119 What do you think happens when the narrator calls the bank? Brainstorm a few ideas, then improvise the phone call with a partner. That’s ridiculous, I said. It must be, I’ve got thousands in my account. I just got the statement two days ago. Try it again. It’s not valid, he repeated obstinately. See that red light? Means it’s not valid. You must have made a mistake, I said. Try it again. He shrugged and gave me a fed-up smile, but he did try the number again. This time I watched his fingers, on each number, and checked the numbers that came up in the window. It was my number all right, but there was the red light again. See? he said again, still with that smile, as if he knew some private joke he wasn’t going to tell me. I’ll phone them from the office, I said. The system had fouled up before, but a few phone calls usually straightened it out. Still, I was angry, as if I’d been unjustly accused of something I didn’t even know about. As if I’d made the mistake myself. 6 I did phone from the office, but all I got was a recording. The lines were overloaded, the recording said. Could I please phone back? The lines stayed overloaded all morning, as far as I could tell. I phoned back several times, but no luck. Even that wasn’t too unusual. About two o’clock, after lunch, the director came into the discing room. I have something to tell you, he said. He looked terrible; his hair was untidy, his eyes were pink and wobbling, as though he’d been drinking. We all looked up, turned off our machines. There must have been eight or ten of us in the room. I’m sorry, he said, but it’s the law. I really am sorry. For what? somebody said. I have to let you go, he said. It’s the law, I have to. I have to let you all go. He said this almost gently, as if we were wild animals, frogs he’d caught, in a jar, as if he were being humane. We’re being fired? I said. I stood up. But why? Not fired, he said. Let go. You can’t work here any more, it’s the law. He ran his hands through his hair and I thought, he’s gone crazy. The strain has been too much for him and he’s blown his wiring. You can’t just do that, said the woman who sat next to me. This sounded false, improbable, like something you would say on television. It isn’t me, he said. You don’t understand. Please go, now. His voice was rising. I don’t want any trouble. If there’s trouble, the books might be lost, things will get broken … He looked over his shoulder. They’re outside, he said, in my office. If you don’t go now, they’ll come in themselves. They gave me ten minutes. By now he sounded crazier than ever. He’s loopy, someone said out loud; which we must all have thought. But I could see out into the corridor, and there were two men standing there, in uniforms, with machine guns. This was too theatrical to be true, yet there they were; sudden apparitions, like Martians. There was a dreamlike quality to them, they were too vivid, too at odds with their surroundings. Just leave the machines, he said while we were getting our things together, filing out. As if we could have taken them. 7 Nur zu Prüfzwecken – Eigentum des Verlags öbv
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