, she has been awarded numerous literary prizes including the Prix du Roman de L’Académie Française, the Prix René-Fallet, Prix Alain Fournier, the Prix Paris Premier, and the Concours du Premier Roman de Sablet. Most recently she received the Grand Prix de l’Académie Française and the Prix Internet du Livre for Fear and Trembling. She currently lives in Paris.

“Nothomb adds humor, the ingredient most often missing in other writers from France of her generation, the ingredient most difficult to translate.”

“An utterly charming, humorous tale of East meets West… Nothomb is a terrific writer whose writing style is simple, honest, and elegant. Very highly recommended.”

“A sharp, satiric new novel… Readers are sure to be won over by her spare, self-deprecating and wise tale.”

“Highly entertaining… Fear and Trembling (a perfect title) is filled with both droll observations and wry bitch gags.”

Loving Sabotage

The Stranger Next Door

The Character of Rain

ST. MARTIN’S GRIFFEN NEW YORK

FEAR AND TREMBLING. Copyright © 1999 by Editions Albin Michel S.A. Translation copyright © 2001 by Adriana Hunter. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y 10010.