Death on the Installment Plan (33 page)

Once we were back on our feet, Mrs. Merrywin, before we went back to school, made another stab at arousing my interest in things … ‘“The table, la table, now come along, Ferdinand …” I resisted all her charms. I didn’t answer one word. I let her go out ahead of me … Her buttocks fascinated me too. She had an admirable ass, not just a pretty face. Taut, compact, not too big, not too little, all in one piece under her skirt, a muscular banquet … A thing like that is divine, that’s the way I feel about it … The witch, I’d have eaten every bit of her, gobbled her up, I swear… I kept my temptations to myself. I distrusted the other kids in the place like the plague. They were a bunch of little snotnoses, always looking for a fight, always shooting the shit, crazy and dumb as hell. I’d lost interest in that kind of foolishness … the way those kids made faces all the time, they made me sick … I was too old, I hadn’t the patience. I couldn’t stand school anymore … The stuff they do, the truck they recite … it’s unbearable … when you think of what’s waiting for you … the way you’ll be treated as soon as you’re out … If I’d felt like shooting my mouth off, I’d have mowed all those phony little bastards down with three words and a menacing gesture … Knocked them flat … Just to see them bouncing around the cricket field made my blood boil … At first they laid for me in corners, to break me in, as they put it … They’d decided they were going to make me talk, regardless … There were about a dozen of them … They swallowed their cigarettes … I pretended not to notice. I waited until I had them good and close. Then I went all out, I poked them smack in the eyes, I kicked them square in the shins, I sent them sprawling … It was a massacre, a pudding! They went over like tenpins … Days later they were still feeling their bones … After that they behaved better … They got to be soft-spoken, respectful … They came back for another sniff … I laid out two or three of them … After that they knew what was what.

I was really the strongest and maybe the meanest … French or English, kids are all the same kind of vermin … You’ve got to step on them quick … There’s no point in using kid gloves, you’ve got to teach them right away or you never will. Give them a good shellacking. Otherwise you’ll be the one to get stepped on … You’ll be all washed up. Miss your chance and all you’ll get is one good bellyache. If I’d started talking to them, naturally I’d have told them what
business
is really like … the realities of life … apprenticeship … I’d soon have wised those little phonies up … Those kids didn’t know which way is up … They didn’t know a damn thing … All they knew about was football … that isn’t enough … and looking at their cocks …

There wasn’t too much school, only in the morning.

Mr. Merrywin was in charge of the schoolwork, religion, and the different kinds of sports … he managed all by himself, there weren’t any other teachers.

At the crack of dawn he came around himself in slippers and dressing gown to wake us up. He was already smoking his pipe, a little clay one. He waved his long cane over the bed, bringing it down once in a while, but never hard.
“Hello, boys, hello, boys!”
he’d cry with his little old woman’s voice. We followed him to the washroom … There was a row of faucets, we used them as little as possible. It was too cold to soap yourself. And it never stopped raining. From December on we had a regular deluge. You couldn’t see the least bit of the town anymore or the port or the river in the distance … Nothing but fog the whole time, a big mess of cotton … The rains made holes in it, you could see lights, then they disappeared … You could hear all the foghorns, the boats calling, from daybreak on there was always a noise … the grinding of winches, the little train along the waterfront … puffing and squealing …

When he came in, Merrywin turned up the gas jet so we could find our socks. After the washroom we ran, still sopping wet, down to the basement for our measly feed. A bit of prayer and then breakfast. That was the only place where they burned a little coal, the greasy, slippery kind that erupts like a volcano, that explodes and smells like asphalt. It’s a pleasant smell, but then it gives off a whiff of sulphur that stings pretty bad.

On the table there were sausages on toast, but Lord were they small! They were mighty good, a delicacy, but there was never enough. I could have bolted the whole lot. Through the smoke, the flames threw reflections on the wall, on Job and the Ark … fantastic visions.

Not speaking the English language, I had plenty of time to look around … The old man chewed slowly. Mrs. Merrywin came in last. She had dressed Jongkind, she settled him in his chair, she moved the cutlery out of his reach, especially the knives, it was really a wonder he hadn’t stuck his eye out yet … and greedy as he was … that he hadn’t swallowed a coffeepot and bust … I looked furtively at Nora, Mrs. Merrywin, I listened to her like a song … Her voice was like the rest of her, enchanting gentleness … What interested me in her English was the music, the way it danced in and out of the firelight. I was living in a daze myself, a little like Jongkind. I was soft in the head, I was letting myself be bewitched. I had nothing to do. The stinker, she must have known. Women are scum. She was as lowdown as the rest of them. “What’s the matter with you, Buster?” I said to myself. “You swallowed a kite? You sick? You off your rocker? Flying away? Watch yourself, kid. Pinch yourself. Pull yourself together. Before it’s too late.” So naturally I tightened up … I curled up like a hedgehog. The danger was past. I kept my trap shut.

I had to watch myself, my imagination was running away with me, it was a dreamy kind of place, with its opaque storms and its clouds all over. I had to hole up and keep patching my armor. One question kept coming back to me, how had she come to marry that little worm? That little rat with the cane! It seemed impossible. That goblin! That monster! With that mug! Even on a pipe bowl it would scare people out of their wits, it wouldn’t sell for a dime! Oh well, it’s her business.

She was always keeping after me. trying to make me converse:
“Good morning, Ferdinand! Hello! Good morning!”
I was all hot and bothered. Her expression was so adorable … Plenty of times I almost fell. But I’d pull myself together quick … I reminded myself of all the stuff I had on my mind … I saw Lavelongue’s face, and Gorloge, all mixed up … I had plenty to choose from to make me puke … Madame Méhon … Sakya-Muni … I only had to sniff, my nose was always in the shit. I answered inside: “Go on talking, baby doll, go right ahead … you won’t get a rise out of me … You can laugh your head off … smile like a dozen frogs … You won’t catch me … I’m hardened, take it from me, I’ve had it up to here.” I thought of my father … his scenes, the bilge he was always dishing out … all the shit that was waiting for me … the lousy jobs … the crummy customers, all the beans, the noodles, the deliveries … the bosses … all the thrashings I’d had … in the Passage … If I had any desire to kid around, that knocked it right out of me … I was convulsed with memories … I scraped my ass with them … I was so mad I tore off whole patches of skin … My bleeding ass! No, this skirt wasn’t going to take me. Maybe she was good, maybe she was marvelous! Let her be a thousand times more radiant and beautiful, you wouldn’t catch me going soft on her … She wouldn’t wring a single sigh out of me … She could cut her face in ribbons to please me, she could roll them around her neck, she could cut three fingers off her hand and stick them up my ass, she could buy herself a pure-gold pussy! I still wouldn’t talk to her! Never! … I wouldn’t even kiss her! All that was the bunk, more of the same. And that was that. I preferred to stare at her old man, to look him up and down … that kept me from having dumb ideas … I drew comparisons … He was part turnip … green diluted blood … part carrot too, on account of the squiggly hairs coming out of his ears and at the bottom of his cheeks … How had he ever got hold of this beauty? … It couldn’t have been money … Then it must have been a mistake … Of course, you’ve got to remember, women are always in a hurry … They’ll grow in anything … any old garbage will do … They’re just like flowers … The more beautiful they are, the worse the manure stinks … The season is short. Bzing! And the way they lie all the time … I’d seen some horrible examples. They never stop. It’s their perfume. That’s the long and the short of it.

I should have talked to her? Beans! She’d have taken me for a ride. That was sure as shit … I’d have understood even less … Buttoning up built my character at least.

In school Mr. Merrywin tried to persuade me, he went to a lot of trouble, he put all the kids to work making me talk. He wrote whole sentences on the blackboard in capital letters … easy to decipher … and the translation underneath … The kids repeated them all together, in chorus … in cadence … over and over. I opened my mouth wide … I pretended something was coming … I was waiting for it to come out … Nothing came out … Not a syllable … I shut my mouth again … The try was over … They’d leave me alone for another twenty-four hours …
“Hello, Hello! Ferdinand!”
the old ape would sing out, crestfallen, at the end of his wits … When he did that, he really gave me a pain … I’d have made him swallow his big stick … I’d have put him on a spit … I’d have hung him up on the window by the ass … Ah! He caught on finally … He stopped pushing me … He suspected the kind of instincts I had. I frowned … I grunted when my name was called … I kept my overcoat on even in school, I slept in it …

I meant a lot to Merrywin, he didn’t want to lose me, his school wasn’t overcrowded, he didn’t want me to go home before my six months were up. He was worried about my impulses. He kept on the defensive …

In the dormitory we kids were left to ourselves … once the prayers were over … We said them in our nightgowns, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed … Merrywin delivered a kind of sermon, we formed a circle around him … and then he went off to his room … We didn’t see him anymore. After hurrying through our responses, we hit the sack quick, impatient to start playing with ourselves. It warms you up … Nora shut the idiot up in a special bed with a grating over it. He was always trying to get out … he walked in his sleep so bad that sometimes he upset the bed …

I’d made friends with a crazy little kid that jerked me off almost every night, he suggested a lot of other things, he had ideas, I had plenty of juice, more than the others … He was greedy, he made all the kids laugh with his clowning … He sucked two of the other kids … He pretended to be a dog … Woof! Woof! he’d bark … he’d crawl around like a puppy, he came when we whistled, he liked being ordered around … On the nights when the storm was really acting up, when the wind was howling in the alley under our windows, we made bets whether the wind would put out the lamp … the one that creaked so bad, that was hanging above the gate … I used to hold the bets, the ginger, the chocolate, the pictures, the cigarette butts … even a few lumps of sugar … and three matches. They trusted me … They put it all on my bed … The woof-woof dog often won … He had an instinct about stormy weather … On Christmas Eve there was such a cyclone that the lamp in the alley smashed to bits. I can still remember … Kid Woof-Woof and I ate up all the bets.

It was the style and tradition that in the afternoon everybody put on sport clothes, a green-and-yellow-striped uniform and a cap to match, all decorated with the college seals and blazons … I wasn’t very eager to dress up like a jester and one of those outfits, I felt sure, must be mighty expensive … Especially the cleated shoes … I wasn’t in the mood for toys … I didn’t see any games in my future … It was just some more damn foolishness, made to order for little punks.

Right after lunch old man Merrywin himself took off his half-soutane, put on his Pied Piper coat and bzing! … out he went. All of a sudden he was full of beans, you wouldn’t have known him … He’d go romping up and down the field like a pony … Under the squalls and showers he was especially happy … His little harlequin suit had a magical effect on him. He was comical, as jumpy as quicksilver.

Englishmen, you’ve got to admit, are a funny sight … A cross between a pastor and a little boy … Everything about them is ambiguous. Mostly they bugger each other … He was awfully keen on having them buy me a complete set of livery, so I could be rigged out like a champion from Meanwell College. So I wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb when we went for a walk, or on the football field … He even showed me a letter he’d written my father on the subject … Maybe there was something in it for him. Maybe he’d get a rake-off. There was something suspicious about the way he kept insisting … I didn’t bat an eyelash when I saw the letter, but I had a little laugh to myself … “Go ahead and send it, you old fool, you don’t know my parents. They don’t give a good godam about sports.” Obviously he had no idea … Obviously they’d tell him what for … They’d stick at the monkeysuit … any bets? There’d be hell to pay …

Well anyway, after lunch, rain or shine or earthquake, we all had to go out … Two by two we had to climb another hill behind ours, absolutely waterlogged, a chaos of bogs and torrents … I brought up the rear with Mrs. Merrywin and the idiot in between us … We brought his pail and shovel, so he could make mud pies, big mushy ones, that kept him quiet for a while … Umbrellas and raincoats were no use at all … nothing could resist the tornadoes … If it hadn’t been for the slush that was thicker than lead, we’d have flown away with the birds …

I had the best position in the football game, I kept goal … that gave me a chance to meditate … I didn’t like to be disturbed, I let almost everything through … When the whistle blew, the brats flung themselves into the battle, they plowed through the muck till their ankles cracked, they charged at the ball, full steam into the clay, they plastered themselves with it, their eyes were full of it, their whole heads were covered … When the game was over, our little angels were nothing but molded garbage, staggering hunks of clay … with big wads of pigeon shit sticking to them. The muddier they were, the shittier, the more hermetically sealed, the happier they felt … They were wild with joy under their crusts of ice, welded into their clay helmets.