North (5 page)

"Doctor! Doctor!"

She'd come for me.

"The
Legationsrat
wishes to see the doctor . . . urgent! . . . if you don't mind . . ."

"At your service, Mademoiselle Fisher . . . I'm with you . . ."

Two minutes . . . I was at Schulze's . . .

"Doctor, do you know what has happened?"

"Oh, more or less, Monsieur le Ministre, more or less . . ."

"Oh no, Doctor, you don't know . . . but you will . . . you know this hotel . . . you've been all over?"

"Yes, I think so . . . just about . . ."

"Then if you please, if you don't mind . . . I'll send one of my men with you . . . he'll have a special key . . . a passkey . . . you know . . . no point knocking . . . you'll open and you'll find . . . patients . . . if you don't mind, take all your equipment . . . you know, your bag . . . these rooms especially! . . . I'll give you the numbers."

He writes . . .

"113 . . . 117 . . . 82 . . . go in without knocking . . . they might not open . . . don't say I sent you . . ."

"Oh, not a word, Monsieur le Ministre."

"Then; when you've taken care of them . . . come back and see me! . . . you won't tell anyone what you've seen . . . never! . . . never!"' 

"Like a tomb, Monsieur le Ministre. Like a tomb!" 

"Thank you, Doctor . . . I'll see you later . . . later!" 

I know those rooms . . . 117 . . . especially 113 . . . no need to be a magician . . . it had been obvious for months, you only had to look around . . . all those people, the big wheels of the Simplon, the biggest suites, especially 117, had had a hand in the plot, oh yes! . . . the magnates with the wheelbarrows full of marks . . . maybe they'd committed suicide? . . . that's what Schulze was sending me for . . . I wasn't very eager . . . either they were dead or drunk . . . whenever there's something to celebrate . . . good or bad . . . the human animal swills and swobbles the limit . . . I take my syringe, my medicine kit, my ampuls . . . okay, let's see if they've hanged themselves . . . okay, 113 is right here . . . let's have a look! knock knock! no answer . . . the flunkey with the passkey opens . . . a woman steps out of the darkness, good-looking brunette . . . bosom to the winds, disheveled . . .

"Oh, it's you! Ah, my dear Doctor! . . . come in, come right in!"

What can these plotters be up to? Seems more like a daisy chain . . . how many are there? . . . five or six moving shapes . . . back there . . . no business of mine . . . This woman was usually rather aloof . . . barely the shadow of a smile . . . now, with her open wrapper, she's friendlier . . . all of a sudden she kisses me! . . . maybe she wants me to join them? hell! that's not what I've come for . . . not at all! I won't stay a moment . . . How many? . . . I can't make out . . . a jumble . . . I recognize one of the floor waiters and a major . . . and a manicurist . . . naked . . . and five . . . six couples . . . all in the dark . . . they've shut up everything tight, all they've got is a candle, just one . . . what are they doing beside massaging each other? . . . incantations? . . . it smells of incense . . . I can see better now, my eyes are adjusting . . . like an X-ray . . . the disheveled beauty isn't kissing me any more, she lets me go, she collapses, she's sawing wood . . . ah, I see a big photograph on the wall, Hitler hanging upside down . . . with a crape across it . . . straight across the frame . . . they must have been-celebrating his death . . . what Schulze had told me not to mention . . . was that their bomb had fizzled! . . . they looked pretty dumb, loving it up as if the thing had come off! . . . that Adolf wasn't dead! . . . not in the least! . . . the blond colonel and the elevator boy lying on the carpet . . . drunk! . . . gagging . . . going to vomit . . . the rest of them ditto . . . not funny . . . Hitler upside-down was funny, with the big crape . . . I say to the key-bearer: "Okay! . . . now for 117 . . ." I see they've set up tables . . . three . . . four . . . with everything and then somel chickens cut in pieces . . . enormous salad bowls full of everything . . . glazed fruit . . . meringues . . . puking so hard already, they never even touched the stuff . . . cases of champagne . . . enough for at least a week . . . my friendly brunette is sleeping . . . she sees I'm leaving . . . the other rooms are probably just as sinful . . . 214 . . . 218 . . . maybe not black masses in all of them . . . playing the piano then . . . stringing beads . . . in edifying attitudes . . . in tragic situations there are always two schools, the ones that go to see the heads cut off, the ones that go fishing . . . I could hear somebody playing the piano in the drawing room downstairs . . . three flights down . . . I say to the key-bearer: "Let's go!" Ihadn't been mistaken . . . not just one drawing room . . . two . . . three . . . big family gathering . . . oh, but most dignified! industrialists and convalescent generals . . . and French collaborators . . . fathers, mothers, children, and little dogs . . . they certainly know about the plot . . . but they don't seem worried . . . deep in the music! . . . I listen . . .
lieder
. . . romances . . . our Constantini ° singing . . . he's got a voice all right . . . Madame von Dopf accompanying, very well, without a score . . . the whole repertory . . . the things she likes . . . all the operas . . .

                                          
 Si vous croyez que je vais vous dire!
                                                    Qui jose aimer!

Madame von Dopf s favorite aria . . . out of date perhaps, but pleasant . . . especially in those period drawing rooms with their brocade, velvet; scrollwork, pompons, standing lamps, enormous lampshades . . .

Si vous croyez . . .

and now Ameryl ° . . . son of the British minister . . . Constantini's a big bruiser, Amery's more the willowy type . . . a gentleman, a dandy . . . oh, but not affected! . . . guess it's all right; if they're singing . . . Let's go in . . . he's accompanying himself . . .

                              Mademoiselle from Armentières, parlez-vous?

                              Mademoiselle from Armentières!

deep voice . . . must be a bass . . .

                             Mademoiselle from Armentières . . .

                             hasn't been kissed for forty years! 

Mademoiselle from Armentières doesn't nonplus Madame von Dopf . . . she dives right in . . . wow, those chords! . . . on the other piano! . . . shakes the families out of their stupor . . . the families come in . . . on the chorus . . . in French! . . . in English! . . . to show you that brotherhood was in the air . . .

But way back I see somebody motioning to me . . . from the vestibule . . . that somebody is Schulze . . . Oh, I won't tell him anything . . . people always talk too much . . . I go over . . . he leads me away . . . a corridor . . . another . . . to the exact opposite wing of the hotel . . . the "correspondence rooms'''. . . where nobody ever goes . . . then another room marked
"privat"
. . . he sits down . . . me too . . . up to him to begin . . .

"Doctor, all this is drawing to an end! I assume that you know. . ."

"Nothing at all Monsieur le Ministre! . . . I haven't heard . . . or seen a thing!"

"Well spoken, Doctor! Perhaps not! Perhaps not! . . . then I must tell you that every single room in this hotel must be vacated tonight! . . . this very night! . . . empty tomorrow morning: let's say by noon! . . . Order of the Ministry! . . . and not a single one of these people must stay in Baden-Baden . . . have you many patients? . . . bed patients, I mean? . . ."

"Two . . . perhaps . . ."

They'll go to the hospital . . . Madame von Dopf will be going too . . ."

"To the hospital?"

"Wherever she pleases! . . . or the insane asylum . . . she's mad, you know . . . they'll come and get her tonight . . . don't tell her . . ."

"Count on me, Monsieur Schulze . . ."

"And you, Doctor, my instructions . . . you've been assigned to Berlin, the
Rekihsarztkammer
. . . Professor Harras will look after you there . . . you'll catch a train tomorrow, at daybreak, a troop train . . . I'll take you to the station . . . myself . . . don't say a word . . . to anybody! . . ."

"Oh, rely on me, Monsieur Schulze! I can take my wife, I hope? . . . and my cat? . . . and Le Vigan?"

"Certainly! Certainly! But don't see anybody else, understand? . . . and don't say good-bye to anyone . . . I'll have your three meals sent to your room this evening . . . and a basket lunch for the trip . . . and be ready tomorrow at the crack of dawn! . . . say five o'clock!"

"Certainly, Monsieur le Ministre!"

Those people over there in the other wing don't suspect what's in store for them . . . they're still singing . . . we can hear them . . . plenty . . . they're listening to another singer . . . a German this time . . . a really fine voice . . .

Vater! . . . O Vater!

Schumann . . . I never saw any of those Baden-Baden refugees again . . . I heard not so long ago that Amery had been hanged in London . . . London's made for it in a way . . . and harmoniums . . . and the ax too . . . with a hymn in between . . .

Ever since we left our rue Girardon . . . without music I must admit . . . pursued by those little coffins" ° . . . we've gone from bad to worse . . . I see a lot of fatheads, stuffed full of liquor and cigarettes and news-sheet bubbles, making light of such omens . . . grave omens! . . . and worse! Living higher and softer than under Loubet! ° . . . glutted on
True Confessions
. . .
House and Kitchen
. . .
The Healers Art!
. . . lovely future! . . . mechanized super-gibbons! . . . pithecanthropus with a degree! . . . just a minute! what about the trend of History? . . . maybe so! but oh, you pissy-panted hominids, maybe the shits wouldn't plague you so if you ate a little less . . . alas! . . . the trend of History through the asshole! . . . the details are pretty funny . . . let's laugh at the shocks and countershocks . . . like at the circus, bust a gut! . . . the atomic tremors from year to year, through mutations and myths! from Venus to Mars and the Moon . . . how far will we go? your health, sir! . . . specters! . . . thousand light-year trips! . . . as for me . . . I've made a slight start already, in a tin coffin, at the vertical, straight to Police Headquarters in Copenhagen . . . if I've come out for a little while . . . I have my reasons . . . try it yourself . . . petty larceny for instance . . . first shop you see . . . they'll give you a good taste of their "space capsule"! . . . Sure! Go on! . . . Get moving! . . . stick-in-the-mud tourist! you'll see places! . . . you'll have adventures to tell about! . . . picturesque! . . . real experiences . . . my Achille, 0 for instance, my ageless philanthropist, he's a glutton for them .. .

"Haven't you finished yet, Céline? You owe me millions! . . . don't forget it!"

Last month they celebrated his birthday, his "ageless day". . . He'd been strabismic and deaf, well, pretty near, so long . . . that nobody paid any attention to bis infirmities . . . everybody'd seen him bumping into the furniture and asking you to repeat things so long they'd stopped noticing . . . but his "ageless day" was moving even so . . . delegations of employees and editors, moguls of literary movements . . . with brass bands in the lead, and followed by three four symbolic nylon coffins decked out with brassieres and black stockings and wreaths of immortelles with big ribbons . . . "to our dearly beloved Achille" . . . one of the coffins was full of rattles . . . another of "heavy" francs . . . the next of eyeglasses . . . naturally a month's vacation for everybody that wasn't on vacation already . . .

All in all, I could see, his "ageless day" was a big success . . . that special number of the
Compact Review
 ° . . . "He is ageless, he will last forever" . . . had done him a hell of a lot of good, a good strong shot of viciousness . . .

"You're not through yet?"

"No, Monsieur Achille, not yet."

"Especially no philosophy! no intelligent remarks! watch your step! my cellars are full of them! . . . I chuck them in the Seine! . . . whole storehouses, bargeloads, myriatons of 'sage remarks'! about everything! in manuscript and printed, hyper-intelligent! even sadistic, flagellant, bloody! stale spice, Céline! . . . my 'ageless day' gave me pleasure, but think of my remainders . . . labor of Sisyphus, pushing that junk, getting it to the top of that grueling hill, ready to come down and crush the reading public, those belching monsters, instead of falling back on my own neck! try! . . . to understand, Céline! remember you owe me astronomic sums! . . . Shun! shun intelligence as the sardine shuns the hawk! . . . stay away from the precipice! . . . beware! I'm ageless now! ageless! . . . Definitely!"

You can see that I'd better cut him short . . . In spite of his "agelessness" and his
Compact Review
Achille is in great peril . . . I'll hurry you back to Baden-Baden! forget what I've been saying! idle comments! jeremiads, good-bye! we're at the Simplon again . . . remember? . . . well, surprise! . . . no sooner back in our room than
knock knock!
, somebody at the door. . . Madame von Dopf! . . . all the lights are out . . . hard to find your way . . . landings and corridors . . . she'd looked for us number by number . . . with a candle . . .