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through one another. Without disturbing the silence - indeed, it seemed that the silence was all the greater - a movement began to shake the entire bed in a rhythm that at first seemed gentle and soothing but that eventu ally became insatiable. Thomas felt the vibrations and experienced a sort of nausea that obliged him to rock back and forth from right to left in a rapid motion. The prisoner had turned to look in his direction. The unfor tunate man must have been suffering terribly; the springs had pierced his sides, and he was lying atop knife blades and razors. "But I really don't wish you any harm," Thomas said to him, but at the same time, with his finger pointed to the skylight, he made a sign to him to rise. This skylight was easier to reach than he had thought. He held out his hand to the captive, and with his fingers entwined in these other enormous fingers, he helped him to stand up. He was astonished at his size. How big he was! One would have thought there were two men combined into one, so massive was his body. He moved toward the wall, and while only a small portion of the light from the window reached Thomas, this large man was easily able to look through the mica. What did he see? There was no way to ask him. The light was pleasant, but it wasn't the light of day, as one might have thought; it was the gleam of a gently burning fire that seemed to reach this point only accidentally. The window itself was there only by chance. It had been placed there out of a builder's whim or else according to a design that had since been abandoned. Viewed from up close, it ap peared even smaller than it had from farther away. It was possible to look through it only when one's eyes managed to catch the right angle through the slot. Thomas pulled himself up onto the shoulders of his companion. Blood had flowed from his wounds, but now it had dried. Now they were so tightly bound that they formed a single being, and Thomas had the impression that they could never again be separated. Through the skylight he could clearly see part of another room; its walls were covered with a glossy white paint, and the paving stones on the floor were white as well. The room was situated well below where Thomas was. It was buried deeply underneath the house, so deeply that all the other floors seemed to have been built in order to press it even farther down. It was not a cellar. On the contrary, it had been magnificently accommodated, as if it were meant to shine forth in broad daylight. Thomas immediately rec ognized the kitchens. A great fire burned in the hearth. On the wall were 30

hung pots and pans, which did not seem to be in very good condition and at which a rather aged and sickly man stared intently. It could be that since he was an invalid and could no longer perform any other tasks, they had entrusted him with guarding these utensils, but he put all his pride into fulfilling his function as no other could. And perhaps the task was actu ally very important. From time to time he took hold of an object, usually in a general state of ruin, looked it over, shook it, held it up to his nose, then hung it up again with all sorts of careful maneuvers. Obviously this man had a considerable duty to carry out. But those with less experience were incapable of understanding. Some kitchen boys, whose only point of pride was the blinding whiteness of their uniforms, stopped behind him and imitated his gestures with exaggerated seriousness. They took from their pockets some meager item and pretended to ponder it, passing their hands over their foreheads before putting it back into their pockets. Sec onds later they threw him to the ground and hurried away. Thomas did not understand everything he saw and would have needed some explanation. But the pleasure he took in observing was all the greater. Despite the distance between him and these prideful people, he felt less out of his element; he was attracted by a brilliant and tempting hope; his eyes had open ed wide onto something that was better suited to his vision than all the other things of the earth. Someone was rolling through the middle of the room a cart carrying huge steaming plates that could be opened and closed at will by lifting a hinged cover. The steam was very thick. The cook who stood by this mobile kitchen was twisting valves and spigots, and the steam rose majestically in a golden plume. What was sim mering in the pots was no doubt less precious than this steam -which rose slowly in billowing wreaths only to be sucked into a large pipe leading up to the higher flo ors - for a kitchen boy, shabbily dressed, emptied the con tents of the dishes from time to time into crude containers. The cook was not dressed in a very nice uniform either; he wore enormous boots that seemed to be covered with unspeakable filth, but the solemnity of his bear ing, the slow deliberateness of his gestures, and, above all, the brilliance of his face when he approached the ovens gave him an importance that was immediately recognizable. He did not cease to inspire a great deal of re spect in Thomas. How nice it would be to stand at his side and to watch his work more closely! The activity to which he devoted himself appeared to be very monotonous and required few fine qualities. He stood upright, 31

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his arms crossed over his chest, his head slightly tilted in order to smell the vapor given off by the dishes, and when he turned aside for a moment, finding himself in the ordinary atmosphere, his face lost all expression; he looked neither happy nor unhappy; he was only an aging man who had difficulties breathing and moving. Thomas closed his eyes. "Would it not be better," he said to himself, "if I tried to go home." He felt his appetite growing and was afraid that they would forget to serve him for good. "When are we going to eat?" he said very quietly, bending down toward his companion. He did not wait for an answer and turned back to the kitchen. The spec tacle did not hold the same interest as the first time. Around a table stood men dressed in large white aprons washing dishes. In the center of the table was a hole filled with water. They threw all sorts of containers into it at ran dom and pulled them out just as quickly; each one worked with care, but the water was so filthy that, despite the rapid pace of their gestures, the im plements always soaked too long in the waste and were covered with greasy spots that could no longer be wiped away. These implements interested Thomas because they did not resemble the ones used in his own country. Everything was more highly perfected. The bowls had an indentation for the lips, and a mask, attached to the rim of the porcelain, allowed one to breath the hot steam while the liquid poured into the mouth. The mask was skillfully painted, and to look at it, one could only think that the presence of a fellow dinner guest was perhaps unnecessary. Some of the pots and pans - there were all shapes and sizes of them shone brightly in the gleam of the fire. None was the same as any of the others, and yet they seemed to be the parts of an important machine that could only vaguely be imagined as a whole. It made one think of an in tricate ensemble of metal with cogs, gears, and chains. It could no longer simply be a question of cooking. At this instant, steps sounded in the hall way, and the door opened. There was no time to jump down. The two men fell like a block, and Thomas found himself on the floor half crushed by the enormous body of his companion. He suffered from bruises, but he suf fered even more from being caught like this. How could he have behaved so childishly? It was frightful. The young man was astonishingly light on his feet as he stood up, and Thomas too was quickly upright. Before him was one of the maitres d'h6tel holding in each hand a coffeepot and gazing at him with a rather grave expression. Thomas cast him a harsh look in 32

return; there was no room for any but the most serious things. As soon as they were seated - and now the young man obediently followed all his movements - the maitre d'hotel approached and filled the cup. The brew was very hot; the odor it gave off seemed to seep into the entire room. Thomas could not hold back a smile, so great was his pleasure in this sweet smell. "Is this drink prepared in the underground floors?" he asked. But he soon stopped smiling, for his only thought now was to bring the cup to his lips. The liquid scalded him. It was not the heat that attacked his throat and entrails. It was the acrid odor, something intense and corrosive. He drank it all in a single draught without even leaving any residue in the bottom of the cup. Although he had a vague notion of the crudeness of his behavior, he was unconcerned for the moment with any idea of restraint. "Can I drink a second cup?" he asked hurriedly. There was no answer, and yet an answer was what he wanted. Even be fore he could look up to stare at the maitre d'hotel, his cup was full; the steam was rising in thick plumes, and there was nothing left but to drink once again. "Another cup?" asked the maitre d'hotel when Thomas had finished. He had no s ense of what was impertinent in this question. This time the brew seemed to him rather insipid and lukewarm. His lips absorbed only the flavor of a liquid that has been exposed too long to the air and has gone stale. The maitre d'hotel stood opposite him in a slight bow. He was not as lively as he was when he had come before. He was like a man who has ful filled his duty and devoted all his strength to it. Thomas had the impression that now he could easily enter into a conversation with him. He hesitated. What questions could he ask? What explanations could he hope for? Was not everything quite clear from a certain point of view? He turned to look at his companion, who in turn stared at him with frightened eyes. Such sad looks. It was as if he were contemplating his very self in his solitude and abandonment. He noticed that the door had remained partly open and that a thin shadow was cast across the floor. Was there someone standing hidden in the hallway? Outside the room there was silence. Everyone had returned to their rooms, and they were not permitted to walk about. He stared straight ahead. It was less the shadow that interested him - at times it blended in with the shadows of the hallway- than the lightly colored boards of the door. They were almost white, and a few lines in a uniform, 33

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but very fine, handwriting had been traced across them. He knew that the night before his eyes had already been struck by this brief notice; then he ceaselessly returned to it, though it was barely visible; but now the light al lowed him to see more clearly the general movement of the writing. It was very small and slanted; only a few words stood out clearly, and he could read them without difficulty: they were the words invited and regulations; the rest was illegible, as if nothing except these words had any importance. Thomas was of another opinion. As the maitre d'hotel stood leaning over the table, perhaps awaiting an order that could only come from some one of the house, it seemed as if he had no more interest in anything hap pening in the room. This was no doubt true; what was there that could interest him here? But Thomas also felt his sinister gaze - a gaze that re vealed nothing, that simply rested on the things before it -weighing on him and preventing him from continuing to the end of his reading, al though this same gaze suggested that he should read everything, without leaving out a single word. This was the moment to address him. "Say, what is that written on the door?" he asked. The maitre d'hotel straightened up briskly and regained some of the re laxed demeanor he had had before. He rushed to the door and pretended to decipher the lines, as if-what hypocrisy! - he had not always known them by heart. Then he turned around, repeating loudly in a guttural and unpleasant voice what he had first read to himself. It was a reminder: You are invited, in accordance with the regulations, not to forget the staff. Was it possible? Thomas did not want to go so far as to accuse the reader of altering the text, but by emphasizing certain words -and to hear him, one would think that only the last terms mattered -the maitre d'hotel could have given a completely different meaning to the text. Wasn't regulations the most important word? And wasn't the word invited given special em phasis, either in order to underline the optional nature of the observation, or else to reinforce the well-meaning advice and to make of it something more than an obligation? Not to forget the staff, that went without saying; besides, the staff itself made sure that it would not be forgotten. The maitre d'h6tel, having finished his reading, remained standing next to the door, looking at his client in a humble but scornful way, for his hu mility seemed only to be a reflection of the very modest person he had before him. Thomas withstood this gaze. He was struck by the expression that spread over the face of the old man. Had the latter noticed something 34

abnormal in the house? He continued to stare in a futile and petty way, but his face had become serious; it was not possible to look at it without trem bling, and it was tempting to think that the suspicion it brought to bear on the house fell right back onto it. Suddenly, there was a stampede in the stairway, then in the hallway. Everything seemed to be responding to a call that Thomas now believed he had heard as well. Did this call concern him? Someone pushed open the door and the head of the first maitre d'h6tel appeared in the doorway. He addressed a brief and friendly greeting to Thomas, then signaled to his comrade, and both of them disappeared in an extraordinary hurry. Of course they had not taken the trouble to shut the door. Such was their negligence. Thomas noticed in the hallway a girl who, with a piece of cloth on the end of a stick, was hard at work trying to cut through the dust. She came in as soon as she noticed that someone had seen her. "Tell me, where are they going?" asked Thomas without thinking. "To the summons," answered the girl, as she began to push the dust cloth across the room. "Really? To the summons?" he said. "And what is involved in the sum mons?" "They read out instructions," she said, "and listen to orders." ''And you, m demoiselle," said Thomas, with an air of insinuation, "don't you need to listen to orders?" The girl began to laugh, as if this question were best treated distantly and with a light heart. "The orders do not come all the way down to me," she replied, pointing to the upper part of the house. Thomas felt he could trust her. "And who," he asked, "gives the orders?" "What a strange question!" said the girl, who seemed to be occupied solely with her work. "Ifthey did not give the orders themselves, how could they carry them out? Well now," she added, stopping in front of the two box springs, "what a bed you've got there! " She looked with apparent con sternation at the bloody sheets and the disgorged mattress. "That," she said, "was a real battle." She set aside her broom and bucket, and with a few handy gestures, she pulled off the covers and put everything back in order. Thomas watched her with pleasure. She was not like the others; wherever she went, she took away the dust and wiped out the traces of uncleanli ness. Obviously her worked remained superficial. There was still all sorts of garbage in the corners, and the bed had only been covered over. But the room was all the same a much more pleasant place to stay. 35