Collected Works:
FIRST DAY
ESSAY ON GOD
On Relativity and Symmetry Regarding the Death of Grandpa John
POLITICS, BREAD AND BOOKS
PHILOSOPHY AND BELIEF
Introduction to the Thought of Contradictory Whole
FIFTY YEARS TO THE WAR
Six Stories of Socialism from a Personal Point of View
THE PATTERN AND KANT
Six Stories of Human Nature from our Point of View
THE KISS
THE STORY ABOUT FATHER AND FATHERLAND
THE LITERARY AUTOBIOGRAPHY
THE FOUR SEASONS
Mister X's Ode of Joy
THE OTHER LONG DAYS
The Detective Documentary Story in Witch Also the Author Might Be Killed
Copyright © Milan Nesic
Milan Nesic
Through Socialism to War
PAVLE SAID WHAT WAS ON HIS MIND
These days, in fact soon afterwards, there was a meeting in Pavle’s factory of the broader electronic group. That was a commercial manager's idea: to call the entire group to account for delay in development of tube voltmeters that were to be in production line long before. To call to account clearly and strictly, with minutes, first of all before the commercial manager himself, for, he is the one who signs and that way guarantees term and delivery, money, bread, and the one who was blushing because of somebody else's carelessness and badly done job. They say those were his exact words: he is blushing. Moreover, he said he had known how to save his cheek in harder times, when fires had flashed and the knives shone — and he was going to save it now too. Beside him, Andrei was present too. He was the president of Workers' Council, a short middle-aged man, with quick movements of his arms, sharp mimic and lively small eyes. He surveyed all present quickly, smiled shortly to Pigeon, Pigeon whispered something to him and he nodded his head, waved his hand, took a pile of papers from his briefcase and prepared his pencil: he is going to get some notes himself although an official was sitting beside him, making it at all the meeting of Workers’ Council too. Here was Bosha the Mechanic too, the leader of installation group, in his greasy blue overalls. He must have never taken it off, that’s why he was called the Mechanic, although he was a technician. Some workers in his group have nothing to do for some time now, they were planned to work on those voltmeters. So Bosha the Mechanic came to see for himself what was going on, folks, what's trouble? He stretched his big, blackened hands, and then squeezed his cap with them. You could hear from time to time his deep voice as he waved his head in denial.
The commercial manager entered the last. With his head high, he greeted everybody in his deep voice: “Hello, gentlemen,” he nodded slowly and vaguely and, huge and fat as he was, walked clumsily. Then he lowered himself into the chair at the top of the table. They were all silent, waiting. Manager moved in his chair, put his elbows on the table, and coughed a deep cough, long and important. Then again.
“0. K.,” he said finally. “We can begin now?” he asked and there came a hardly distinguishable yes, all were present.
Manager lowered his head. He was turning over his pen, playing with it. His hands were huge, well taken-care-of. He was silent. Finally, he said again deeply “0. K.” He spread his arms and raised his head: “I must say that I feel really uneasy!” he started importantly, looking at Dragan, then at Pavle and Pigeon. “You know why we met here today. We have to account for whatever we do, to each other, to the assembly, to the society. I am blushing for quite a time now!” he shouted sharply and stared at Dragan. Then he sighed questioningly “Ah?” and transferred his look to Pigeon. Finally, he peered at Pavle. Again “Ah?”
Afterwards silence. For a time they were all silent, motionless. Only Tanja had taken out her mirror and was furtively looking at it.
Then Dragan sat back in his chair, but as he was withdrawing and shrinking, looked at manager aslant, shortly, icily. “Well, it is like this” he started quietly, then raised himself and smoothed his hair. Suddenly, he continued unusually loudly: “They say we are late,” made a pause to explain quickly: “I am expecting to say something the first for I am the leader of the group.” Then he fell into silence again, uttered a “Hem!” waved his head and continued accentuating: “It's important to stress that we are late with regard to the norm!” he raised his finger and repeated: “With regard to the norm!” and this time he stared at manager.
Manager did not make a wink at first, was silent for a while, then winked and waved his hand impatiently: “Exactly! Continue! Give me some reasons, reasons!”
“That's the reason!” Dragan yelled impatiently also. Then he added quickly: he knows that you have norm for soldering condensers and installation of electronic tubes — it's o. k. There is a whole science about the economic movements of hands, body position and height of chair, what disposition of tools. That's how the workers are being differentiated into qualified, high qualified, more or less crafty and he doesn't know what else — but how is one to predict time for development, for a project? That's quite an uncertain job: to boil the water on the surface, you have to hat the whole pot; nobody knows to what degree, you cannot tell in advance. And it's ridiculous to say “Hey, you, Faraday, you have hundred hours to invent a little of inducted power!”
“Let's return to the facts! How much overtime work have you had this month in your group?” manager interrupted him with an expression of impatience and boredom, such a spasm was on his face, such a waving of his hand.
Dragan gave him a quick, icy look from aside. “Well, here come the facts: Those from Nish say to you, we need tube voltmeters in two months. You say it to Raka and he writes down the norm — two months. If you cannot accomplish in the norm — work overtime!” Dragan shouted. “I don't think we are late at all!” he snapped.
“E-e-e!” manager drawled deeply throwing his head back, and then looked at Dragan silently, somehow haughtily. He sneered, bent forward and continued slowly: “I suppose Raka is one who knows, he was an engineer when you were still a baby, ha?” he peered at Dragan, demurely, unpleasantly motionless.
Dragan waved his hand: “Ha, he knows!” he laughed ironically. “Nonsense! The old man knows only that you are a manager. What is he like one who knows he never counts in the norm the time necessary for control of finalized instruments? There is no control service, and who is going to do it but us?!” Dragan was angry. He glared. “What is he like one who knows he overlooks the fact we have to run to providing service all the time? This was not bought and that was not obtained, everybody shrugs shoulders: no material, it was ordered, wait a little!”... Dragan spoke without a pause, but now more for himself. He threw his briefcase on the table, closed it quickly. Then he got up, went to the rack, put on his coat as if he was going to leave, but sat down again. He lowered his head. As if, he saw no one any more nor heard anything. He sat constantly with his hands on his briefcase, kept silent, while the traces of anxiety disappeared from his face gradually. He became calm some own way, got somehow a faint expression of boredom. He simply was quiet, one could see he thought he was only losing his time, but in a passive way, he was submissive. There he was, waiting. Only he didn't raise his head and was quiet.
Manager was quiet for a time too. He was sneezing rapidly, his head thrown back. Then hardly noticeably, he stretched his hands: “You've said quite a lot of things, and I understood nothing!” he spoke trying to look as self-confident as possible, didn't look at Dragan any more, only at the others present. His confident glance wandered around, he kept his head back and smiled, then stretched his hands again. “I do understand economics, but this, I cannot understand!” he shrugged his shoulders and looked around again, fat and tall as he was — haughtily.
Dragan never made a move. He remained submissively bored.
Even as manager was still surprised stretching his hands and self-confidently surveyed all present there, there came a quiet but distinguishable voice from Pavle.
“You don't understand because you are not an engineer, you are a bluffer!” acidly, through the teeth.
Everybody was startled. Manager jumped on his chair, jerked backwards and opened his month. He looked expressionlessly and unbelievingly at Pavle, his hands on his chair. The others jerked too, turned to Pavle, looked at him in surprise, their breath kept, frozen. Only Vaske looked at Pavle and manager alternately, kept winking with that eye of his and his face blackened, long with seriousness.
However, Pavle continued calmly to talk about quite different things as if nothing had been said a minute before. He spoke quietly, seriously, with a hardly noticeable smile on his face — he enjoyed himself, looked at manager and enjoyed himself. Only now and then, he seemed to speak through his teeth, bitterly. He knows, it wasn't easy before the integration either, almost not to have been survived, the market, competition, problems. Who is the wise one in thing like these?!
The present people moved in their chairs as if they had sighed silently although suspense and expectation sustained in the room. However, Pavle proceeded calmly, slowly, spoke things all of them spoke before or could be speaking — and things and ideas gradually took their usual shapes, the every-day ones. They were all sitting there still, both manager and Pavle, calmly, and it was all real. Manager, gradually, gradually, but closed his mouth, let loose the chair, crossed his arms on his huge chest, listened. Only a shadow of ironic smile was present on his lips.
True, Pavle was saying reasonably, the integration was the only solution. And life is work, pain, uncertainty, and it lasts again, lasts constantly, as before. Evil tongues rustle that it's even worse, much worse. One thing is sure, people can sense evil, they talk, they rustle, they don't know where the injustice and trouble are coming from. Well, salaries are small, and they are not, for there are the norms and exceeds. Work and earn! And nobody understands anything, for whoever heard that someone got an exceed, how and how much money! A real mess, only evil, trouble and evil, and nobody know where they come from.
After these words, Pavle stopped, coughed curtly, then he continued unusually loudly, stressing his words: “But if someone explained to people: This manager is a sold soul. He has betrayed your work. There are no other betrayers!” and he kept looking at manager, enjoyed himself, his face was pale, serious.
Manager jumped on his chair also this time, opened his mouth again. He swallowed air, searched for words: “What?!... Sorry!?... I don't allow this!!”
However, Pavle kept looking at him motionless, his teeth tight, but he talked, didn't let him get his breath, find the words: “Yes, he estimates our sweat with a naked eye, as he was ordered from Nish. That's why he is a manager! He has no other capabilities!”
“No!... I don't allow this!... I protest!”...
“Yes, if someone explained things to people, I doubt you would win trust on a referendum. I doubt it!” – Pavle almost shouted. “Put it in the minutes: I doubt it, I doubt it!”
Finally, Pavle fell into silence. He sighed with a deep sigh.
Manager flushed in the face, veins on his neck swelled, it seemed they are going to tear the collar of his shirt apart.
“For you are a bluffer!” Pavle concluded this time quietly, again through his teeth, but calmly, his face was pale and serious.
Pavle said what was on his mind.
(FIRST DAYS, slightly shorted chapter XVI,
Translated by Vesna Podgorac)