Castle to Castle (17 page)
But now . . . here on the riverfront . . . he called me . . . they all called me . . . and not just me, Agar, too . . . poodles! finks! centipedes! . . . especially Le Vigan! and screwball! . . . by what right? I'd show them . . . Le Vigan . . . all three of them! I'd show them all three.
"Stool pigeons . . . corpse lickers! . . ."
I start up . . . I'd show them! . . . I'd show them! . . . I'd step up and show them what for . . . but one flip . . . they'd have me in the water . . . where would that get me? . . . I was wobbling on my pins . . . better riposte from a distance . . . in reverse actually . . .
"Assholes! dandelions!"
My voice was all right! . . . I could hear . . . one echo after another . . . as far as the Pont d'Auteuil . . . sound carries on the water . . . it was better to be going . . . you can't make such people understand . . . and Lili must be plenty worried . . . I'd been gone for hours . . .
So I give those zebras the go-by! "So long, you bastards!" I climb in reverse . . . I'm afraid they'll throw a big javelin after me . . . or the oar! . . . running backwards up the whole Cowpath . . . suppose they shoot . . . I keep an eye on them . . . they call me everything they can think of . . . I do the same . . . it's a two-way barrage on the Cowpath! And you know how I hate scenes!
"Geraniums! Morning Glories! Nasturtiums!"
"Nasturtiums!" . . . that gets them . . . they don't know what to say . . . All of a sudden they come back with "Excrement!" they start up again . . . you could have heard us in Bellevue . . . in the forest . . . Saint-Cloud . . . the whole valley . . . can you imagine? . . . I'm still climbing in reverse . . . suddenly I stop climbing . . .
Grrr! grrr!
a growl to end all growls! right there beside me! not an echo! an angry dog!
. . . oh no, not Agar . . . no . . . a different dog
. .
.I
take a look: it's Frieda . . . Frieda on the prowl . . . Lili's dog . . . that dog was really nosey and vicious . . . she was after something in the thicket . . .
"Ah, there you are!"
Lili had been looking for me.
"Say, is that dog growling at me?"
She doesn't answer. She's got a question of her own.
"Where have you been?"
"To see Madame Niçois . . . you knew that."
"Such a long time?"
I stop retreating . . . we're almost at the house . . . but
all
the same I shout again . . .
"Greasers! Humming-birds! . . . Warblers!"
Down toward the shore . . . I want the last word . . . but that damn Frieda keeps growling . . . won't stop! . . .
"What's she growling at?"
"At Dodard! . . ."
"Dodard! . . . Dodard!"
"You think she'll find him?"
Dodard is our hedgehog . . . really a nice little animal . . . but always on the move . . . can't stay put . . . always trotting around . . . like it had a thousand feet . . . all over the place . . . in a hole . . . under a branch . . . under some other branch . . . Frieda's the one that finds everything . . . Dodard must be under a root . . . Frieda's going to dig up the whole garden!
Those characters down there, that sinister crew, won't accept defeat! they're stubborn!
"Peony!"
They're yelling . . . they're calling me . . .
"Make Frieda shut up . . . she won't find him . . ."
Frieda is rummaging and digging under a thornbush . . .
"Why are you shouting?"
"Le Vigan is down there . . . that's him shooting off his mouth . . . that's right . . . him and Emile . . . 'carrion!' that's what they're calling me . . . what do they think they are? . . . and their doll . . . Anita!"
I thought I'd let her in on it. She contradicts me . . .
"Forget about Le Vigan . . . you know he's in America . . ."
Lili has always been skeptical, even when I have proof . . . Especially since Denmark . . . she says Denmark didn't do me any good . . . I couldn't very well tell her there was a boat down there . . . a
bateau-mouche
full of phantoms . . . and that our bozos were on it . . .
I'm shaken out of my perplexity . . . a bark! what a bark!
arrgh! arrgh!
ah, that's Agar . . . Now Agar starts in! And Frieda with him . . . both together . . .
"They've found him! There he is!"
Lili's overjoyed! Dodard has been found.
"You'll look some more tomorrow."
But she sticks to her guns. "No, no. He's here . . . look . . . they've got him . . ."
It's Dodard all right, she picks him up . . . he doesn't ruffle his quills, he knows us . . . Lili takes him . . . fine . . . we go up to the house, we take him with us . . .
"You should have seen Le Vigan done up like a gaucho!"
She lets me say what I please . . . "Sure! sure!" I can say what I like . . . as far as she's concerned, Le Vigan is over there . . . at the end of the world . . . and that's that! . . . she's being reasonable . . . of course . . . and I'm raving . . . once and for all! I'm in bad shape? Sure, I know it . . . and not just since Denmark! I know . . . my head, my heart, those dizzy spells . . . they're bad . . . the chills aren't as bad as they were . . . but the dizzy spells . . . they make the walls rock! I don't say anything . . . the main point is this: if I were to leave Lili . . . she doesn't realize . . . all alone against all these people as I know them . . . the wolf pack . . . she wouldn't go far . . . the claimants, heirs, relatives, publishers! . . . there you've got champion scavengers! worse than those clowns down there . . . with their rotten moth-eaten scow . . . those scarecrows! . . . tax collectors, heirs, publishers . . . my, oh, my! . . . no, Lili wouldn't go far . . . she and Dodard and the hounds . . .
"Take 'em to the pound!"
Well, I wasn't dreaming at all . . . it's freezing . . . I'm trembling . . . what have I got to tremble about? . . . fatigue? . . . that business on the waterfront? . . . I'd talked too much . . . had I? . . . what's making me shiver this way? . . . slowly we climb back up . . . Lili is carrying Dodard . . . I attend to the dogs . . .
I'm sorry . . . let's get down to brass tacks . . . these things . . . I've got to tell them . . . with my pen . . . not just any old story . . . at random . . . This story by my own hand . . . the document!
It didn't seem like anything much . . . a little river fantasy . . . a crazy boat . . . the people on it . . . but hell . . . the cold shivers . . . They really got me . . . I had to be down . . . shivering and sweating like a damn fool . . . worse than Madame Niçois . . . I caught on right away . . . an attack . . . it was an attack! No doubt about it! At the beginning of an attack you know what's going on, later you just rave . . . I'd been all right for at least twenty years . . . it was the cold down there, the waterfront . . . I'd been afraid of this . . . well, now I was in for it . . . the river wind . . .
Lili asks me what she should do . . . nothing, damn it . . . leave me alone . . . a doctor, unless his patients have turned him into a complete idiot, has only one idea . . . to be left in peace . . . he knows what malaria is . . . you've got it all your life and that's that . . . You get the "solemn shivers" . . . and you shake your bed till it creaks and cracks! . . . one fit after another . . . as regular as clockwork . . . you know exactly what to expect . . . first the shivers . . . and then right away . . . you start raving . . . you rave and rave . . . I could imagine the kind of crap . . . twenty years without an attack!
"Don't pay attention, Lili!"
I warn her . . . Sure, but tomorrow? And Madame Niçois? . . . of course . . . her dressing! . . . no . . . the day after tomorrow . . . no . . . in three days . . . I'd go back down, of course I would . . . I'd see
La Publique
again and her cargo of harlequins . . . of course I would . . . and I'd give their Charon a good working over! I'd make a floor mat out of that so-called Charon—half-panther, half-monkey! . . . He won't argue . . . he won't say boo . . . he'll get down on his knees and beg . . . that phony . . . I'll smash his oar over his face . . . One! . . .
bam!
I'll smash his enormous . . .
ouch! ouch!
. . . oar into a thousand splinters . . . like a straw . . . that enormous thing!. . . a straw?. . . no!. . . two! three! four! at last I can feel my strength . . . the whole bed is rattling, pitching groaning, rolling with it . . . I know . . . I know . . . it's nothing new . . . doesn't date from yesterday . . . with twenty or thirty percent more I'd be a little better off than with just my wounds! I'd be one hundred and thirty percent disabled at least . . . I wouldn't be working to make you laugh! to please Achille and his clique of half-assed queens . . . ah, the shame of it! ah, Volga boatmen! . . . but the boatmen have won out! . . . just take a look at the asses on the lowest of the commissars . . . asses like archbishops . . . every last one of them . . . When the fellaghas of the Nile have archbishops' asses like that, you can say we're getting somewhere . . . that's the dream of nations . . . of the whole earth . . . archbishops' asses! commissars' bellies! . . . Picasso! Boussac! . . . Mrs. Roosevelt! . . . tits and all . . . brassieres! the whole lot of them!
I get to wondering . . . even in my present state, clammy and shivering, what Achille can do with his hundred million a year? . .
cash!
does he stick it up the asses . . . of his little floozies? or his coffin? . . . He can have that supercoffin of his decorated pretty nice, embossed, inlaid . . . padded with sky-blue silk, with festoons and lattice-work and silver tears . . . and for his head? the pillow of Eternity! . . . golden feathers and fairy roses! . . . hell be cute in the funeral parlor . . . the eternal Achille! his mean eye closed at last . . . his horrible smile sandblasted . . . He won't be so bad to look at when he's dead.
I'm talking big . . . trying to cheer myself up . . . hell, I'm kidding myself I I'll pass on before he does . . . I work, that hastens the end . . . he takes it easy . . . that's the ultimate secret of gerontotechnics: don't work, let other people! . . . that's the whole idea of being a pimp . . . and I, like it or not, I bring the grist to his mill . . . for his tarts . . . for his coffin . . . and I turn the millstone. "And gee-up, you donkey!" I sweat, I knock myself out . . . he looks on . . . he takes care of himself . . . naturally he'll last longer . . .
Take B! or K! . . . or Maurice . . . some Communists they'd be in my place . . . turning Brottin's mill . . . their rear ends would shrink! They'd be a little more appetizing to look at! their asses and jowls! . . . no more nylon girdles . . . no more brassieres! . . . oh, dear Archbishop Commissars! . . . ye wretched of the asshole! . . . fine and dandy! you've forced them to sit down? At the table of the people or of the Holy Ghost? and you see them multiplied! . . . prize-winning swine, that's their nature, at any kind of table! . . . what a sadist you are! . . . no remorse? no tears? . . . aren't you sorry for them? . . . those tragic destinies? those colossal martyrs? Doomed to put on blubber? more and more of it! . . .
There, there . . . I'm playing around . . . looking for effects . . . I'm going to lose you . . . and Madame Niçois' dressing? . . . where's my head? what have I been thinking? . . . fever . . . yes, of course . . . but Madame Niçois' dressing? the night! . . . everything's black! . . . shiver, shake! Let the damn bed collapse! I've been shaking it enough! Crack . . . I'm shaking it with my fever . . . a real attack . . . and my anger . . . the things they yelled at me from down there . . . "Peony!" . . . from their lousy pirate ship . . . they dared! . . . "Coward!" and "come and get it! . . ." Don't worry, I'll go . . . not once, but ten times . . . and all alone . . . they'll see me again . . . I'm boiling with indignation! . . . I'm in fusion . . . I'll burn the bed . . . I caught this "fusion" in Cameroon in 1917 . . . they'll see what they'll see! . . . I feel my pulse . . . my temperature is still going up! 104
°
it feels like . . . that's when you get ideas . . . wacky ideas? . . . maybe . . . I'm all balled up . . . Lower Meudon, Siegmaringen, all jumbled . . . But what about Pétain? . . . oh, he was sitting pretty . . . he had the status of a Chief of State . . . like Bogomolev or Tito . . . or Gaugaule or Nasser! . . . sixteen food cards! . . . Lava! . . . Bichelonne° . . . Brinon° . . . Daman° . . . had fewer . . . only six each . . . or eight . . . not in the same class . . . and the rest of us, imagine! . . . only one . . . hell! Ministers, Chiefs of State, nobodies! Injustice is dead! . . . all conked out! died of Injustice! and not in beauty . . . no frills, no protocol! . . . I make you laugh . . . always going on about the defunct . . . whichever way I look . . . the defunct . . . Nobody's left but Achille . . . waiting . . .