pretended to sweep the sidewalk in front of me, backing up as I advanced. “Monsieur le Président,” he said with an extra flourish.
I felt obliged to give him some money.
“His Highness is too kind,” he said in his hoarse voice, executing an exaggeratedly reverential bow.
He had the crafty look of someone who always gets what he wants.
Yves Dubreuil took out his cell phone and pushed two keys.
“Good evening, Catherine, it’s me.”
“Well?”
“For the time being, he’s obeying. Everything’s as planned.”
“I don’t think it’ll last very long. I have considerable doubts.”
“You always have doubts, Catherine.”
“He’ll rebel in the end.”
“You say that because if you were in his place, you’d rebel.”
“Perhaps.”
“At any rate, I’ve never seen anyone so frightened of his own shadow.”
“That’s what worries me so much. That’s why I think he will never have the courage to do all you’re going to demand of him.”
“On the contrary. His fear can help us.”
“How come?”
“If he doesn’t want to go on, we’ll make sure he does … out of fear.”
Silence.
“You’re formidable, Igor.”
“Yes.”
4
A FTER A WEEK , I knew all the bakeries in my district, the 18th arrondissement. In the end, I observed that the best bread was to be had in the bakery I usually patronized, next to my apartment. Now I was buying three baguettes a day and off-loading my surplus stock on Étienne. Delighted at first, he had the cheek to tell me after five days that he was fed up with eating bread.
Human beings are made in such a way that we get used to almost anything. I have to admit that what had demanded a superhuman effort to begin with needed mere resolve by the end of a week. All the same, I had to consciously prepare myself for the bakery routine. One evening, I met my neighbor at the baker’s, and we talked as we stood in line. When my turn came and I was served an overcooked baguette, I didn’t have the reflex to refuse it. Being distracted by my conversation was enough to make me revert to my old habit of automatically accepting what was given to me. In short, I was being well looked after, but I was still not cured.
My office life carried on, more dismal than ever. Was it to try and make up for the deterioration in the atmosphere that Luc Fausteri suggested that the consultants on his team join him every morning at 8 A.M. for a run? I was sure this ludicrous idea wasn’t his. He must have found it in a team-building book under a heading like How to change your employees into winners. The plan had obviously been approved by those higher up, however, since his boss, Grégoire Larcher, had okayed the installation of communal showers in the building.
So it was that most of the consultants found themselves every morning inhaling exhaust from the Avenue de l’Opéra and the Rue de Rivoli, or the scarcely less polluted air of the Tuileries Gardens. They ran without saying a word, my boss being about as talkative as a funeral director. In any case, the purpose of the exercise was no doubt to stimulate everyone’s ardor, not to develop camaraderie. Fausteri kept his distance from us as always. I had managed the feat of declining his offer, and no doubt the shop assistants in the bakeries of the 18th arrondissement had a share in this achievement. My painful experience at baseball had turned me off sports, and mixing with a group of out-of-breath men feeling virile because they’re exercising was more than I was capable of.
I arrived at the office each day at 8:55 A.M. so that I would already be hard at work when the team returned from its morning exploits. That way, the message was clear: While you’re prancing about, some of us are slaving away. That way, I was beyond reproach. Even so, the level of reproach had risen perceptibly. Having had an original idea for once, Fausteri was no doubt vexed that I wasn’t falling in line. He began to pick on me, to make
I felt obliged to give him some money.
“His Highness is too kind,” he said in his hoarse voice, executing an exaggeratedly reverential bow.
He had the crafty look of someone who always gets what he wants.
Yves Dubreuil took out his cell phone and pushed two keys.
“Good evening, Catherine, it’s me.”
“Well?”
“For the time being, he’s obeying. Everything’s as planned.”
“I don’t think it’ll last very long. I have considerable doubts.”
“You always have doubts, Catherine.”
“He’ll rebel in the end.”
“You say that because if you were in his place, you’d rebel.”
“Perhaps.”
“At any rate, I’ve never seen anyone so frightened of his own shadow.”
“That’s what worries me so much. That’s why I think he will never have the courage to do all you’re going to demand of him.”
“On the contrary. His fear can help us.”
“How come?”
“If he doesn’t want to go on, we’ll make sure he does … out of fear.”
Silence.
“You’re formidable, Igor.”
“Yes.”
4
A FTER A WEEK , I knew all the bakeries in my district, the 18th arrondissement. In the end, I observed that the best bread was to be had in the bakery I usually patronized, next to my apartment. Now I was buying three baguettes a day and off-loading my surplus stock on Étienne. Delighted at first, he had the cheek to tell me after five days that he was fed up with eating bread.
Human beings are made in such a way that we get used to almost anything. I have to admit that what had demanded a superhuman effort to begin with needed mere resolve by the end of a week. All the same, I had to consciously prepare myself for the bakery routine. One evening, I met my neighbor at the baker’s, and we talked as we stood in line. When my turn came and I was served an overcooked baguette, I didn’t have the reflex to refuse it. Being distracted by my conversation was enough to make me revert to my old habit of automatically accepting what was given to me. In short, I was being well looked after, but I was still not cured.
My office life carried on, more dismal than ever. Was it to try and make up for the deterioration in the atmosphere that Luc Fausteri suggested that the consultants on his team join him every morning at 8 A.M. for a run? I was sure this ludicrous idea wasn’t his. He must have found it in a team-building book under a heading like How to change your employees into winners. The plan had obviously been approved by those higher up, however, since his boss, Grégoire Larcher, had okayed the installation of communal showers in the building.
So it was that most of the consultants found themselves every morning inhaling exhaust from the Avenue de l’Opéra and the Rue de Rivoli, or the scarcely less polluted air of the Tuileries Gardens. They ran without saying a word, my boss being about as talkative as a funeral director. In any case, the purpose of the exercise was no doubt to stimulate everyone’s ardor, not to develop camaraderie. Fausteri kept his distance from us as always. I had managed the feat of declining his offer, and no doubt the shop assistants in the bakeries of the 18th arrondissement had a share in this achievement. My painful experience at baseball had turned me off sports, and mixing with a group of out-of-breath men feeling virile because they’re exercising was more than I was capable of.
I arrived at the office each day at 8:55 A.M. so that I would already be hard at work when the team returned from its morning exploits. That way, the message was clear: While you’re prancing about, some of us are slaving away. That way, I was beyond reproach. Even so, the level of reproach had risen perceptibly. Having had an original idea for once, Fausteri was no doubt vexed that I wasn’t falling in line. He began to pick on me, to make
Similar Books
