Norman Manea - Compulsory Happiness

The other man leans across the small glass table and picks up the papers. He glances through them, nodding, as though seeing exactly what he’d expected to find.

“So I wouldn’t go out drinking, but one day I did go along with them. I couldn’t help it, I didn’t want him thinking I’d got anything against him. . They had this place they went to, they called it the President. The real name was something else. I forget what. A crummy little bar, smoky and crowded, but with red velvet banquettes and prices that were way out of line. They’d start out slowly and just keep going until they were all blotto. That was the rule, you weren’t allowed to slip away quietly. Hour after hour, all night long. At the end, when it came time to settle the bill. . Well, the boss didn’t dig into his pocket! The others paid for him. I kept my mouth shut and forked over. But I never went along again. Afterward, the others asked me. . to contribute my share for the boss, as they put it. I didn’t want to, so I didn’t pay. Yeah, well, that’s how it got started. .”

The other man listens, nods in understanding; he puts aside the pile of papers, considering the person before him with great attention.

The silence lengthens; the papers will lie there quietly for several hours. Dusk would be the proper time to leaf through them. . The tired man’s hand reaches out for them again, in a hurry, pulls a few from the pile, separates them, holds on to them. He walks up and down the room, alone. Violet, ash-gray curtains veil the windows, and the murmuring night drowns out the chronometer.

“Has it been pointed out that on the only day this worker was ever late, in twenty-five years of service in the same factory, transportation was at a standstill throughout the entire city?” The sentence has an impressive cadence and tonality. . “Why was he reassigned from the boilerworks to the janitorial department, which cost him a quarter of his salary?”

“The questions in these pages are all framed as though prepared for a court of law,” the man explains that evening to his wife. He holds the bundle in his hand, which trembles in his excitement.

“It’s all laid out simply and intelligently. You can understand perfectly what happened. . Why did the comrade foreman put him on the night shift, when it had previously been decided to exempt heads of large families with seniority in the factory? Why did they give him the most difficult and urgent work assignments without adjusting his pay accordingly? Why was he transferred from the boilerworks?. . Why, when he fell ill, was he told that there was no place for sick people at the factory?. . Why was he docked an entire work day for being one half hour late?. . Why, when he asked to see someone in authority at either the trade union or the ministry, was he warned that if he didn’t keep quiet, he might get into much more serious trouble?”

“Did he fix the stove, during all this? Or did you spend so much time talking that he never got around to it?” asks the wife with a smile.

“He fixed it. He fixed it while I was writing his letter to the newspaper. He thinks that fat pig will help him solve his problem. A kind of second head of state, that’s what people think he is. They know he looks out for himself above all, but as they’ve got no one else to complain to, they turn to him as though he were a magician. So that he can put them in his articles, so they can become human beings once more, have their troubles taken under consideration by someone. That’s basically what they hope for: some consideration. To have their confidence restored, that’s what they want. Burdened with anxieties, surrounded by pitfalls, they don’t know which way to turn. . I composed his letter carefully, to arouse the interest of that bastard of a finagler. . I tried hard to persuade our worker to accept a compromise with the people at his factory, but it was a complete waste. I explained to him that you can’t take on such a system all alone, that he’d get himself crushed. He didn’t even hear me. There’s a ferocious stubbornness in that little man. Well, you’ve seen him, he’s knee-high to nothing. Industrious, honest, proud. Clever at everything, assailed on all sides.”

“How much did he get from you? The same, a hundred lei? An even hundred?”

“No, not this time, no. He fixed the stove, the bathroom door, the lock on the suitcase. When I tried to pay him, he said no. I insisted, he refused. He said, while I was working, you spent the same amount of time on my letter, so you don’t owe me a thing.”

When the really hot weather arrives, something goes wrong with the shower. They telephone the workman, who turns up the following morning.

A hesitant trill at the doorbell, barely a flutter. He stands, as usual, away from the door. Already he’s used to the appearance of this childlike, sleepy gentleman wearing a cowboy-style shirt he hasn’t bothered to tuck into his too-tight jeans.

“Am I disturbing you? But I thought that. . My wife told me you’d telephoned.”

“Come in, please come in. I’ll make coffee for us. Ah! I forgot, you don’t drink it. I’ll fix you some tea, all right? It won’t take a minute. . You don’t need to take your shoes off. . No, really, there’s no need.”

The visitor’s shoes are already in his hand, his toolbox is already sitting open beneath the coat tree, he’s rummaging around in it, poking about among the screws, faucets, wing nuts, tubes of cement, coils of wire, bits of string, and other assorted junk.

The gentleman goes off to drink his coffee. He returns with a tray bearing a cup of tea and a slice of brioche, which the workman leaves untouched. The master of the house returns a few moments later, stands in the doorway, tries to think of something to say.

“So, what’s new? How’s your claim going?”

“Oh, that. . I won. I won, but they wouldn’t go along with the fourteen thousand I put in for, they only awarded me six thousand.”

“You won? I wouldn’t have believed it. That’s great! That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of anyone winning a case against a company, which means winning against the state. I take my hat off — you’re incredible! And without a lawyer, that’s what gets me. . You did tell me that you weren’t going to hire a lawyer, that you were perfectly capable of explaining the truth on your own, right?”

“I’ve filed an appeal. I don’t take small change tossed at me like that, out of charity. I demand my rights. They’ve got no choice. They have to give me what’s mine. Fourteen thousand, I counted it all up. The salary they docked me and the layoffs and the work bonuses.”

“Let it go. You’re going to wear yourself out in the courts. Now that you’ve won the judgment against them and they have to pay you damages, put an end to this business. You’ll finally have some peace, instead of having to run around all over creation day after day.”

“That’s not the problem. I can earn my own living. But I want my rights. My place in the sun. Because otherwise — listen to what I’m saying here — the world has gone all to hell. Nobody believes in anything anymore. Honesty and faith and keeping one’s word — out the window. What’s the point of living like that, not giving a damn for God or man? I refuse to play that game. . Can I wash my hands?”

“Of course. You may use that towel over there.”

He washes his grease-blackened hands for a long time. He hesitates before using the towel. He holds his hands suspended over the sink for a moment before clumsily grabbing the towel. He puts away the screws, faucets, wing nuts, asks for a broom, tidies up carefully, gets ready to leave.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Well, a hundred lei.”

It’s hard not to smile.