‘Exactly what I thought.’
‘In fact, I’m going to raise it with the Director — no use my taking it up with Personnel at this point. She herself has an appointment to see someone there, but you can imagine how far that’ll get her. Precisely nowhere. No, the thing would be for us to keep an eye on the manning-table. We’d have to have a slot for her — which we don’t have at this moment — and then request transfer. But a good case could be made, and the main thing would be timing.’
‘I’m so glad.’
Gregory lifted his hand. ‘Just a moment. Not so simple. She doesn’t see it this way. She says she’ll only come here if she gets the grade of the job — in other words, a Specialized Two — as part of the transfer. Which is nonsense, of course.’
‘Couldn’t be done?’
Gregory clicked his tongue. ‘Now Lidia, you know better than that. How’s she going to get from a Subsidiary C to a Specialized Two in one jump? What we can do is to stick her in the post, then put her up for promotion at the next half-yearly Board, and so on.’
‘What does it mean, “and so on”?’
‘Well — first of all, she won’t get through on the first round, so we’d put her up a second time, for the subsequent Board. That would be for a Subsidiary D. Then she’d be in a strong position to ask for the Specialized Two.’
‘Several years, then?’
‘Two or three.’ Gregory shook his head. He was a just man. ‘Not right, of course, but what can you do? If you work here, you have to go by the rules. Or you can always leave, naturally.’
‘She’s spoken of leaving.’
‘She won’t, you know.’
‘What makes you think so?’
‘One never does. Apart from anything else, what about pension? I’m not suggesting that your friend live an unsatisfactory life in order to collect a satisfactory pension —’
‘An unsatisfactory pension.’
‘— but at her age one begins to think about the future.’
‘That’s what she’s doing.’
‘Oh Lidia, come on now, be realistic. What would her separation pay be, after only twelve years here? And in our society there just aren’t that many jobs for women around — well, how old would she be?’
‘She’s thirty-six.’
‘Say around forty, then. Not jobs interesting enough, that is, to make it worth while giving up one’s security. You know that.’
Lidia said, ‘I feel depressed.’
‘Well don’t be. I believe there’s a way out that would satisfy everybody, and I’ve suggested it to her.’
‘What’s that, then?’
‘Something that’s been done before. I know of at least one other case, and I think an arrangement was made there about continuity of pension rights, if I’m not mistaken. It’s this. She can resign from the Organization, and be re-recruited at the proper level. What counts against her, don’t you see, is her twelve years in the Subsidiary Category. The Organization will know all about that, of course, but with qualifications like hers — and with our department asking for her — they’d probably close their eyes and pretend they’d never seen her before. They can be decent about things like that, you know. Much simpler to come in afresh as a Specialized staff member than to try to make the leap from a Subsidiary C.’
‘You mean — her experience here doesn’t help her?’
‘I’m trying to tell you, Lidia, it counts against her — the fact of her having accepted the Subsidiary Category in the first place.’ Gregory’s eyes were wandering over his In-tray. ‘Well, there’s no guarantee, and she should look into it carefully before taking the plunge. But that’s my advice, for what it’s worth.’
‘What did she say to this?’
‘Oh, I think she may very well try it. She had me go over it all a second time, to make sure she’d got it straight. She said it was certainly something to think about. So let’s see what she decides.’
Lidia got up. ‘I won’t take up more of your time. But thank you for seeing Dinah.’
‘Not a bit. I’ll be glad to help her when the time comes. If you knew the trouble we have getting competent people for this kind of work — really, it’s to our advantage to grab her if we can.’
‘Thanks anyway.’
‘Oh there’s no generosity involved. Leave the door open, if you would.’
Mr Clifford Glendenning was staring at a telegram when his colleague Mr Bekkus knocked and entered. It had been a busy morning for Glendenning, who was concerned with recruiting technicians from the corners of the earth to serve on short-term contracts in the Organization’s aid programmes. Only yesterday, in consulting the roster of those who had already completed such assignments, he had hit on the perfect chap to work with chemicals in the Congo. A cable had gone out to Paris, and here was the reply. Clifford Glendenning was standing up, leaning on the desk with both palms and staring at it:
PAS ENCORE PAYÉ POUR LA MISSION PRÉCÉDENTE.
That was not all. There had been, in addition, in a single morning, a statistician who wanted to take his dog with him to Katmandu, an expert in basic hygiene who had sent his laundry home from Baghdad in the diplomatic pouch, and the discovery of an impostor in the port facilities team on the Persian Gulf. (This last was the worst, since the recipient government had recently commended him as the best expert ever assigned there.)
Bekkus made his appearance with a paper in his hand. He came in and stood across the desk from Glendenning. ‘You once straightened me out on this Moslem nomenclature, Clifford, but I’ve lost track again. Too much on my mind. What name does an individual like this get filed under?’
Glendenning took the form held out by Bekkus, sat down, and studied it. ‘An easy one,’ he said, and smiled. Glendenning had a smile that turned up tightly at the corners and in this way matched his heavy eyebrows, which he had also trained into upward flourishes. The combination gave him a look of being between inverted commas. ‘Proper name, Mohammad; Ali’s his father’s name; and Abdulkader was his grandfather.’
‘What about this Hadji part?’
‘That just means he’s been to Mecca.’
‘And what’s Scek?’
‘That means his father was a religious leader. I wouldn’t worry about that.’
‘Then what’s this “Néant”? That’s what I originally had him filed under.’ Bekkus, seated now, leant across and pointed.
Glendenning looked hard. After a moment he said, ‘Forget that. That’s French for “nil”. It’s supposed to be in the box below, where it says Marital Status.’
Bekkus sighed. ‘This Moslem nomenclature certainly presents administrative problems.’
‘If you think so, Rudie, it’s just as well you weren’t with me at Quetta.’ Glendenning had spent some part of his youth as an official in what is now Pakistan. ‘Ten thousand people in my bailiwick there, and every last one of them had a name, I assure you.’ Glendenning often spoke of these greater responsibilities of his past, oddly emphasizing his reduced authority, ‘Ministers of human fate, we were, Rudie. Ministers of human fate.’ When Bekkus looked blank, he added with a four-cornered smile, ‘Thomas Gray. Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College.’
Bekkus objected. ‘But yours was a multi-purpose, paternalistic administration.’
‘It was.’
‘You had built-in flexibility. You were operating within a broader framework.’
‘We were.’
‘It left room for scope.’ Bekkus crossed one knee over the other. ‘There was area for dialogue. Here at the Organization, on the other hand, we’re functioning within unformulated personal situations, even at the decision-making level. Your post at least relates to staff members in the field, and involves less inter-facing. Whereas in my outfit we’re continually evaluating the individual problems of Headquarters staff. And there’s no more time-consuming subject-matter, I can tell you.’ Bekkus shook his head. ‘Per se.’
‘Oh don’t I know.’ Glendenning nodd
ed. ‘Per se.’
‘I wasted half an hour this morning trying to tell a staff member from Social and Anthropological Questions what she could easily have found out from reading the Staff Regulations. That Miss Delbanco who used to be in Conservation of Rural Communities and is now in Urban Welfare. A Subsidiary C, if you please, and wants a promotion to Specialized Two.’
Glendenning laughed. ‘Talk about the Distant Prospect of Eton College.’
Bekkus succumbed to smiles. ‘Well, I can’t help laughing. But it isn’t funny.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I told her, “My dear girl, read the Staff Regulations.” Of course it’s that old business of being in a post that’s over-graded. Claims she’s been doing the work for X number of years, why can’t she have the grade. Exactly the opposite, obviously — the post was upgraded for reasons of geographical distribution, and only rates a Subsidiary C. If everyone got the grade of the post they were in, we’d have a nice situation, I must say. In any case, the Director-General’s circular specifically specified that assignment to a Specialized post does not imply entitlement to the grade. Why don’t they read what’s put in front of them?’
‘How did she react?’
‘Oh — she’s a conflicted little individual. When I notified her of non-entitlement she said — in a voice that was supposed to create some effect or other — that it was about what she’d expected.’ Bekkus smiled again. ‘You can imagine how far that got her. Precisely nowhere. I said — with a smile, you know — “You know, Miss Delbanco, that you can always leave the Organization.”’
‘How old is she?’
‘Around forty. Maybe a bit more.’
‘Well of course. There you are.’
Bekkus uncrossed his legs. ‘Oh, it’s all in the day’s work, I suppose. We’re here to do a job and this is how it gets done. But the time it utilizes is unbelievable. Unbelievable. He took his document back off the desk. ‘Ah well, back to the salt mines. You think this should go under Mohammad, eh?’
‘I do.’
‘And just forget the Mecca-nized part?’
‘And the Scek.’
‘Thanks for your help, Clifford. I appreciate it.’
Glendenning raised his hand in farewell, and completed the gesture by taking a paper from the top of his tray. ‘Any time.’
‘Have a good day.’
The paper that Glendenning had taken up was a letter to the Organization from a private person. Like most such letters, it was addressed to the Director-General of the Organization by name. It was written by hand on lined paper, and asked for assistance in augmenting the education of the writer, a resident of a village on the upper reaches of the Limpopo River. Below the carefully formed signature, there appeared the word ‘Help!’
Glendenning drew a heavy breath. Because he was associated with the aid programmes he received all manner of misdirected communications. How many times had he not instructed the Central Registry to send such letters — of which there were hundreds each week — direct to the appropriate officer in the Fellowship Division? Tearing a sheet from the block beside him, he drafted the routine response.
Dear Sir,
Your letter of 6 March addressed to the Director-General has been passed to me for reply. I regret to inform you that, in accordance with the legislation governing our existing aid programmes, applications for study grants cannot be considered by this Organization unless forwarded by the appropriate ministry of the government concerned.
Alternatively, may I direct your attention to the manual ‘Paths to Learning’, issued by the Research and Amplification of the Natural Sciences, Arts and Culture Commission, an agency affiliated with this Organization, which lists fellowships and scholarships available under numerous international programmes. A copy of the most recent edition of this manual (RANSAC 306/Ed.4) may be consulted in your local public library.
With good wishes for the fulfilment of your aspirations, I am
Yours sincerely,
Also by Shirley Hazzard
FICTION
The Great Fire
The Transit of Venus
The Bay of Noon
People in Glass Houses
Cliffs of Fall
NONFICTION
Greene on Capri
Countenance of Truth
Defeat of an Ideal
PEOPLE IN GLASS HOUSES. Copyright © 1964, 1966, 1967 by Shirley Hazzard. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Picador, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.picadorusa.com
Picador® is a U.S. registered trademark and is used by Farrar, Straus and Giroux under license from Pan Books Limited.
For information on Picador Reading Group Guides, as well as ordering, please contact the Trade Marketing department at St. Martin’s Press.
Phone: 1-800-221-7945 extension 763
Fax: 212-677-7456
[email protected]
The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is coincidental.
The contents of this book appeared in slightly different form in The New Yorker.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hazzard, Shirley, 1931—
People in glass houses.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-0106-6
1. Title.
PR9619.3.H369P4 1988
823
88-17979
First published in Australia by Macmillan of Australia
First published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
People in Glass Houses Page 15