Chapter 12 must do so

——A story of a strong career One of the strangest experiences in my life was the time I spent as a clerk in Alfred Vonsiedel's factory.I am naturally contemplative, and would rather be idle than work.But the succession of financial difficulties—for meditation, as well as idleness, brought me nothing—compelled me from time to time to seek a so-called position.Once again, when I was at the end of my rope, I entrusted my fate to the employment agency.Introduced by them, I went to Vonsiedel's factory to take an ability test together with seven other brothers who shared the same fate. As soon as I saw the factory, I was full of doubts: the whole factory building was built with glass bricks, and I hated bright buildings and bright rooms as much as I hated working.My misgivings were heightened when we were immediately invited to breakfast in the bright, pastel-coloured factory canteen: pretty waitresses brought us eggs, coffee and toast, served in elegantly carved The orange juice in the flower glass; the proud face of the goldfish hit the light green wall of the fish tank.The waitresses were so happy and happy that they almost couldn't help dancing.It seems to me that it is only because of their strong willpower that they refrain from singing.Their hearts are full of unsung songs, like a hen with unlaid eggs.

I immediately realized something that my fellow-fate brothers didn't seem to realize: this breakfast was also part of the exam; People who have precious nutrients are as self-conscious.I also did something I would never do under normal circumstances: drank orange juice on an empty stomach, left coffee and an egg and most of the toast behind, got up right away and strode up and down the dining room Go, pretend to be anxious and eager to do something. In this way, I was the first to be ushered into the examination room, where the test papers lay on attractive tables.The walls of the house are painted green, and the kind of people who are keen on furnishing the house can't help but say the word "charming" when they see it.There was no one in the room, but I was sure someone was watching me, so I pretended to be a person who is obsessed with work knowing that no one is paying attention. I eagerly took out a fountain pen from my pocket, unscrewed the pen cap, and at the last moment Sit down at the table near the door, and pull the test paper over with a swish like a quick-tempered man who picks up the bill in a restaurant.

The first question is that people only have two arms, two legs and two ears. Do you think this statement is correct? This was the first time that my habit of thinking about problems paid off.I wrote without hesitation: "Even if I have four arms, four legs, and four ears, I can't satisfy my ambition. The equipment on the human body is pitiful!" Question 2: How many telephones can you use at the same time? Answering this question is equally as easy as solving a linear equation in one variable. "If there were only seven telephones," I wrote, "I'd be bored. I'd have nine telephones before I felt fully utilized."

Question 3: What do you do in your spare time? My answer: "I don't know the word 'free time' - I crossed it out of my vocabulary on my fifteenth birthday because I'm a work-first person. " I am employed.In fact, even with nine telephones, I don't feel overwhelmed.I just said loudly into the microphone of the telephone: "Do it now!" or "Please do it! - It must be done - It must be done - It's done - It should be done." Something like that.Of course, in most cases, I use the imperative style, because I think only the imperative style is suitable for the atmosphere in the factory.

It's fun to take a lunch break.We were all sitting in the factory cafeteria, eating a vitamin-packed lunch in silent conviviality.In the factory of Vonsiedel there was a large crowd, and they were especially eager to tell their own history, which is what people with a strong career love.For them, their resumes are more important than their lives. As long as they are asked to start, they will seriously describe their resumes in detail. Von Siedel's deputy was a man named Broschek, who was somewhat famous, because he had already supported seven children and a paralyzed wife by working night jobs while he was studying at the university, and he was effectively running four families at the same time. firm's agent; nevertheless, he passed two state examinations with honors within two years.Once a reporter asked him: "Broshek, when do you go to sleep?" He replied: "Sleeping is a crime!"

Fensidell's female secretary supported her paralyzed husband and four children by knitting wool. She also obtained degrees in psychology and local science, raised many sheepdogs, and became popular as a naked singer under the pseudonym "Fox No. 7". Fonsiedel himself is the kind of person who wakes up early in the morning and decides to do something. "I'm going to make a difference," they thought as they tightened their bathrobe belts. "I'm going to do something," thought the man as he shaved, looking triumphantly at the stubble that washed off the razor with the lather.The shaved beards were the first victims of their enterprise.Even something as personal as squatting on the toilet gives that guy some kind of satisfaction: a flush, a toilet paper.It's all called done.The bread was eaten, and one end of the boiled egg was broken.

The smallest gestures seem to make a difference to Fonsiedel: he puts on his hat, he - trembling from exertion - buttons his coat, kisses his wife on the cheek goodbye,— Everything that makes a difference. Whenever Vonsiedel walked into his office, he greeted the female secretary with these words: "It must be done!" The female secretary replied happily and loudly: "It must be done!" inspected, and shouted happily, "It must be done!" Everyone replied, "It must be done!" Whenever he came into my room, I also shouted to him with a radiant face, "It must be done!"

Within a week of going to work, I increased my number of telephones to eleven, and within the second week to thirteen.There is one thing that gives me a lot of fun. Every morning in the tram, I make up all kinds of new imperative sentences, or change the verb to do things into various tenses, into active or passive, into subjunctive or indicative. Tone; for two days I only said one sentence: "It should have been done long ago", because I think this sentence is very beautiful.For another two days, I devoted myself to saying another sentence: "It shouldn't be done like this."

Once something really happened, and I felt that I had really used my talent.It was a Tuesday morning--I hadn't had time to sit up--Vonsiedl rushed into my room and exclaimed: "It must be done!" But something elusive on his face made me hesitate. Yu, I can’t answer happily in accordance with the rules, “I’ll definitely do it!” Probably because I hesitated for too long, Von Siedel, who rarely yells, yelled at me: "You answer! You answer according to the regulations!" I replied in a low voice and resisted like a child being forced by others: I am a bad boy.It took me a lot of effort to say the words: "It must be done." As soon as I said the words, something really happened; in front of the door.

I saw what was going on at a glance, and when I walked slowly around the table to him, it was confirmed: he was dead. I shook my head, stepped over Vonsiedel, walked slowly through the corridor, and walked towards Broschek's room.I barged in without even knocking.Broschek sits at his desk with a telephone receiver in each hand, a ballpoint pen in his mouth, writing phone records on a pad, while manipulating a sweater under his desk with his bare feet. machine.He used this method to help solve the problem of dressing the whole family. "Something went wrong," I said softly. Broshek spat out the ballpoint pen in his mouth, hung up two phone calls, and hesitantly untied his toes from the sweater machine.

"What happened?" he asked. "Mr. Vonsiedel is dead," I said. "No," Broschek said. "Really," I said, "come and see!" "No," Broshek said, "it's impossible." But he quickly put on his slippers and walked me down the corridor. "No," he continued as we stood over Vonsiedel's body, "no, no!" Instead of refuting him, I carefully turned Vonsiedel on his side. Come, let him lie flat on his back, close his eyes for him, and gaze at him thoughtfully. I felt almost docile and tender towards him, and realized for the first time that I had never hated him.The expression on his face is like the stubborn face of some children who firmly believe that Santa Claus exists no matter how good reasons other children use to say that Santa Claus does not exist. "No," said Broschek, "no." "It's time to get things done," I said softly to Broshek. "Yeah," Broshek said, "it's time for the funeral." And so it went: at the burial of Von Siedel, I was chosen to walk behind the coffin with a wreath of paper roses, because not only was I naturally contemplative and idle, but I had the perfect face and figure to wear it. That black mourning suit.Apparently the way I looked—carrying a wreath of paper roses, following Vonsiedel's coffin—was outstanding, so I had an offer from a high-end undertaker to become a professional undertaker. "You're a born undertaker," the undertaker's manager told me. "We've got you covered. Your face is—beautiful!" I resigned from Broschek on the grounds that I felt that my talents could not be fully utilized in that factory; although I had to manage thirteen telephones by myself, some of my talents were buried.After my first stint as a professional undertaker, I realized that this was the job for me, and what a place it was! I stood in silent contemplation, behind the coffin, among the dirges, holding a bouquet of plain flowers, which played Handel's "Cantonese", a piece of music that was not noticed.The Cemetery Café is my hangout, where I kill time when I'm not attending funerals professionally.Sometimes, even though no one invited me, I went to the funeral, bought a bouquet of flowers out of my own pocket, and walked behind the coffin of the displaced person with the staff of the charity organization.Sometimes I also visit the tomb of Von Siedel, because after all I have to thank him for making me find this suitable occupation, and in this kind of work, contemplation is what people want from me, and idleness is My responsibility. It occurred to me later that I never cared what the Vonsiedel factory made.Probably producing soap. Translated by Ni Chengen Xiao Maosao's "Selected Novellas and Short Stories by Burr", published by Foreign Literature Publishing House in 1980 ------------ ① Handel (1685-1759), German composer. —— Annotation