《No, Minister.(存一下英文版)》用其他笔名

13、[Interlude] S01E01.5 Cyril Astley’s Diary and Memos (22-24 January 1980) Wedne

　　Wednesday, 23rd January, 1980 | Pimlico, London | Sunny, turning to light rain
　　It is now twenty past eleven at night. The rain outside has not stopped. In fact, the sky was still clear when the meeting started this afternoon, but then it grew overcast, and a light drizzle began to fall.
　　My right hand aches a little. During the IDISM this afternoon, my pen barely stopped for two hours. And just now, I re-wrote the minutes for myself, using more than a dozen sheets of paper. Not a departmental task, but a consolidation for myself—the official version was completed at the office. It was to organise my thoughts, to record Sir's lesson today, and to sort through the various 'contexts' I observed and their possible meanings.
　　I'm a little too tired to write a diary entry, but my mind is unusually active, so I'll write something anyway.
　　This morning, I presented the departmental replies to the meeting invitation to a Minister whose frustration was almost overflowing. As expected, I heard the Minister complain about the vacuous prose. He asked me what those words meant, and my reply was equally vacuous, earning me the comment "a Whitehall tradition."
　　This was perhaps related to yesterday morning. After all, whenever the Minister asked "why can't we do it that way," I would always use established custom, standard procedure, consistent practice, and other Whitehall traditional expressions to explain "why we should do it this way." I must have said "Whitehall tradition" a dozen times that morning, and the Minister rolled his eyes a dozen times.
　　I admit there was a certain deliberateness on my part, but it was also true that because of 'Whitehall tradition', we 'should do it this way' and 'could not do it that way'.
　　Enough about yesterday. Back to today's record.
　　After his sarcastic remark, the Minister began to draw his agenda on the whiteboard. It was idealistic, moving, but also a vision that would clearly not be approved by the other departments. Moreover, the DSC was still young, and not everyone understood our new department's identity... which brings me back to the day before yesterday. When I informed the departmental contacts that the DSC would be holding its first sharing meeting, several tried to transfer me to their public relations office. But in the end, no one explicitly refused the invitation, and no one showed any real enthusiasm. This is very 'Whitehall tradition'.
　　As I was debating whether to continue explaining 'Whitehall tradition' to the Minister, Sir walked in with his agenda.
　　The Minister described that agenda as "a formalistic agenda for inviting people to tea and an afternoon nap," then drew a large cross on it and told Sir that he would be running the afternoon meeting with his own agenda.
　　"Your agenda, your meeting," Sir nodded crisply.
　　That compliance came so quickly that it surprised the Minister. I was equally surprised.
　　At lunchtime, I was alone in the Minister's office, checking the draft agenda against the Minister's whiteboard for any omissions. Sir came in again. I told him the Minister was out for lunch, and that I could pass on any message or he could come back in the afternoon.
　　But Sir just walked over to stand beside me, also looking at the Minister's whiteboard. "Beautiful logic, an ideal vision," he commented. "A pity that… in Whitehall, pure reason is not enough."
　　Sir clearly knew the Minister's proposal was doomed to be rejected. This made me even more confused as to why he hadn't stopped the Minister's decision.
　　"You know this afternoon's meeting will…" I began hesitantly, unsure how to phrase it, but Sir understood my question.
　　"Only by letting the Minister do it first will he believe it cannot, for now, be done," Sir's reply was calm and direct. "Only when he has hit that wall himself will he understand that his pure reason is not sufficient for passage."
　　"'For now'?" I repeated.
　　"It is not entirely unfeasible. Just not now," Sir's grey-green eyes met mine.
　　He went on to explain that the Minister's idea needed modification, camouflage, and a gradual approach (gradatim). The temporary failure of the afternoon would help the Minister learn more quickly to… dance with prejudice, habit, and interest.
　　I was still surprised, but in a different way. I was surprised by Sir's frankness with me.
　　"Then, Sir," I gathered my courage and asked, "what do I need to do this afternoon? Just take notes?"
　　"Observe, and then record the context. The emphasis is on observation. You can also think at the same time." His instruction had added 'thinking' to yesterday's. "After the meeting, take care of your Minister. When he needs help, Cyril."
　　Observe, record, think. I entered the afternoon meeting with these three words.
　　The representatives from the various departments skilfully employed the grammar of Whitehall, agreeing with and rejecting the Minister's proposal in the same breath.
　　And I, to the best of my ability, observed and recorded every part I could think of, while keeping an eye on the Minister.
　　The Minister's patience was wearing thin. His posture shifted from leaning forward to leaning back, then back to an agitated forward lean, his breathing becoming slightly more rapid. Every time he tried to interject, he was blocked by a reference to some regulation, some law, some committee resolution. I could see he was on the verge of breaking.
　　Just as I thought the meeting would end in a polite chorus of 'No's, Sir threw out the DLO mechanism, leaving a sliver of success in the door of the afternoon's failure.
　　The proposal was mild, harmless, and did not touch on any department's pain points. All the representatives supported it almost immediately.
　　The meeting concluded in a constructive atmosphere. The Minister, who had been holding back for so long, rose without a word and left, his pace hurried, without even a glance at Sir.
　　I held my notebook, momentarily torn between chasing after the Minister to console him and staying behind to tidy the conference table.
　　I instinctively looked at Sir and saw him calmly gathering the scattered papers left by the representatives on the table.
　　Without looking up, he said in a steady tone, "I will handle the clearing of the conference room. You go with the Minister. Make him a cup of tea."
　　"Yes, Sir." I was relieved and quickly left the room.
　　When I caught up with the Minister, he was pacing in his office like a caged lion. His tie had been torn off and thrown on the desk.
　　The Minister stared at the whiteboard, the expression on his face too complex to describe. I said nothing, just gently closed the door and went into the annex to make him a cup of tea.
　　When I came out, I saw the Minister slumped in an armchair, looking very dejected from the meeting. Perhaps I should have comforted him, but I couldn't find the right words at that moment, and besides… my comfort would have felt a little hypocritical, since I already knew this would be the outcome. So, I just placed the teacup gently on the small table in front of him.
　　The Minister said the tea I made was too sweet. I need to make a note of the Minister's preference.
　　I watched the Minister get up to erase his whiteboard. Fortunately, just as he had erased a small corner, Sir came in and stopped him.
　　Then followed Sir's… lesson for the Minister? I'll use that word for now.
　　I opened my notebook, intending to record their conversation, but I saw Sir give me a slight shake of the head. It seemed my right hand could rest for a while. So I just looked at the notes I had already taken and audited Sir's lesson.
　　Sir explained to the Minister the 'Yes' behind every 'No', explaining the various 'contexts'. I began to understand the possible meanings of each 'context' he had asked me to record, and understood the phrase: Verba volant, scripta manent. I also remembered Sir's annotation on my memo from a few days ago: Brevity is a virtue; ambiguity, armour. I thought about the information that could be extracted from all the various details.
　　I heard their conversation drawing to a close, so I closed my notebook and went back to the annex to make the Minister a new cup of tea—this time without sugar or milk.
　　After making the tea, I assisted the Minister, as per Sir's request, in completing the report for Number 10.
　　The Minister was very hesitant as he began to write. I could see that he had a general understanding of Sir's approach, but he was still unwilling. His ideals had just been shattered by reality; he disliked this 'fruitfulness'. It was normal.
　　I looked at my notes, hesitating. The Minister noticed my hesitation. He was waiting for my response… did he need my help?
　　I laid my notes open for the Minister. I showed him the details from the meeting, the negotiations and the probing. The 'contexts' Sir had asked me to record provided supplementary material for Sir's earlier lesson. I had overstepped.
　　I felt nervous, because if the Minister thought I was being clever, my foundation of trust as his PPS would be gone. But he didn't. He understood. He understood the notes, and he understood me, probably.
　　The Minister was very tolerant, saying he had been schooled by two people and that my notes were very valuable.
　　I stayed with the Minister and we continued to draft the report, packaging the unsuccessful meeting in the grammar of Whitehall as 'fruitful'. It was a little hypocritical, but it was what 'Whitehall tradition' required.
　　The Minister may still dislike it, but he is understanding it, and learning to use it.
　　And I am still learning too. This will be a long apprenticeship.
　　Perhaps I should take a hot bath, lie in bed and continue to process what I've learned today.
　　Words fly away, but if you record them carefully enough, they can become currency that remains.