Sneeze Of Death

The Spill

As the clock struck 10:00 am on a dreary Wednesday morning, Jacques, a 35-year-old executive at a big French bank, had one of the most unfortunate experiences of his life. In a rush to make it to a meeting with his boss, Olivier, Jacques spilled hot coffee all over him. The hot liquid cascaded down Olivier's white shirt and dress pants, leaving a brown stain and an unforgettable aroma of coffee.

As Jacques stood there, frozen and mortified, he knew that he was in for a tough day. He could feel the heat from Olivier's stare as he fumbled to apologize, stuttering, and stammering with every word. The entire office seemed to stop and stare, as if they were all waiting to see what Olivier would do next.

But it wasn't just the stain or the embarrassment that Jacques was worried about. Olivier had a reputation for being brutal to his employees, and Jacques had already experienced his fair share of nervous breakdowns because of his boss's management style. Olivier was the kind of person who showed no empathy, who was relentless and who took pleasure in making others feel small and insignificant.

Jacques knew that Olivier wouldn't let this incident slide easily. He was already imagining the worst possible outcome, including losing his job, getting demoted, or worse. Olivier's wrath was well known among the employees of the bank, and Jacques had become an expert at navigating his boss's moods and demands.

Imagination

Jacques was still in shock as he stood there, frozen and mortified after spilling hot coffee all over his boss, Olivier. The entire office seemed to stop and stare, as if they were all waiting to see what Olivier would do next. Jacques could feel the heat from Olivier's stare as he fumbled to apologize, stuttering, and stammering with every word.

After what felt like an eternity, Olivier simply walked away without saying a word. Jacques stood there, unsure of what to do next. He watched as Olivier disappeared into his office, feeling a sense of relief that he had escaped his boss's wrath, at least for the moment.

But as the minutes ticked by, Jacques began to feel increasingly perplexed. Olivier's non-reaction to the incident was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Jacques had expected Olivier to explode with anger, to berate him in front of the entire office, to make him feel small and insignificant.

But instead, Olivier had simply walked away without saying a word. It was as if the incident had never happened, as if Jacques was invisible to Olivier. This sense of invisibility left Jacques feeling even more uncertain and anxious. He couldn't stop thinking about what Olivier was feeling, what he was thinking, and what he was going to do next.

 The people in the office were also looking at Jacques with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. They had all witnessed the coffee incident, and they knew what Olivier was capable of. Jacques could feel their eyes on him, judging him, and he felt a sense of shame and humiliation.

His thoughts were in disarray, as he struggled to make sense of the situation. What was Olivier thinking? Was he planning his revenge? Was he going to fire him? These questions raced through Jacques' mind as he tried to focus on his work but found it impossible to concentrate.

The Morning(s) After

As the days went by, the incident with the spilled coffee had become a source of paranoia for Jacques. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen, that Olivier was simply biding his time before he struck back. Jacques had become obsessed with scrutinizing Olivier's every move, trying to read his boss's thoughts and intentions.

Jacques found himself constantly checking his phone, waiting for a call or message from Olivier. He would jump every time his phone buzzed, fearing that it was Olivier calling to deliver the bad news. Even when he was at home, Jacques couldn't relax. He found himself constantly checking his email, his social media accounts, and even his mail, looking for any sign of trouble.

The incident had taken over Jacques' life, and he found himself unable to focus on anything else. His work suffered, and he struggled to meet his deadlines. He would spend hours staring at his computer screen, unable to concentrate on his tasks.

As the days turned into weeks, Jacques' paranoia grew worse. He became convinced that his colleagues were talking about him behind his back, that they were all aware of the incident with the spilled coffee and were judging him for it. He felt as if he was a laughing stock, a source of amusement for the people in the office.

But what perplexed Jacques the most was Olivier's lack of reaction. He had expected his boss to explode with anger, to berate him in front of the entire office, to make him feel small and insignificant. But instead, Olivier had simply walked away without saying a word. It was as if the incident had never happened, as if Jacques was invisible to Olivier.

This sense of quietness left Jacques feeling even more uncertain and anxious. He couldn't stop thinking about what Olivier was feeling, what he was thinking, and what he was going to do next. He would spend hours obsessing over every interaction with his boss, trying to read his body language and facial expressions for any sign of trouble.

The Execution

One day, as Jacques was walking through the office, he heard his name being called. He turned around to see Olivier standing behind him, his face expressionless. Jacques felt a wave of panic wash over him, and he braced himself for the worst.

 But to his surprise, Olivier simply said, "Jacques, I need you to work on a new project. It's an important one, and I need your expertise. Can you handle it?"

Jacques was taken aback by Olivier's sudden change of tone. He nodded, unable to speak, and Olivier walked away without another word.

For the rest of the day, Jacques was in a daze. He couldn't believe that Olivier had given him a new project, that he had trusted him with an important task. It was as if the incident with the spilled coffee had never happened, as if Olivier had forgotten all about it.

But even as Jacques worked on the new project, he couldn't shake the feeling of paranoia. He knew that Olivier was capable of anything, that he was unpredictable and brutal. He found himself constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was certain that granting him the project was part of a grand conspiracy by Olivier to execute him.

He was having a nervous breakdown. Leaving early than usual, Jacques decided to make his way to the cigar lounge, hoping to find the Invisible Man.

The Invisible Man

He felt a sense of relief when he saw the tall, dark figure sitting in his usual spot, puffing on a cigar, and lost in thought. Jacques approached him tentatively, unsure of what to say or how to explain his situation.

The Invisible Man looked up and acknowledged Jacques with a nod, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. Jacques took a deep breath and launched into his story, recounting the coffee incident with Olivier and the looming threat of losing his job.

The Invisible Man listened intently, nodding occasionally, and puffing on his cigar. When Jacques finished, the Invisible Man was silent for a few moments, as if contemplating the situation. Jacques waited anxiously, hoping that the Invisible Man would offer him some insight or advice.

Finally, the Invisible Man spoke. "You know, Jacques, your situation reminds me of a story I once heard. It's a tale of pride, misunderstanding, and tragedy. Would you like to hear it?"

Jacques nodded eagerly, grateful for any distraction from his predicament. The Invisible Man began to speak, his voice low and steady, drawing Jacques into the story and the world of the characters.

“The Death of the Government Clerk”

Preamble

The Invisible Man took another long draw on his cigar, the smoke curling around his head in lazy spirals. "Ivan Dmitrievich Tchervyakov was a government clerk, Jacques," he said. "He had a position of some importance, and he took his job very seriously. He was a man of pride, and he relished in the power that came with his position."

The Invisible Man leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But Ivan Dmitrievich had a weakness, Jacques. He had a habit of sneezing at the most inappropriate times. He would sneeze in the middle of a meeting, or during a formal reception, or even during a church service. And each time he sneezed, he would make a show of it, as if he were the only person in the room who mattered."

Jacques listened intently, fascinated by the story. He had never heard of Ivan Dmitrievich Tchervyakov before, but he could already sense the tragedy that lay ahead.

The Invisible Man took another puff on his cigar before continuing. "Now, Ivan Dmitrievich's sneezing might have been a minor annoyance, Jacques, but it became his undoing. You see, he was attending a play one day, sitting in a prominent seat, feeling important and powerful. And then, in the middle of the performance, he felt a sneeze coming on."

Jacques leaned forward, his eyes wide with anticipation. "And what happened, Invisible Man? What did Ivan Dmitrievich do?"

The Invisible Man chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "Well, Jacques, Ivan Dmitrievich tried to suppress the sneeze, but it was too strong. And when he finally let it out, he realized to his horror that he had accidentally sprayed the man in front of him with snot and spittle."

Jacques gasped, a look of horror on his face. "Oh no, that's terrible! What did Ivan Dmitrievich do?"

The Invisible Man shook his head, a look of wry amusement on his face. "Well, Jacques, that's where things really started to unravel. You see, the man in front of Ivan Dmitrievich was not just any man. He was a high-ranking official, Brizzhalov, a man of great power and importance. And Ivan Dmitrievich knew that he had just made a grave mistake, just like you did with Olivier."

Jacques frowned, unsure of what was going to happen next. "What did he do, Invisible Man? Did he apologize? Did he try to explain?"

The Grovelling

As the Invisible Man continued with his theatrical performance, Jacques listened intently, while couldn’t help projecting himself to the plight of Ivan Dmitrievich…

“I have spattered him,” thought Ivan Dmitritch, “he is not the head of my department, but still, it is awkward. I must apologise.”

Tchervyakov gave a cough, bent his whole person forward, and whispered in the general’s ear.

“Pardon, I spattered you accidentally…”

“Never mind, never mind.”

“For goodness sake excuse me, I… I did not mean to.”

“Oh, please, sit down! Let me listen!”

Ivan Dmitritch was embarrassed, he smiled stupidly and fell to gazing at the stage. He gazed at it but was no longer feeling bliss.

It began to trouble him, and he went up to Brizzhalov, walked beside him, and muttered:

“I spattered you, forgive me… you see… I didn’t do it to…”

“Oh, that’s enough…, you keep on about it!” said the man, moving his lower lip impatiently.

“There is a fiendish light in his eye,” thought Ivan Dmitritch, looking suspiciously at the Brizzhalov. “And he doesn’t want to talk. I ought to explain to him… that I really didn’t intend… that it is the law of nature or else he will think I meant to spit on him. He doesn’t think so now, but he will think so later!”

The Paranoia

By now Jacques had clearly seen the parallels between himself and Ivan Dmitritch.

The Invisible Man continues his performance with a wicked smile on his face as if enjoying Jacques tormented expression, narrating how Ivan Dmitritch goes home and tells his wife of his breach of good manners.

It struck Ivan Dmitritch that his wife took too frivolous a view of the incident; she was a little frightened, but when she learned that Brizzhalov was in a different department, she was reassured.

“Still, you had better go and apologise,” she said, “or he will think you don’t know how to behave in public.”

“That’s just it! I did apologise, but he took it somehow queerly… he didn’t say a word of sense. There wasn’t time to talk properly.”

Next day Ivan Dmitritch put on his best suit, had his hair cut and went to Brizzhalov’s to explain; going into the senior official’s reception room he saw there a number of petitioners and among them the Brizzhalov himself, who was beginning to interview them.

“Yesterday at the event, if you recollect, your sir,” the latter began, “I sneezed and… accidentally spattered… Sir…”

“What nonsense… It’s beyond anything! What can I do for you,” said the Brizzhalov dismissing Ivan Dmitritch, and addressing the next petitioner.

“He won’t speak,” thought Ivan Dmitritch, turning pale; “that means that he is angry… No, it can’t be left like this… I will explain to him

 Escalation

When the officer had finished his conversation with the last of the petitioners and was turning towards his inner apartments, Ivan Dmitritch took a step towards him and muttered:

“Sir! If I venture to trouble you, it is simply from a feeling I may say of regret! … It was not intentional if you will graciously believe me.”

The officer made a haughty face and waved his hand.

“Why, you are simply making fun of me!” he said as he closed the door behind him.

“Where’s the making fun in it?” thought Ivan Dmitritch, “there is nothing of the sort! He is an officer, but he can’t understand that I am earnestly trying to apologize. If that is how it is, I am not going to apologise to him anymore! The devil takes him. I’ll write a letter to him instead, until he understands my pure intentions.”

So thought Ivan Dmitritch as he walked home; he did not write a letter to the general, he pondered and pondered and could not make up that letter. He had to go next day to explain in person.

“I ventured to disturb you yesterday,” he muttered, when the officer lifted enquiring eyes upon him, “not to make fun as you were pleased to say. I was apologising for having spattered you in sneezing… And I did not dream of making fun of you. Should I dare to make fun of you, if we should take to making fun, then there would be no respect for persons, there would be…”

“Be off!” yelled the officer, turning suddenly purple, and shaking all over.

“What?” asked Ivan Dmitritch, in a whisper turning numb with horror.

“Be off!” repeated the officer, stamping.

Grand Finale

The Invisible man had taken a pause to savour his cigar, with Jacques looking morosely at him. His shoulders were slumped, and he had a cloud of self-pity over him.

“Its not over yet,” said the Invisible Man mischievously. “There is still the grand finale, and I assure you its will not be an anti-climax”, he chuckled.

Jacques looked up and the Invisible Man continued.

And so, the incident had left Ivan Dmitritch shaking, perplexed, and in complete disarray. He just couldn’t fathom the officer’s reaction and dismissal to his earnest apology. 

Then, all of a sudden, something seemed to give way in Ivan Dmitritch’s stomach. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing, he reeled to the door, went out into the street, and went staggering along…

Reaching home mechanically, and without even taking off his uniform, he bumped violently against the table, trying to steady himself, until he crashed down on to the sofa, his eyes rolling and died…

Epilogue

Jacques had listened intently to the Invisible Man's narration of Anton Chekov’s masterpiece, and as the story went on, his nervous energy and racy thoughts had calmed down. It is possible that he may have imagined all the worst-case scenarios regarding Olivier and the impact of a spilled coffee. Or maybe it was the Invisible Man’s way to simply bend the perception?

The Invisible Man had narrated it all with a dramatic flair, adding to the tension of the story. When Ivan Dmitritch went to apologize to the officer and was told to "Be off!", Jacques could almost feel the pain that Ivan Dmitritch must have felt. He knew it first hand, and in fact he knew all that Ivan Dmitritch felt, because he was feeling all of it now with Oliver.

As the Invisible Man finished the story, Jacques sat there in silence for a moment, processing what he had just heard. He then turned to the Invisible Man and asked, "Why do you think Ivan Dmitritch died?

The Invisible Man looked at Jacques and replied, "It's hard to say for sure. It's possible that the humiliation and stress of the situation played a role in his death, and in that sense, it is classic Anton Chekov ending.

Regardless, it's a cautionary tale about the dangers of obsessing over minor social blunders and the importance of letting go of such things and moving on."

And with that, the Invisible Man got up and left without a word, leaving Jacques slumped back in the sofa.