Amélie Nothomb - Fear and Trembling

“Fubuki couldn’t do a thing like that!”

Mister Tenshi restricted himself to sighing again.

“Why would she do a thing like that?” I went on. “Does she hate you?”

“Oh no. She didn’t do it to spite me. When all is said and done, this whole business does you more harm than me. I haven’t lost anything. But you have missed out on any chance of promotion for a very long time.”

“I don’t understand. She’s always been so friendly toward me.”

“Yes, so long as your work consisted of updating calendars and photocopying golf club bylaws.”

“But there was no danger of my taking her place!”

“She was never afraid of that.”

“Then why denounce me? Why would it upset her if I went to work for you?”

“Miss Mori struggled for years to get the job she has now. She probably found it unbearable for you to get that sort of promotion after being with the company only ten weeks.”

“I can’t believe it. That’s just so… mean.”

“All I can say is that she suffered greatly during the first few years she was here.”

“So she wants me to suffer the same fate? It’s too pathetic. I must talk to her.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Of course. How else are we going to work things out if we don’t talk?”

“You just talked to Mister Omochi. Does it strike you that things have been worked out?”

“There’s one thing I’m sure of, and that’s if you don’t talk there’s no chance of working out the problem.”

“And there’s one thing I’m even more sure of, and that’s if you do talk, there’s a serious chance you’ll make things worse.”

“I won’t get you involved in this. But I must speak to Fubuki. Otherwise I’ll never forgive myself.”

MISS MORI ACCEPTED my proposal to talk privately with an expression of astonished curiosity. She followed me to the conference room, which was empty. We sat down.

I started quietly and soberly.

“I thought we were friends. I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Are you going to deny that you denounced me.”

“I haven’t denied anything. I followed the rules.”

“Are the rules more important to you than friendship?”

“ ‘Friendship’ is a strong word. I’d prefer ‘good relationship between colleagues.’ ”

She proffered this expression with ingenuous, affable calm.

“I see. Do you think our relationship will continue to be good, after what you’ve done?”

“If you apologize, I won’t bear you a grudge.”

“You’ve got a good sense of humor, Fubuki.”

“You’re behaving as if you’re the injured party, when you’ve actually done something very wrong.”

I made the mistake of coming out with a sharp retort.

“And I had been thinking that the Japanese were different from the Chinese.”

She looked at me, not understanding. I went on.

“Yes. The Chinese didn’t have to wait for Communism to consider denunciation a virtue. To this day the Chinese in Singapore, for example, still encourage their children to tell on their little friends. I thought the Japanese had a stronger sense of honor.”

I had definitely upset her. A strategic mistake.

She smiled.

“Do you think you’re in a position to teach me anything about morals?”

“Why do you think I wanted to talk to you, Fubuki?”

“Because you weren’t thinking.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that I might want a reconciliation?”

“Fine. You apologize and we’ll be reconciled.”

I sighed.

“You’re quick and intelligent. Why are you pretending you don’t understand?”

“Don’t try and get above yourself. You’re very easy to figure out.”

“Good. Then you can see why I’m so indignant.”

“I can see why and I disapprove of your reasons. I’m the one who had some reason to feel indignant about your attitude. You had your eye on a promotion to which you had no right.”

“Fine. I had no right to it. But what harm could it actually do you? My opportunity didn’t cheat you out of anything.”

“I’m twenty-nine years old. You’re twenty-two. I’ve been in this position since last year. I fought for it for years. Did you think that you were going to get a comparable job within a matter of weeks?”

“So that’s it. You want to see me suffer. You can’t bear other people’s opportunities. How childish.”

She gave a scornful little laugh.

“And do you think that making your situation worse is proof of maturity? I’m your superior. Do you think you have the right to be so rude to me?”

“You’re right. You’re my superior. I have no right, I know. But I wanted you to know how disappointed I am. I really thought highly of you.”

She laughed elegantly.

“I’m not disappointed. I didn’t think highly of you.”

WHEN I ARRIVED at work the following morning, Miss Mori informed me of my new appointment.

“You won’t be changing departments. You’ll be working here, in accounting.”

I felt like laughing.

“Me, in accounting? Why not ask me to be a trapeze artist?”

“ ‘Accounting’ may be overstating things. I don’t think you are capable of bookkeeping,” she said with a pitying smile.

She showed me a large drawer in which the invoices for the last few weeks had been piled up. Then she showed me the shelves with rows of enormous ledgers, each bearing the initials of one of Yumimoto’s eleven import-export departments.

“Your assignment couldn’t be more simple, and therefore well within your abilities. First, you have to arrange the invoices in chronological order. Then, you work out which department each one belongs to. Take this one, for example: eleven million for Finnish Emmental. How very funny—it involves the Dairy Products Department. You take the ledger marked ‘DP’ and copy out into each of the columns the date, the name of the company, and the sum. When you’ve sorted and recorded all the invoices, you file them in this drawer here.”

There was no denying the fact that this was not difficult work.

“Isn’t everything computerized?”

“Yes. At the end of the month, Mister Unaji will input all of the invoices into the computer. All he will have to do is to copy out your work. It will hardly take him any time at all.”

For the first two days I sometimes had trouble figuring out which invoice went where. When I asked Fubuki, she replied with irritated courtesy.

“What’s Reming Ltd?”

“Nonferrous metals. Department MM.”

“What’s Gunzer GMBH?”

“Chemicals. Department CP.”

I very quickly got to know all the companies and the departments to which they belonged. My assignment seemed to get easier and easier. It was exquisitely boring, which did not displease me, for it allowed me to put my mind elsewhere. While I sorted through the invoices, I would often look up and daydream as I admired the ravishing face of my denouncer.

Weeks went by. I fell more and more into a state of contentment I called “invoice serenity.” There was very little difference between what I was doing and a monk transcribing illuminated manuscripts in the Middle Ages. I spent entire days copying out letters and numbers. Never in my life had so little been asked of my brain, and it experienced extraordinary tranquillity—a sort of Zen of accounting. I was surprised to find myself thinking that if I spent forty years immersed in such voluptuous mindlessness, I would not complain.

To think that I had been silly enough to get a college degree. There can be nothing less intellectually stimulating than repetition. I was devoted to order, not thought, I now realized. Writing down numbers while contemplating beauty was happiness itself.