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sired; Thomas had only to make a sign, and the magnificent brew flowed for him again. "It's time to get to work," said one of his neighbors at this point, partly in order to impart information and partly to silence the conversations. The word work penetrated Thomas's mind only very slowly. Before he had understood its meaning, the others had grasped it, and the way in which each one repeated the phrase, or an analogous one, out loud or in a murmur, prevented him from considering the significance of this word very carefully. Then someone knocked on the little door, hidden under a drape, through which he had entered. These sharp knocks resonated in the room in an extraordinary manner, to the point that he considered it sur prising that these people, so curious, so avid, so intent on offering endless commentaries about everything, greeted such an intervention so indiffer ently. "Someone knocked," he could not help saying to the man next to him. The latter gazed at him with brilliant eyes. "Yes," he said, "it's a joke played by the domestics who work in the small room outside. It's best not to pay any attention." He had spoken with an air of importance and continued to stare at Thomas. It seemed that he had waited for this opportunity to take a good look at Thomas, to study him in silence, as he was doing, without it being possible to know what his purpose was. In his immediate irritation, and so as to take no part in this impertinence, Thomas turned to the domestic and held out to him the empty cup. But the domestic did not understand that he meant for him to take it and to go away. On the contrary, he came closer and stood so close in fact that, to escape from his zealousness, Thomas had to push back his armchair, only to find himself almost pressing against his neighbor. The latter, having satisfied his curiosity, smiled amiably and ar ranged the seat's cushions, which he moved skillfully into place. Then he said in a low voice, looking at Thomas again: "When can we talk?" The domestic, suddenly very interested, leaned over the table, and Thomas could only make a gesture indicating how difficult any private conversation would be. "It doesn't matter," said the young man. "All the domestics here are in discreet. So you be careful," he said, turning to the servant, who, far from taking offense at this remark, began to laugh without changing his posi tion.

Thomas abruptly pushed him away and turned his chair in the other direction. "Now we can talk," said his neighbor. "My name is Jerome, my compan ion is named Joseph. You are new here?" he asked. In reality it was not a question; it was rather a reminder of the situation in which Thomas found himself and which alone made the conversation possible. So Thomas did not answer. "As a result," he continued, "you are ignorant of many things here, and you have a tendency to pass harsh judgments on what you see. All the beginners are like that. How could they make their way into this dark and poorly kept house without receiving a very bad impression? They see nothing but reasons for complaining. And what reasons! Do they even know what room they live in? Hardly have they gotten settled, when they are forced to move. We have a habit of saying that the tenants are eter nal vagabonds who do not even know their way. That's somewhat exag gerated, but at bottom it is true. Aside from a few very privileged people whose whims we must respect, no one can rightly swear that he will sleep twice in the same bed, and it's nothing but a constant coming and going of people who, sometimes walking in their sleep, pass down the halls half dressed in their disheveled nightclothes." "I have not had to suffer from such inconveniences," said Thomas. "I have not yet been assigned a residence." "Just as I was saying," the young man began again. "It's incredible. How can one tolerate such things? Not that your situation is the worst there is, far from it. Obviously it's unpleasant not to have a room and to have to rely on chance. At first, you take a certain liking to it, such freedom has its charms, and you believe it's always possible to return to the room you left behind. But these illusions quickly vanish. When you have understood what worries you expose yourself to if you do not know your residence be forehand, when you see yourself driven from door to door, when even the empty rooms are closed to you, then you no longer enjoy the uncertainty of the beginning, and freedom seems a disgrace from which you seek in vain to be redeemed. Already in the morning you think of nothing but the evening's shelter; you think of nothing but the night, and it is com mon that, in their obsession with this twilight that each hour brings closer, the tenants no longer even pay any attention to the day and live in per petual night. Such an existence wears down even the most sturdy among 70

us. The searches that at first absorbed every minute are now abandoned. What good are these exhausting journeys on foot when the discovery of an empty apartment comes to nothing? So you pass your days mulling over ridiculous hopes; some even memorize the plan of the house - or rather what they believe to be the plan, for of course the true layout of the rooms remains unknown to them, and they content themselves with the most miserable scrap on which a few lines have been drawn at random. Most do not even have the strength to think about the future; they stay where they are without moving or thinking, absorbed in memories of their past suc cesses in which they now live as though in an ideal home. Sooner or later they fall, and when this happens they must indeed be given a place, which is done in secret so as not to damage the good name of the house. "That's a sad picture," said Thomas. "And this is the situation I'm sup posed to be happy about? Where are the advantages?" "It's hard to imagine them," said the young man. "And yet they are real. How can I explain this to you? As far as I can judge from my modest in sights, they consist in a sort of freedom with respect to the staff. If you are deprived of a room, the staff is not obliged to serve you; you do not offi cially belong to the house; you cannot therefore claim the attentions that are due only to real tenants. But of course everything happens in reality in a much less rigid way, and the domestics sometimes take it upon them selves to give you a hand." "Pardon me," said Thomas, "but I still don't see the advantages." "Just wait," said the young man. "We're coming to that. But first you must tell me something. Have you already had dealings with the staff?" "I think so," said Thomas. "I would respond in an even more positive way if your question did not give me cause for doubt. Does he not belong to the service staff?" he asked, pointing to the domestic who, leaning com fortably on his elbows against the back of the armchair, was following the conversation. "No doubt," said the young man, smiling with an air of superiority. "Of course. Hey there, do you hear what this gentleman is asking," he added, turning to the servant. "Do you really belong to the service staff?" The domestic thought this was an excellent joke and went into fits of convulsive laughter accompanied by all sorts of gesticulations. The young man did not share this raucous joy, and he gave him a look that was both sad and severe. 71

"He is only too much a part of it - of the staff, I mean," he said. "You need only look at his face: indiscreet, lazy, proud, they're all like that here. What's more, he is the most insignificant of all; he is the most negligible of the negligible. That's why one can hardly tell that he is attached to the service of the house; he is but a distant reflection of the true domestics. He has, therefore, only relatively small defects. One can tolerate him if need be, and in any case he is forgotten when he is no longer there. Unfortu nately it is a completely different story when it comes to those who are responsible for the house. A truly detestable crowd they are. These fellows are almost always invisible; it is useless to call them or to think of meeting up with them; since we know that they live in the basement, some ten ants, angry at having to wait for them in vain, sometimes go down to look for them in their lair. What happens then? What do they see? They come back up racked with such disgust that they are incapable of answering our questions, so that we give up asking any more about it. Later they explain that they found huge unoccupied rooms stuffed to overflowing with every kind of waste and garbage. And this is quite possible when you know their habits. But others counter that domestics have never lived in the under ground rooms and that they spread this rumor only to get rid of clients." "Now that does not surprise me at all," said Thomas. "Until now I have had very little to do with the staff, and strictly speaking perhaps I have had nothing to do with them at all. But what I have seen is enough. With this in mind, I must ask you a question. Tell me why the tenants tolerate such disorder?" "It isn't a question of having to tolerate it," said the young man, with a sigh. "It is not even certain that we suffer from it. What do we have to re proach them with? The bad upkeep of the house, the rooms that are never cleaned or that are only half cleaned, the meals served to us at any hour of the day without any announcement beforehand? All these are really only small matters, and we learn to look the other way when it comes to many things. No," he added, "it cannot be said that we put up with too much; if we suffer, it is because we do not put up with enough." "It is not my place to offer an opinion," said Thomas. "As you said, I'm a newcomer. You have certainly reflected on the situation before I ever had a chance to. Yet I cannot approve your method. Look at the rooms. You ac knowledge that they are generally neglected or badly kept, and indeed I'm expressing myself with moderation; in reality, they're downright pigsties; 72

it would be difficult to find dirtier rooms; the air is unbreathable; staying in one for only a few hours is torture. Do you not agree?" Thomas asked the young man, who listened without showing any approval. "I know," he responded, "I know it only too well; I have a particularly delicate nature, and for me it's a veritable torture." "Well," said Thomas, raising his voice, "why don't you file a complaint? Why don't you make a report? Why don't you bring together the other tenants who certainly must think as you do and who would be happy to have improvements? Could it be," he added, almost shouting, "that they take no account of complaints? Could it be that, far from taking account of them, they would bring them back down on the heads of those who have the courage to say out loud what they think? I would not be surprised." "Quiet," said the young man, looking terrified and distressed. "Please, don't shout. If you let yourself get carried away, you'll never be able to hear me out. Things are not exactly what you think. File a complaint? Who hasn't filed a complaint? That is only too easy, and it is not what gets the attention of those gentlemen. On the contrary, whenever they are over whelmed with official complaints, they seem happy about the fact. Ap parently, at these times they have been heard singing in their meetings. There is no better way to please them. Aside from this result, what are the effects of these complaints that seem to you to be such a good method? The only effects I see are disastrous. If you are unfortunate enough to trans mit your request through official channels, you are lost. For during the time it is being examined - and God knows if anyone considers it with any care -your room is subject to a prohibition. Under the pretext that an investigation is being carried out, you do not have the right to inhabit it; and if you disregard the prohibition, you'll go through hell. Not only does your room no longer benefit from these little chance cleanings that in ordinary times can always be expected at the whim of a domestic, but each day servants secretly bring heaps of new trash, disgusting garbage with an unbearable smell. Why do they do this? They are only acting out of zeal ousness and can in no way be blamed. They are domestics who have taken your cause to heart, who absolutely want it to triumph, and who, in order to attract more attention to the scandal, try to make it even more obvi ous. They can only be encouraged. Despite the disgust and the depression it causes, we beg them to redouble their efforts. What else is there to do? If they were not thanked and encouraged in their work, they would be73

come your worst enemies, and the cause would be compromised. In any event, you are ruined. Supposing you have had enough energy to bear the troubles that resulted from your complaint, and admitting - as incredible as this would be - that you have not given in to the requests of your neigh bors who, seeing that you are waging a battle against the house, burden you with all their disputes, you still have no chance of surviving the in vestigation to which your complaint would normally lead. What happens then? What kind of operation is involved? To my knowledge, no one has ever arrived at the moment of undergoing this ordeal. Those who have overcome the other obstacles, however calm and sturdy they may be, have fallen apart in the anguish of waiting, in the meticulous preparations for this day, in all the various inconveniences that accompany the preliminary work. From the day you learn - most often by chance -that these gentle men have decided to come for themselves to make an inspection, you never leave your room; you do not sit down; you stand in the middle of the space with the door wide open, despite the drafts and the cold, so that you can hear them approaching from a distance. Moreover, it is customary not to wear shoes and to go almost entirely without clothes. Obviously these precautions are exaggerated, but they correspond to the idea we have of the members of the staff, according to which they again provide first-rate service when they are in the presence of the very sick. Is this one of those mad dreams originating in the gossip that never ceases to run through the house - or is it the truth? Everyone gives in to such thoughts, and those whom care has not devoured are carried off by sickness and fatigue." "So that's how it is with the domestics," said Thomas after a moment. "So these are the abuses one finds here. I am truly at an advantage, it seems, in having no fixed residence, despite the difficulties you have pointed out, if this situation spares me too frequent relations with such menials as these. I could not stay far enough away from them. Thank God I have so far eluded their advances, but now not a word, not a single request for service; you won't see me running around after them." "You're wrong," said the young man, with sudden violence. "You are utterly mistaken. What do you have to complain about? You have had numerous contacts with the staff; I know very well - for I know every thing concerning you. You have exchanged words with several of them; you have received advice from them; they have guided you. Invaluable acts of kindness, unheard-of favors. And you want to start fleeing from them, 74