North (4 page)

Boskets . . . arbors . . . roses . . . glowing pastels . . . beyond belief . . . there we were on a marble bench . . . Madame von Dopf telling us again about her stays in China, with her husband the general, the brilliant reorganizer of Mao's army . . . that baneful little clown wouldn't have lased two months without him! . . . ah, Monsieur Céline, believe me! . . . her husband in such a place!

"You know, Monsieur Céline, the Devil triumphs because the people who know him well are gone . . . that Adolf, for instance . . . he can do just as he pleases! no one to fear! . . . another solitary devil! . . ."

I myself had been thinking that things were going from bad to worse . . . this Madame von Dopf was nuts, but not far from wrong I'd say . . . No news from my mother . . . or anybody else . . . a little over the radio . . . barricades going up in Paris . . . the staff of the Simplon kept in touch via Lausanne . . . . the whole town for that matter . . . croupiers, manicurists, shopkeepers, the
Legationsrat
himself, our
Führer
. . . all of them convinced that "Radio-Sottens" ° was a good deal more reliable than "Télé-Gobbels" . . . Schulze, our
Führer
, didn't come out openly for the Allies, but after every really big defeat he ordered a high Mass at the Casino church, he and his family took communion . . . why not? . . . we were there in that enchanted spot thinking things over . . . in between the roses, Madame von Dopf pointed out the site . . . a few bricks were still standing . . . of the "Pavilion of the Philosophers" . . . where Grimm, Madame de Staël, and Constant met every morning . . . Madame von Dopf had come here as a little girl, she knew every bush, every path, all the mazes, the despair of governesses . . .

I know something of China too . . . Italy . . . and Spain . . . and Monte Carlo . . . I've got to admit, Monsieur Céline, that I've been spoiled . . . as no one is today . . . not even a queen! I have no qualms about saying . . . it's all over . . . even a queen by divine right has to think of public opinion . . . even the most coddled millionairess has her "daily report" . . . her chambermaid keeps it up very carefully . . . every little folly of her mistress, gala dinners, lovers, miscarriages, all out in the open. . . the times have changed!. . . more fragile than Mary Stuart! more beset than Marie-Antoinette . . . and yet, Monsieur Céline, ignorant I am and ignorant I will die . . . stupid me! . . . I shall leave behind me a bill in more than four figures . . . I am lost!

Lili, I must say, Lili, the dancer, found it quite natural that I should check over the bills . . .

How preposterous it was! . . . we were enjoying ourselves! . . . and what fine weather! . . . hot but breezy . . . weather fit for Paradise. . .

I, always a worrier, never relishing the passing moment, seeing no one about, neither under the arches nor oh the lawns, I wondered . . . the wherefore of this silence . . . especially at eleven in the morning, the family hour . . . in such weather . . . our rose garden so fragrant . . . unbearable! . . . that Lili, usually so timid, asked Madame von Dopf if we couldn't move on to that other bench . . . under the plane trees, in the shade . . . Madame von Dopf was telling us how when she was a young bride at the Simplon her husband, then a captain, had challenged the Brazilian ambassador to a duel over a rose! . . . yes! . . . a black and purple rose! . . . that had fallen . . . on their balcony . . . from the ambassador's windows! . . . oh purpose! said her husband . . . no! . . . His Excellency protested . . . the affair had been smoothed over . . . thanks to the prince! . . .

"Prince Metternich . . ."

Madame von Dopf had more memories . . . many more . . .
Achtung! 
. . .
Achtung! 
. . . a siren wails . . .
attention please!
and man! a fanfare! . . . were they going to announce a victory? . . . impossible! for at least two years there'd been nothing but retreats . . . a separate peace with Russia? . . . possible . . . the loudspeaker was pretty far away . . . between the hotel and the rose garden . . . I listen . . . we listen . . . no, not a victory! . . .
Achtung! Achtung! 
. . . an attempt on Hitler's life! . . . all we needed!

"They don't tell us if he's dead," says Madame von Dopf. And adds: "Fine kettle of fish if he's not."

Nothing to be surprised about, reader. . . at the time of that assassination plot, events incidents and mumps were so hopelessly tangled that even today we're mostly reduced to parallel misunderstandings . . . contradictory conspiracies . . . the best way, I believe, is to think of a tapestry, top, bottom, and middle . . . with all the themes, objects, colors helter-skelter and upside down! . . . any attempt to set them before you fiat, standing, or recumbent would be a fraud . . . the truth is that after the attempted assassination there was no orderm anything . . .

If they'd killed him, succeeded, there'd have been some order! ever since he came off alive, look where we're at! disorder forever!. . . so why shouldn't I be telling you about the Hotel Simplon, Baden-Baden, after the Stem in Sigmaringen . . . though we weren't there until much later! . . . try and get it straight! . . . time! space! I chronicle the best I can! . . . That's right! . . . painters and musicians do as they please! . . . and they're feted, showered with millions and honors . . . even movie actors and tennis players . . . should I, the historian, be forbidden to tack it together bassackward? . . . blighted forever? . . . Howling shame! . . . disgrace! . . . escaping in rags and tatters! . . . the pack at my heels! . . . hangings too good! . . . Greetings, Ladies and Gentlemen . . . the stakes are down? never mind! . . . cast off! get your bearings! . . . the wheel wobbles? . . . so what?! . . . the ball's gone nuts? . . . contrition! . . . foolishness! . . . all the fault of that half-assed plot! . . .

Ah, Ladies and Gentlemen, naturally I didn't see anybody in that "garden of Paradise"! . . . on the benches or in the arbors! . . . they'd holed up, right after the first
achtung! achtungs!
at the bottom of the Simplon cellars . . . where nobody could see them or hear them! . . . but there at the swimming pool, nearby, the angry shouts redoubled! the ruckus! not only from the loudspeakers, no, the public! . . . the whole Simplon, staff and guests . . . they didn't give a shit about Adolf and the assassination plot . . . if they'd ripped him to pieces or not . . . "Your ass! Whore! Get yourself buggered! Jump in the drink! Bitch!"

Somebody's ass! . . . a fat ass?. . . whose ass could it be? . . .

"The
Führer's
dead!"

"Stinker, who said so? Throw her in the drink! . . . asshole!
unverschämt! 
. . .
raus! raus!
throw her out!" . . .

Sounded bad . . . then different people shouting . . . " 

"Right to talk! . . .
Boches!
motherfuckers! insulting a lady!"

"A lady? Throw her in the crapper! . . ."

They haul off!
Wham!
. . .
bam!
. . .

"A cocksucker . . . that's what she is!"

From the rose garden we could hear it all . . . a free-for-all . . . for and against . . . but whose ass? . . .

"Whore!"

The whole valley echoed . . .

"Beat it, you two-bit cunt!"

A woman running away from the swimming pool . . . coming our way . . .

"Madame von Dopf! . . . Madame von Dopf! . . ."

We know her . . . Mademoiselle de Chamarande! . . . It's her and her curves that have thrown them off . . . the whole swimming pool howling and fighting! . . . and it goes on! . . . whoosh! . . . bzing! . . . haymakers! . . . a champion wham! . . . from the diving board! . . . another! . . . they're throwing each other into the pool! . . . they come up punching . . . Mademoiselle de Chamarande . . . here she is . . . she sits down beside us . . . out of breath . . . her bathing suit in tatters . . . she takes Madame von Dopf's hand . . . she bursts into tears . . .

"Madame! Madame! I implore you . . . they struck me! . . . they're crazy! . . . they want to kill me because their Ftihrer's dead!.. ."they'll come here, Madame von Dopf! . . . they'll kill us all! . . . they said so!"

"Not at all, my child! . . . the
Führer
isn't dead! he's lived through worse! . . . just a little plot! you're too exposed, that's all! . . . those bathers see too much! . . . think nothing of it! your bathing suit is far too scanty! cover yourself and stay right where you are! Here, my handkerchief . . . dry your tears! You won't have any eyes left!"

"But my bathrobe, Madame von Dopf! . . . they tore it off me, my second-best bathrobe! . . . yellow and red! they wouldn't give it back! . . ."

"I expect not. I'll go and get it! . . . they'll give it to me!"

"Madame von Dopf, they're furious! Really furious!"

"Not at me, dear child, old age puts a damper on the wildest . . . just wait. . . they'll be only too glad to give me your bathrobe . . . yellow and red, you say?"

The four of us stay right there . . . sure enough! . . . she starts off . . . the gravel walk to the swimming pool . . . slowly . . . and comes back almost immediately with the red and yellow bathrobe.

"They didn't say anything?"

"Of course not! . . . nothing at all, my dear! . . . and now put it on! . . . we shall go back to the hotel . . . all together."

And so we did . . . the four of us pass through the crowd of flunkeys . . . a second before, they'd been punching each other, now they're very quiet. . . not a murmur . . . Madame von Dopf looks at them, stops . . .

"You know, my dear, they're not entirely to blame."

She could say that again . . . For the last three weeks . . . ever since she arrived . . .our young lady had done her best to drive the swimming-pool males up the wall. . . every day a new bathing suit, more and more provocative . . . oh, a magnificent ass, I admit. . . but the things she did with it! . . . the bobbing and swaying . . . the rear view on the diving board! . . . and swimming . . . a crawl technique that gave her ten buttocks at once . . . lunging through the foam . . . over water, under water . . . enough to turn the pool upside down . . . the customers, I mean . . . barbers, croupiers, bath attendants . . . and the lounge lizards from our hotel . . . convalescent officers . . . yes, of course, their nerves shot to hell . . . that attempt on Hitler's life had raised the temperature . . . plus her and her rear end! if not for Madame von Dopf, she'd have been lynched . . . one word and all was calm again . . . we passed in front of the horde, masseurs, bath masters, cooks, a slimy crew, bowing and scraping. Aside from her deplorable mania for exhibiting her bumpus, Mademoiselle de Chama-rande was a sweet young thing, really pleasant, cultivated . . . a pharmacist at Barcy-sur-Aude . . . a "collaborator" by accident, she'd been in love . . . reciprocated! . . . with a lawyer in thé Milice ° . . . they were going to be married . . . their idyll had been short-lived . . . two days before D-Day the Fifis had gunned him down in the courtroom . . . she'd run away, her house was on fire, her pharmacy, the whole shebang, her grandmother too . . . an SS tank had picked her up in the alfalfa! the whole underground, had been looking for her . . . skin of her teeth . . . flat on her belly between the bullets! . . . ah, Mademoiselle de Chamarandel what she'd been through! . . . she could be pretty funny . . . in her flight she'd teamed up with the Milice families at Gérardmer. . . and that's not all! . . . on the beach she'd made the conquest of the whole German Embassy . . . stopping place on their pullback to Frankfort . . . plus the croupiers from Monte Carlo on their way to open a new school in Stuttgart, a branch of our academy . . . In the position she was in . . . no more pharmacy, no more house, no more grandmother . . . and young thugs all over itching to scalp ° her . . . the young lady, no dope, had become very friendly with the gentlemen of both camps, Gaullist croupiers, Nazis from the embassies . . . but maybe a little too much rump for jittery young men . . . especially on the diving board! . . . witness the low brawl between the Vichy flunkeys, the "occult résistants" of the Simplon, and the Boche inhabitants of Baden-Baden, crippled, twisted hunchbacks from the hospitals, who went to the pool for the free striptease . . . all steaming exasperated, ready to do us in, they'd picked the cobbles to tie around our necks . . . if not for Madame von Dopf they'd have done it . . . Taking advantage of the lull we start back along the banks of the Oos . . . somebody comes running in the other direction . . . Fräulein Fisher! . . . one more that loves us dearly . . . and brags about being very mean . . . the Americans spanked her . . . she lumps us all together . . . she has a special kind of ugliness . . . so much like Quasimodo . . . that it can't have hurt her any . . . in Algiers they spanked her . . . at the Consulate . . . now she's with Schulze . . . his secretary . . . nature had given her a rough deal, her whole left cheek one strawberry mark, thick red hair done up in a cow's tail, those eyes, one gray, one blue . . . with a squint . . . terrifying . . . and proud of it! . . . she came from the Hartz Mountains, home of the witches . . . she cultivated her décor, her room all full of pictures of witches . . . witch dolls . . . on the wall, witches painted on plates . . . hanging from the ceiling . . . witches riding on broomsticks . . . "All on our way to the Sabbath," she warned us. That fine old legend meant a lot to her . . . She saw herself stirring the cauldron, with us and the Americans inside it, skinned and boiling nicely . . . In Algiers, after the landing, the Americans had disinfected her . . . we were to blame! such people! . . . and coming toward us now in a big hurry . . . what's the good word? . . .