Castle to Castle (12 page)

Drive a car, Suez or no Suez, and you exist . . . in Versailles it was how many carriages, today it's how much horse-power . . . Versailles, Kremlin, or White House . . . are you somebody? or aren't you? . . . Professor, Commissar, Minister . . . how much horse-power? . . . you
a
success? . . . yes or no?. . . fibroma? . . . who cares? . . . cancer? . . . no, what type of body? that's what counts . . . what type of suspension? . . . Versailles . . . Windsor . . . White House . . . Cairo . . .

I'd like to see Louis XIV with a social security card-holder . . . he'd see if the State was him . . . think of the millions that the smallest subscriber represents . . . ah, Louis Drag-ass . . . think of it, Louis Soleil, scared even to change his surgeon! more dead than alive! . . . question of etiquette! . . . your social security slob thinks nothing of firing you . . . of calling you a putrid fish! . . . your recommendations? . . . don't make me laugh, you old clown . . . all I want out of you is "sick leave"! sign . . . affix your stamp and good-bye . . . you old parasite! "A week, see . . . a month . . . and step on it . . . damned old clown! your stamp! . . . your prescriptions? . . . ha ha! . . . I've got whole drawers and shit-houses full of prescriptions . . . and better than yours . . . the greatest masters and professors and chiropracters of Neuilly, St. James, and Monceau! . . . you should see their waiting rooms . . . the carpets! the lawns! . . . the nurses . . . twenty dictaphones . . . well, even those demigods . . . we wipe our ass with their prescriptions . . . where does that leave
you?
. . . your stamp! . . . quick! don't look! . . . sign! . . . so long!"

I shouldn't mention it, but it's just too funny . . . most of the patients I see spend more on tobacco than we do on everything included . . . I mean Lili, myself, the dogs, and the cats . . .

One of my meanest drunks brandishes her bottle over my head . . . and under my nose . . . the red stuff . . . she defies me . . . I told her to stop drinking . . . "She might kill her little girl . . ." I ought to have her locked up . . . "You know, Doctor, she's dangerous, can't you do something? . . ." If I had her interned, she'd escape, she'd come back and do me 
in . . . that's how it is
with drunks. I was drunk. I didn't like
him." And that's that . . . What Tartre and God knows
how
many others have been trying to do for years, knocking themselves out, jerking off, sweating blood and poison, turning heaven and earth and hell! But my drunken floozy was right there, all ready . . . my dogs were ready, too . . . especially the bitches . . . I only had to say the word . . .

Good Lord . . . leave her to the bottle? lock
her
up?
I just
didn't want to see her any more . . . I advised her to take another doctor . . . she was the only one who refused . . .
she
didn't want another doctor . . . only me . . . she didn't insult me, she only wanted to kill me . . . and for me to take care of her warts . . . burn them . . . every second time I refused . . . she always came back . . .

You've got to think of everything . . . what about my
dogs? . . . it's
a miracle if
they haven't eaten
a
patient . . .
two
patients . . . knock on wood . . . The garden is enormous and on a slope . . . when the pack goes rushing down . . . howling . . . it's enough to chase away all the patients in the world . . . not to mention the squawk from the neighbors . . . because when they start barking it's something . . . and the harder I yell at them the louder they roar . . . they answer back . . . when I'm expecting patients, you can imagine . . . between two and four I take the whole pack up to the attic . . . they bark from up there . . . louder!

Thinking it over, all in all, my pack doesn't help me in the neighborhood . . . but they protect me against no-goods . . . I'm suspicious of the people who pass . . . the ones I don't know . . . and the ones I know . . . they hear the dogs barking . . . they were casing the joint . . . they turn tail . . . murderers don't care for risks . . . they're more patient about killing you than a bourgeois about buying Suez stock . . . I know a thing or two about murderers . . . I've known them here and there, all over, not just in prison . . . in life . . . five . . . six . . .
arrgh! arrgh!
. . . they're gone! . . . I'm not very long on confidence, I haven't any confidence in anything. When I was in Pavilion K in the Vesterfangsel, the barking . . . this is nothing by comparison . . . not just the prisoners in the
pip-cell
. . . all the dogs in hell let loose until morning . . . mastiffs . . . how many? . . . a hundred . . . two hundred . . . that prison was guarded all right . . .
intra muros
. . .
extra muros!
two years . . . for two years . . . I didn't sleep, I could hear them . . .The warden had no confidence . . . Why should I? Prison is a school . . . you've been? you haven't? . . . that's where you learn something . . . People who haven't been in stir are a lot of drooling, virgin ham actors . . . even if they're ninety and then some . . . they don't know what they're talking about . . . you hear them sounding off . . . what do they actually think? . . . "Hell, if only my luck holds out to the end! if only I can steer clear of it! . . ." Shitless . . . the big house . . . their obsession . . . Mauriac, Achille, Goebbels, Tartre! . . . that's why you see them so nervous, so alcoholic, from one cocktail party to the next, from one confession, one train, one lie to the next! from one cell . . . one asininity to the next . . . will that warrant, those handcuffs, La Santé, catch up with them . . . trembling . . . the one serious minute in their lives . . . the only one . . .
finish
blah-blah-blah!

So why should I trust anybody? One patient I'm not suspicious of is Madame Niçois . . . maybe I'm making a mistake? . . . no, with Madame Niçois . . . nothing to be afraid of . . . really harmless . . . but her gestures! . . . those gestures! . . . worse than my boozie-floozie . . . she doesn't threaten me, no . . . She doesn't brandish a bottle under my nose . . . but she thrashes around for something to get hold of . . . the gate . . . a bush . . . anything . . . she totters . . . she doesn't remember . . . she's absent, so to speak . . . weaker and weaker . . . she doesn't remember my path . . . she gets lost . . . oh, my dogs don't bother her . . . she doesn't hear them . . . she can't see much either . . . give you an idea of the condition she's in . . . well, believe it or not, what bothers her is that I don't make her pay . . .

As we were saying Madame Niçois gets lost on the paths . . . from Lower Meudon to my place . . . she's on her way to Saint-Cloud, the neighbors catch her . . . she'd almost reached the Bridge . . . looked funny to them . . . where could she be going? . . . she lives on the former Place Faidherbe, parallel to the lower road, the extension of the rue de Vaugirard . . . from her house you can see the water without any trouble, the Seine . . . the shore road . . . which reminds me . . . about a hundred yards away, after the Virofles highway, you'll see the famous old Restaurant, the Miraculous Catch . . . it's in a sad state . . . not much more than a memory . . . but the balconies are still there, where the cream of the cream used to banquet in the cool river breeze . . . no more trees on the island out front . . . turned into a factory . . . but in the distance you can see Sacré-Coeur, the Arch of Triumph, the Eiffel Tower, and Mont Valerien . . . but the diners are gone . . . blotted out . . .

Oh, the river traffic is still there . . . all the movement . . . the tugs, and the strings of barges, high-riding, low-riding, coal, sand, junk . . . one after another . . . downstream, upstream . . . from Madame Niçois' place you can see it all . . . she's not interested . . . question of sensibility . . . the movement of rivers touches you or it doesn't . . . the barges passing through the arches . . . hide-and-seek . . . from Madame Niçois' window up there you can see them coming . . . almost to the Ile des Cygnes . . . and on the other side . . .past Saint-Cloud . . . what a stretch of river! from the Pont Mirabeau to Suresnes . . . the diners' view! . . .

They were more sensitive than we are, hadn't turned into hysterical niggers yet . . . I only have to look at Achille and Gertrut . . . oh, they turn my stomach . . . but all the same, under their folds and wrinkles and watties, at the base, in the fiber, you can't help seeing a certain refinement . . .

The Miraculous Catch . . . those were the days when skiffs were in style and long striped jerseys, oarsmen with spike moustaches . . . I can see my father with spike moustaches . . . I can see Achille in a skiff . . . skull cap, jersey, and biceps . . . I see all the old-timers . . . ladies clucking as they rush for the boat . . . the circuit of "pigeon island" . . . rat-a-tat-tat! they're shooting . . . a rustling of silk, screams of joy and fright . . . silk stockings, flowers, fried fish, monocles, duels! . . . at the Catch, on those balconies over there, now fit to be chucked in the Seine! . . . a ruin . . .

I remember the pigeon-shooting as if I had taken part . . . the poplars in the wind! When I think of all the smacks I caught for misbehaving on the
bateau-mouche
. . . from Pont-Royal-Suresnes . . . that was a real
bateau-mouche!
none of your newfangled imitations . . . that whole boat was full of smacks and wallops . . . the education of the day . . . clouts, kicks in the ass . . . nowadays it's all so progressive . . . modern children are "complex and cute" . . .

Yes, the fancy diners of the day had quite a view . . . not only Mont Valérien and Sacré-Coeur on the other side, but the whole valley of the Seine, the loops . . . I've got the same from my window where I'm writing you, I can't complain . . . and Longchamp too, the grandstands . . . directly opposite . . .

Ah, I can hear the old men talking . . . they talk as if they'd been there . . . the liars! they weren't there at all . . . me? . . . with drawn saber . . . the last July fourteenth review . . . the whole garrison . . . plus the eleventh and twelfth cuirassiers . . . charging . . . the last charge, you could say . . . since then there hasn't been anything but parades, promenades, rehearsals for Sacha . . . no more army . . . no more Miraculous Catch . . . or real
bateau-mouche
, or children who respect their fathers . . .

I'm getting sidetracked . . . maybe getting on your nerves? . . . I was telling you about Madame Niçois . . . going down to see her . . . I said the Catch was a ruin . . . but her place . . . a miracle that it's still standing! an afternoon's work for a bulldozer! . . . stairs, roof, windows! and my shanty? I should talk . . . all that dates from before 1870 . . . long before . . . the landlord refuses to repair anything . . . he's waiting for Madame Niçois to pass on, he'll sell the whole place . . . no other grounds for "eviction" . . . she pays her rent on the dot . . . sure, the landowner is a dog, a ferocious crook, anything you like, but a receipted bill is a receipted bill!

Egotistically I've got to admit that it didn't suit me one bit to go down to Madame Niçois' . . . and the dogs? I locked them up in die attic and tied them . . . crash! I could see them smashing the windows and flinging themselves on Madame Niçois! . . . yes, from the fourth floor . . . absolutely . . . they were raving wild to tear her to pieces! . . . couldn't stand her gestures . . . clinging to everything . . . or nothing . . . arms in the air . . . staggering . . . spinning . . . like a leaf in the wind . . . she wasn't supposed to go out . . . I'd 
told
her often enough . . . I gave her my arm to take her home . . .

The sedatives befuddled her too . . . naturally! . . . I'm against drugs, but they're necessary in one case out of a hundred . . . Madame Niçois was that case . . . her disease developed very slowly . . . a form that strikes old people . . . not clearly definable . . . but spreading . . . with constant bleeding . . . oh, taking care of her, escorting her, so to speak, took infinite precaution . . . layer by layer of gauze separately . . . fine, delicate dressings . . . and as little morphine as possible . . . and never getting better, always bleeding a little . . . "Oh Doctor, doctor, take it out . . ." "Oh, Madame Niçois, come, come . . ." It's incredible, impossible the subtlety, the tact you need to treat cancer in old people . . . Alas, alas, I know all about diplomatic subtleties . . . I've been around the embassies . . . grotesque lumpishness compared to what it takes if you don't want your cancerous old woman to throw you out . . . you and your ointments . . . your hopes and your doodads and heat pads . . . The problem with Madame Niçois was to make her keep quiet, stay home, stop coming to see me . . . her condition wasn't improving . . . it couldn't . . . one day she'd fall down and never get up again . . . it wouldn't be long . . . Pétiot! Landru! Bonnot! Bougrat! . . . I was lucky if they didn't blame me for Dien-Pen-hu . . . for the fall of Maubeuge in 1914-15 . . . Naturally they'd say I'd finished off Madame Niçois . . . it was in the bag . . . didn't Tartre and a hundred well-informed periodicals accuse me of selling the Straits of Calais? . . . I was used to it . . . But Madame Niçois on top of all that? Hell! if she passed out on the path? . . . no . . . I can still get around . . . sure . . . but down to the Seine? . . .no! . . . the people down there have read all about me . . . all the posters . . . the names they called me . . . consequence: "You see that old fogey? . . . etc. . . ."

Ah, it's not only my crimes . . . In addition, and maybe worst of all . . . there's the way I'm dressed . . . you can't expect me to have a new suit made for the critics of Lower Meudon . . . they don't think I look right? . . . if they could only see themselves the way I see them! . . . the explosion would be atomic . . . puffs of neutron . . . hideous horror . . . heads! souls! asses . . . absolutely . . . but what about Madame Niçois? . . .