Authors: Albert Cohen
She sat down at the writing-table, took the powders out of their box, and counted them. Thirty. Three times more than was required for the both of them. The chemist at Saint-Raphaël had warned her to take good care, since just five of these powders constituted a lethal dose. She arranged them in a circle, then in a cross. But what was she thinking of, keeping him waiting like this? Start, had to make a start. She stood up, scratched her cheek, dazed, a smile playing on her lips. Yes, do it in the bathroom, use all the powders, take no chances.
Standing at the wash-basin, she tore the flimsy paper envelope and opened the first powder. When she was little, she used to ask if she could have the white paper wrappers the nougat came in: it was a minor miracle, the wrappers simply melted on her tongue. She opened all the little envelopes one after the other, tipped the contents of each into a glass of water which she stirred with the handle of a toothbrush, to ensure an even distribution of the transparent particles, and then poured half the liquid into another glass. One glass for her, one glass for him.
When she'd had her bath, she carefully redid her hair, applied perfume and powder, and got into the Romanian dress, the dress with the wide sleeves nipped at the wrist, the dress she had worn as she had waited at her door beneath the roses round the door. In the mirror she was beautiful. She raised both glasses and held them side by side to see if there was the same amount in each. She also used to hold up glasses side by side to see if she had been given as much pear squash as Éliane. They would often drink it neat, it was lovely. She had never seen pear squash anywhere else, Tantieme's was the only place where it was made, it was scrumptious, with just a hint of cloves. They used to have it in summer especially, diluted with delicious cool water from the well. The buzzing of the bees on the hot summer days. Swig it down, without.a second thought. She used to make all sorts of fuss if she had to take any kind of medicine. Tantlérie used to jolly her along. 'Come on, don't shilly-shally, down the red lane, be a good girl, you'll be glad afterwards.'
She raised the glass to her lips but barely wet them. There were bits in the bottom. She stirred the mixture with the handle of the toothbrush, closed her eyes, drank half, stopped with a little scared smile, heard the bees buzzing in the heavy heat, saw poppies waving in the cornfields, gave another stir, drank the other half in one gulp, and with it quaffed all the beauty of the world. There, she'd been a good girl, all gone, Tantlérie used to say. Yes, all gone, nothing left in the glass, she had drunk it all, even the sludge at the bottom, she could taste it bitter on her tongue. Quickly now, go and see him.
CHAPTER 106
'Come ladies, come buy my sweet poppies,' sang an antic voice as she entered his room carrying the other glass in her hand. He stood waiting for her, archangelic in his long dressing-gown, and handsome, as handsome as on that first night. She set the glass down on the bedside table. He picked it up and stared at the sediment at the bottom. In that mud lay his quietude. In that mud lay the annihilation of the trees, the dissolution of the sea which he had loved so much, the sea of his native land, pellucid and warm over its crystal-clear bed, but never more for him. In that mud lay the extinction of his voice, the stilling of his laughter so loved by all the women he had loved. 'Such a tender, cruel laugh,' they had said. The fat bluebottle was back on station, erratically circling, busy, bustling, grimly buzzing, making ready, exulting.
He drank deeply, then stopped. The goodness had stayed at the bottom, and he must finish it all. He swirled the glass, raised it to his lips, drank the lees which would still him for ever. He put the glass down, got into bed, and she lay down by his side, together,' she said. 'Take me in your arms, hold me close,' she said. 'Kiss my eyes, there is no greater love,' she said, chilled and strangely trembling.
And so he took her in his arms and held her close, and he kissed her long curved lashes, and they were suddenly transported back to their first night, and he held her close with all his mortal love. 'Closer,' she said, 'hold me closer and closer still.' Oh, she hungered for his love, needed it now, mountains of it, for soon the gate would open, and she clung to him, needing to feel his nearness, clung to him with all
her mortal strength. Fevered, her voice no more than a whisper, she asked him if they would be together again, afterwards, on the other side, and she smiled at him as if to say but of course they would be together again, afterwards, on the other side, and flecks of froth collected in the corners of her smile as she smiled to say that they would be together always on the other side, and there would be real love there, there was only true love on the other side, and now the spittle ran down her neck and on to the dress she had worn as she stood and waited at her door for his coming.
And then once more the waltz struck up downstairs, the waltz that had on that first night unfurled its slow, lingering refrain, and she grew dizzy as she danced with her lord, who held her in his arms and led her, danced oblivious to her surroundings, glancing up to admire ' herself in the tall mirrors as she whirled, elegant, heart-stopping, a woman who was loved, for she was fair and beloved of her lord.
But her feet grew leaden, and now she was not dancing, could dance no more. What had happened to her feet? Had they gone first, gone over to the other side, were they waiting for her there in the church shaped like a mountain, the mountain church where the black wind blew? Oh, what summons was this, and the gate opened. Oh, wide was the gate and inky the blackness beyond, and the wind blew through the gate, the unceasing wind from the other side, a dank wind smelling of earth, the cold wind of blackness. 'Darling, you'd better take a coat.'
Ah, there was a crooning now in the cypress-trees, the keening of those who take their leave and look no more. Who was holding her legs fast? The numbness worked upwards, and as it rose it spread a chill before it and her breathing grew laboured and there were dewy pearls on her cheeks and a taste in her mouth. 'You won't forget,' she murmured. 'Tonight at nine,' she murmured, and her mouth filled with spittle and her lips smiled dully and she tried to lean her head back to see him but could not, and on the other side someone was sharpening a scythe with a hammer. She tried to move her hand in a gesture of farewell, but could not, her hand had gone before her. 'Wait for me,' he said to her from a great distance. 'For see, there comes my heavenly king!' she smiled, and she stepped into the mountain church.
Then he closed her eyes, and stood up, and took her in his arms, and lifted her heavy, empty deadness, and circled the room carrying her in his arms, holding her close and cradling her with all his love, cradling and gazing at the silent, serene, loving woman who had given so generously of her lips, had slipped such fervent notes under doors at break of day, cradling and gazing at his pallid-faced queen, his lovely innocent who had kept her trysts beneath the polestar.
Suddenly his legs buckled and a cold hand nudged him, and he set her down on the bed and lay by her side and kissed her virginal face, softened now by just the shadow of a smile and as beautiful as it had been on that first of their nights, kissed her hand, which was still warm but heavy now, held her hand in his, kept her hand in his until he reached the cellar where a midget was weeping, weeping openly for her comely king who was dying transfixed with nails to the wart-studded door, her doomed king who was weeping too, weeping for forsaking his children on earth, his children whom he had not saved, what would they do without him, and suddenly the midget enjoined him in ringing tones, ordered him to offer up the last prayer in accordance with the ritual, for the hour had come.