A Clean Pair of Hands

by Oscar Reynard

  “Is that all?” muttered George, facing the tennis.

  Michel pulled George’s shoulder towards him and growled into his ear, “I am driven by impulses. I am a very passionate person. Charlotte knows that, and she accepts it.”

  George wondered where the conversation was leading, but Michel turned his attention back to the tennis, possibly believing that George was unsympathetic, or uninterested in his ideas.

  Later, during a pause in play, he leaned towards George, advancing his chin.

  “Eh George! What do you really think of me?” he asked.

  George was completely unprepared for this question. “Why do you ask me that now?”

  “I sometimes think you look down on me. You are better educated and you Anglo-Saxons always think you are superior. I sometimes think you are being censorious towards me.”

  George reflected before replying quietly, “Well, firstly, I don’t look down on anybody. It’s just not my way to appoint myself a snob. As to being censorious, I don’t judge you. Remember that an inferiority complex is often created by people who cast themselves as victims, to explain why they are the way they are. It is not always imposed on them and most of us don’t start life by being inferior, even if each person is different and some are truly disadvantaged. You just have to feel inferior and then that’s what you become.

  “I was part of a single parent family- one of many as a result of World War Two, and I had no great results at school, though thanks to a bunch of teachers who took a real interest in their pupils and shared their lives in and out of the classroom, I learned to get on with a wide range of people, which has served me well. My education was partly paid by an army charity and my mother had to work to find the rest. Since then I have been continually pursuing my education, and like you I believe that education never stops. I went to university as an adult and that was a course part-funded by the Workers’ Education Association, another charity to whom I will be eternally grateful.”

  Michel didn’t appear deeply interested in George’s response.

  “Yes, but what do you really think of me now?” Michel insisted. “You are used to assessing people. If I came to you for a job, what would you think?”

  “I would keep an open mind until I had got into a comfortable discussion and tested the person’s views from several different directions.”

  “Yes, but he might be lying to you,” said Michel.

  “Nobody tells all the truth when they are trying to impress someone. They filter their version of what they think the other person wants to hear,” acknowledged George.

  “That’s true. Honesty and dishonesty are relative terms. Appearance, authority, and confidence can make people seem more honest than they really are in any walk of life. These days, that’s what makes politicians appear honest in the eyes of the public. They can afford to dress up and lie through their teeth. Politicians who dress down or look weird have no credibility, though they may be sincere.”

  “But do you think politicians ever stop to consider whether what they do is honest?”

  Michel thought about the question. “Do you mean do they ever believe they are sincere and have any dignity?” he asked, for clarification.

  “Yes, that’s a way of putting it,” George confirmed.

  “Hmm, some politicians may really believe what they say until they find out that they have no effective legal levers to solve the main problems, and as soon as they try to take any remedial action they are attacked by the press, denigrated by the electorate and held responsible for almost anything that can possibly effect the uninterrupted wellbeing of influential groups in the population. After they’ve discovered that, their words sound just like some of the most pompous and dogmatic statements of religious hypocrisy that shaped social and political attitudes two centuries ago, and are still being trotted out today in some countries by religious extremists, and I mean in so-called modern countries in the west just as much as in totalitarian states. You know, George, you and our political classes have very different priorities. You see, a really ambitious man never puts dignity above the advantages of power.”

  At that moment the tennis started again. Sensing another question from Michel, George deferred the discussion. He shuffled on his seat. “Look, if you really want to discuss this in depth, let’s do it in private after the match.”

  “OK. Let’s do that,” Michel conceded.

  For the rest of the afternoon, the atmosphere between them was less relaxed. Instead of concentrating on the tennis, George was thinking about what he would say and not say to Michel. He was not naturally a confrontational person and was dealing with his host, a respected relative, so he decided to go easy. He had no right to be critical.

  After the match, they filtered through the departing crowds, found the car and Michel drove a short distance from the stadium, on a wide main road that led towards the centre of Paris, until they came to a large bar restaurant. It suited their purpose because there was a place to park at the kerb almost right outside, and there were plenty of seated customers, proving the popularity of the place for meeting, chatting and eating, or just observing. The outside terrace was plagued by traffic noise so they headed for the main door. Once inside, George noted that it was a traditional brasserie, superbly fitted with carved, dark wood and lots of glass, which made it warm and friendly yet classy in the style of ‘La Belle- Epoque’ of around 1900. Michel knew the owner and explained that this was one of his renovations that had been carried out in the early 1980s. On hearing this, George took a greater interest and noted that it was beautifully executed in retro style with ornate pillars, etched glass and mirrors, so that wherever you sat you were never faced with a blank wall. There were comfortable wooden chairs with curved back rests and solid well-supported tables surrounded by a selection of elegant artefacts that looked old even if they were modern repro. Beautifully opulent chandeliers looked as though they had been reclaimed from a theatre. There was a central, waist high, carved wooden division between the brasserie, where all-day snacks were served, and the restaurant where the resident chef pampered serious diners between midday and midnight. Along the dividing screen were ornamental clothes racks in wood and brass for each table. It was exactly what a discerning foreigner would visualise as the archetypal traditional Paris brasserie where tourists go to impregnate themselves with French good taste and style, and this was a suburban, main road location, not the chic quartiers of Paris.

  Michel ordered beers and, as he was hungry, a croque monsieur. George had the same. Once they were served, Michel re-opened their conversation.

  “So, what questions would you ask me?” He checked himself. “No, tell me what you think or know about me before you ask the questions.”

  George was cautious not to reveal the limits of their common ground at this stage. “Well, we’ve known each other for quite a few years now, and we share a lot of things; an interest in arts and culture, good food and drink, socialising, et cetera. It is quite easy for us to find things to do together. You have always been a generous host to Thérèse and me and I know the same generosity extends to the other members of the family, too; I admire your energy and enthusiasm for business, and your success in sales and project management. You have a great aptitude for that. Our feelings toward you are absolutely genuine. It’s no effort on our part, and I know I can express my opinions freely with you, even where we may disagree. That’s what makes it so satisfying.”

  Michel appeared to ignore the compliments. “Do you think the other members of the family appreciate me for what I do?” he asked.

  “I think sometimes you overwhelm them, Michel. They are not used to such expensive manifestations of generosity. Some of your presents could be more modest and perhaps more suited to their needs. But overall, I think they are proud of your success, the fact that you remember them at birthdays, and that you are happy to share what you have with them. I know Charlotte is the one who deals directly with family and social relations, but everybody k
nows you are behind it too.”

  There was a long pause while Michel took in George’s comments, then staring into his glass, “I am a nobody, so I have to do whatever is necessary to succeed and some people might not approve of what I do.”

  In response to this statement, George decided to avoid asking any questions about what ‘whatever is necessary’ might mean. “So what motivates you to work as hard as you do?” he asked.

  “I am not looking for public recognition. That’s not my scene at all. I just love to be one up on the people I deal with or meet casually, so I can say, ‘I may be a nobody, but I’m better-off than most so-called celebrities.’ I know that you and Thérèse are great analysts of people, and I wonder sometimes if you disapprove of me,” said Michel pensively.

  “What do you think there is to disapprove of?”

  “I don’t know, but sometimes Thérèse is very direct. I believe she has my interests at heart, but she is an investigator of my mind and pursues a line of questioning in a way that shows she doesn’t altogether believe my answers. Even if I tried it would be hard to tell what’s going on in my brain. There are no clear thoughts as such, just something vague, but above all, intense feelings that I have lost my way and I need to refocus.”

  “Should she believe everything you say? She’s no fool.”

  Michel was beginning to look uncomfortable. “Look, I have a private life that I don’t want to discuss with anybody and I don’t want anybody to probe into it. I want to keep it entirely separate.”

  “I am not probing. It was you who invited me to ask questions. You don’t have to answer them. I take people at face value. That’s to say I initially believe what they tell me, but I also have eyes and ears to give me a second opinion.”

  “And what do your eyes and ears tell you about me?” Michel urged.

  “Nothing directly, but in the case of some of your friends and acquaintances there are gaps in my knowledge as to the kind of relationships you have with them. I just don’t know. I can’t categorise what the relationship consists of.”

  “Who, for example?”

  This time it was George’s turn to cover up. He smiled. “I also have thoughts and ideas that I don’t share with anybody. It’s not that I have a secret life, but I prefer to be discreet about the lives of others because it’s none of my business how people live and make their choices. I just observe. I don’t judge,” he paused, “but I am discriminating and I do wonder sometimes whether you are taking a few risks that could one day backfire.”

  “I adore taking risks. Don’t you ever take risks?” Michel sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, mentally savouring some of his adventures.

  “Of course, I’ve often taken personal and financial risks, sometimes unwittingly,” admitted George, “but I’m not setting out to take the kind of risks that you are taking on a family and financial level. I guess that’s because I’m happy with what I have.”

  “Listen, I have always enjoyed taking risks, extreme risks. I have to. You have to take account of what it’s like to work in France. Nothing is clean and transparent. Nothing is logical. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know and who knows you that matters most here. It’s because nobody trusts anybody they don’t know. You get a job by recommendation. Nepotism rules; mayors, government ministers and the President put their family on the payroll even if they don’t work. You have to have contacts in the police so you can get your speeding tickets removed; you make an honest tax declaration and get clobbered by an extra ten per cent in case you are fiddling. So, OK mister philosopher, speak clearly. Wouldn’t you do the same? Put your hand on your conscience and tell me the truth. You were not always as well off as you are today. I was the same. Now we are both big men in business. Surely you have taken risks?”

  “Not so big.” George diverted the discussion from the tax question.

  “Ha! You’ve got plenty in the bank.”

  “Not as much as you.”

  “Well, you’re still a big man, and you sleep well at night knowing that you can pay the bills. I don’t sleep well. I’m always dreaming of how I could get more and do better and I am prepared to take risks to get there.” Michel interrupted himself. “Actually, that’s a very important part of my philosophy; dreaming and implementing my dreams. If I didn’t dream I would have the same opinion on everything as everybody else.” He paused, took a deep breath and continued, “French people are competitive by nature, and firstly they compete with authority.”

  “You sound as though you are conducting a personal war against the state. I thought the revolution brought liberty, equality and fraternity, so where’s the fraternity and socialist community spirit we hear so much about?” asked George provocatively.

  “Pwah!” Michel gesticulated dismissively. “Unbridled liberty allows everybody to apply their own despotism. It means the state feels free to rob its people, so the people feel free to resist in whatever way they can. It’s everyone for themselves here, and if any group is criticised or invited to change for the common good they respond by launching venomous personal attacks. There’s no such thing as equality. That’s just idealistic rubbish. In practice you can either have liberty or equality but not both. Listen, Uncle George,” he leaned across the table and stared into George’s face, “I prefer refined vice dressed in silk, to stupid virtue wearing animal skins.”

  George ducked any immediate response to Michel’s outpouring, fearing to be accused of being virtuous, over-sensitive, politically correct or merely defensive if he replied directly. Instead he asked, “So, what is making you unhappy? You seem to have everything you could possibly need, and more. What are you afraid of?”

  “A dull life!” asserted Michel. “My intention is not to settle into a routine, but to glide and experiment with alternative concepts. I glide from flavour to flavour, sensation to sensation, but I am not prepared to discuss sentiments at the edge of my comfort zone, like Thérèse wants me to do. In answer to your question though, I do worry about the future, but I have no pretentions that I can control it,” admitted Michel. “I know I am not an eagle that can fly high. I have to make my way in the real world in which I live. You see in France, people have given up trying to change things by voting for one party or another; they are powerless to change their own destiny. There is never any political agreement to the changes people call for, because too many people are on the take or have gained a privileged position that they now perceive as normal and are unwilling to relinquish. They all think they are right because they are winning. They don’t stop to ask who is paying for their privileges. So, if you can’t change something, what do you do? You get drawn into it. There’s an English expression isn’t there? ‘If you can’t beat them join them, and then beat them.’ Most of the scandals that get into the press have at their origin someone, somewhere who was not prepared to make enough noise and demand attention to misdeeds, for fear of losing a comfortable job or promotion. They all put their own comfort and well-being first and thus the thing is accepted and grows until it reaches the proportions we see today. Then that becomes the norm. I heard a French minister recently saying she would not take a practical idea from Canada to solve a problem because that is not the French way of doing things. So we start from the drawing board to design something far worse, but which pays the right people, whereas importing a good idea that has proved to work in Canada, well, that’s too cheap and easy for the French government.” Michel reflected, turning his head slightly towards a mirror to watch more people entering the brasserie. “My needs are mutable and I follow my needs. I am a down to earth person. I look around me and I take my positions. My decisions are based on perceived best interests. I am excellent at pantomime.”

  “Is that what you call your talent for working with people, pantomime? Is it all an act?”

  “Like everybody,” continued Michel, raising his elbows and opening his palms in a gesture, “everybody is doing their pantomime. The President takes his position
with his mistresses and his racketeering. The ambitious middle class crowd dances in whatever way the vilest politicians and judges or policemen allow them to do. You may look down on it as the pantomime of the proletariat, but what you are watching is the great impetus of the world. Do you think you have a special dispensation from it? Look around at your UK and Irish politicians and religious leaders and look at the political and business corruption in America and the way the political classes spend public money there. Tell me if you see anything different. You have old boy networks, don’t you?”

  George hesitated before replying. “I agree you have to connect with people to do business. Networking is a perfectly respectable manifestation of promotion. It’s about being curious and wanting to share knowledge. It’s not a closed dealing room. If you cease to connect by whatever means, you become isolated – you then have no influence, no means to change anything or do anything, but you can’t seriously think the manipulative behaviour you described is just a form of networking.”

  At the end of his last outburst, Michel had dropped his chin. There were now six empty bottles of beer on the table and the waiter had already cleared some away. George had drunk only two bottles.

  Suddenly Michel raised his head again and sat up against the chair back. “You know the only thing that can move France forward? Visibility and ridicule: when the rest of the world can see what we are like and when some of these cases of corruption and abuse are more widely reported and they embarrass our governments and privileged classes, including some groups of workers, to a point where they have to change, we might see some movement, but it will be a slow process. They are not easily embarrassed. Oh no. Look at Mitterrand as an example. How can you be proud of your country when he thinks that what he does is perfectly normal and justified for as long as he can get away with it? France is far worse than Britain in acting independently within the EU, even though we were one of the founders. You can see that even when the European Union tries to impose its pathetic standards on us, the French government continues to ignore the rules and pays the fines.” At this point, Michel dropped his head again. He was thinking, that’s it, I’ve said it. I’m stopping now. I withdraw into my shell and if that displeases Monsieur my uncle George, then too bad.