Castle to Castle (14 page)

There were a lot of us taking the air . . . a cruise like that was just the thing for our little asthmas, whooping coughs, bronchitises . . . Pont-Royal-Suresnes . . . the shops, the streets of central Paris . . . Gaillon, Vivienne, Palais-Royal . . . were all full of pasty-faced kids who breathed only on Sunday . . . Opéra . . . Petits-Champs, Saint-Augustin, Louvois! . . . all aboard for the cure! . . . pour out of those back rooms! . . . And get the full benefit! . . . Breathe! Breathe! Pont-Royal-Suresnes.

When it comes to asphyxia, our Passage Choiseul was the worst of the lot, the unhealthiest: the biggest gas chamber in the whole City of Light . . . three hundred gas jets working around the clock . . . child-raising by asphyxia . . . the Seine was better, you've got to admit . . . the cure! . . . cruise or back room, the clouts were the same . . . in those days the "program" wasn't revised every week! oh no! . . . but clouts or not, the air, the foam, the propeller, the swell, the great seething eddy of bubbles, it was a paradise! . . . and "the gulls, mama!" bang! . . . "don't lean over!" especially when we got to Boulogne, the kids couldn't keep still! the Bois! . . . the air was too heady! . . . the mothers couldn't keep up with them . . . you'd see them weeping . . . sobbing . . . all over . . . on every bench . . . "Clémence! Clémence! . . . Jules, where are you? . . ." A certain amount of order was restored after the Point du Jour . . . the lads calmed down some . . . there were no more trees . . . only houses . . . the return trip . . . the Paris air . . the Pont de l'Alma . . .

But say, I'd better go easy, I'm forgetting about you . . . telling you stories of childhood . . . I didn't go down there to get you mixed up . . . I'd better watch my step . . . as I was telling you, my sight's a little blurred . . . the former Place Faidherbe and the riverfront . . . but all the same, I see people . . . some kind of people . . . and the 
bateau-mouche
 . . . oh! the 
bateau-mouche
 much more clearly . . . no Illusion about that! . . . and all these characters coming and going . . . crossing the square . . . and coming back . . . I may be fuzzy, but I can still see the boat's name: 
La Publique
 . . . and its number: 114 . . . those are the facts . . . While I'm about it, I look around . . . all around the former Place Faidherbe . . . the shops . . . not a single one open . . . or lit . . . not a showcase . . . but I see distinctly that this 
bateau-mouche
, 
La Publique
, isn't the present model . . . far from it! . . . like the ones I see from my window up there, crammed with tourists . . . I've told you about that, haven't I? . . . or even the 1900 model . . . this one's a real antique, practically all wood . . . and another thing that puzzled me . . . the way I could see these people coming and going . . . it was dark . . . it was black night . . . not a lamp lit . . . neither on the square nor on the road . . . and the shops . . . no neon lights . . . I'd better watch myself . . . and not get everything balled up like Madame Niçois . . . neon, shop windows, gas jets! how can I expect you to keep track? . . . anyway, this coming and going . . . by twos . . . and threes . . . no doubt about it . . . the feel of the air? . . . it was almost cold . . . the visibility? I could see the other side . . . yes, the opposite bank! . . . the island! . . . and the factory! . . . the whole factory . . . while I'm about it, as long as I've come down here, I look at everything . . . and up in the air . . . the sky . . . I try to see . . . nothing . . . stars? . . . I'm not sure . . . blinking lights? . . . maybe planes . . . no! it was just plain dark! The kids had smashed them all . . . so if there was a certain glow, it didn't come from the moon or the lamps on the riverfront or the reflections in the water . . . my bug is reason! . . . I've got to find an explanation . . . I'm a doctor . . . I take it seriously . . . I can't stomach the abnormal . . . a fact is a fact . . . either it is or it isn't! . . . 
vide latus
 . . . well, maybe a certain phosphorescence if you want to call it that? . . . a very subtle phenomenon! The few times in my life that such subtleties . . . anomalies! . . . have come my way . . . they still give me the creeps . . . I'm positivism personified . . . a fact is a fact . . . This 
bateau mouche
? A mystery? . . . To hell with that! I'll turn it over . . . keel up . . . I'll examine the bottom . . . and all these people . . . phantoms or not! . . . and the island across the way . . . and the factory on it . . . I'll sink it to see if it floats! the factory! ah! ah, the world wants to laugh! I'll give you something to laugh about! . . . but the opposite bank? I see it more clearly than this one! better than in broad daylight . . . I even saw the 
Heraclitus
 on the opposite shore . . . a real barge, no hocuspocus . . . with washing hung out to dry . , . and food being cooked . . .

Ah, and that wasn't all I could see over there . . . the beach with the little poplars too, Billancourt . . .

Well anyway, strange as it may seem, I'd come down here to see if it was a dream or not a dream . . . hot air, people, bubbles, or Christopher Columbus? Cortez? . . . ectoplasm or nothing? . . . I had to make sure . . . I'd brought my Agar down . . . if he barked . . . it was people . . . he didn't go 
in for mirages! . . . hey! he was sniffing . . . he kept sniffing at them . . . what does that make me look like? . . . I tried to stir him up: 
ksst! 
Agar! . . . Agar! . . . 
ksst!
 . . . nothing doing . . . him, the accomplished noisemaker . . . the neighbors' scourge! . . . "He's making our life unlivable . . ." All right, I've had enough of this! I barked myself to get him started . . . 
bow wow!
 to make
 
him
 
answer me! Go lay an egg! . . . he sniffed at these passersby, that's all . . . if he were willing to bark, Lili would hear him . . . that would give her some news of me . . . we'd been gone for quite some time . . . you could hear the sounds of the Seine and the riverfront very nicely up there . . . if Agar barked, all, the other dogs would answer him . . . you hear everything fine up at our place . . . sound rises! . . . the factory whistles, the bells, the kids yelling, the clanking of the dump trucks . . . everything . . . but Agar just doesn't feel like barking . . . he makes as much noise as a tugboat . . . when he feels like it . . . But now . . . nothing! he sniffs . . . at all these people, one by one . . . and the gravel . . . and then he pisses . . . and goes back to sniff . . . If that's the way it is, I'll shout up at Lili myself . . . up in the direction of Bellevue . . . "Ho, Lili . . ." I've got a bit of voice myself . . . take my word for it . . . a rifle-range voice . . . the voice of the Twelfth Cuirassiers . . . "Ho, Lili!" . . . it carries at least to the Porit d'Auteuil . . . I can hear myself . . . the echo . . . At that exact moment, a hand! a hand touches my arm . . . I don't turn around . . . Agar sniffs hard . . . harder . . . I turn around . . . somebody . . . a kind of a clown-gaucho-boyscout, well, somebody in disguise . . . enormous fringed pants . . . felt hat with more fringes . . . hat, pants, short shirt . . . colored . . . all colors . . . a cockatoo . . . And those spurs! . . . an enormous hat, yellow, blue, green and pink, pulled down almost to the beard . . . that's right . . . a white curly beard . . . Santa Claus . . . this character was hiding his face . . . you couldn't see it . . . he was hiding . . . between his beard and the umbrella of his hat . . . What would you have done in my place? 

"Who are you?" I ask him . . .

But all of a sudden I knew . . . Christ Almighty! . . . I hugged him! It's him all right! We hug each other . . .

"Ah, it's you! It's you!"

We hug each other some more . . . It's Le Vigan!° Christ, am I happy! Le Vigan! Here!

"It's you . . . it's you! . . ."

Honest to God, it's him . . . talking of surprises . . . right here, in this clown's rig . . . Le Vigan?

"Where have you been?"

"What about you?"

It's a fact, we hadn't seen each other in a long time . . . since Siegmaringen . . . a long time . . .

We'd both been hunted down . . . full time . . . and in court . . . he'd been heroic . . . the way he stood up to them . . . in handcuffs! . . . and defended me! . . . you won't find many like him . . . nobody, in fact . . . and the pack of jackals in the hall! . . . and they had to listen to him! . . . couldn't help themselves! . . . saying I was the only patriot! . . . the only real patriot! . . . and they were a lot of driveling, griping, poisonous hyenas!

Running into him there on the Quai Faidherbe! . . . Le Vigan! . . . Le Vigan . . .

"Well? . . . Well, Le Vigan, how about it?"

"Not so loud!"

I whisper: "You from the 
bateau-mouche
?"

I want to know all about it . . .

"Yes . . . yes . . . Anita too! . . . careful . . . not too loud . . . Anita, my wife . . . she's inside . . ."

Usually I catch on quick, but this was too much all at once . . . 
La Publique
, Le Vigan . . . Le Vigan done up like a gaucho! . . . with a white beard, when I thought he was in Buenos Aires . . . and with some Anita . . . Anita? . . . I couldn't quite figure it . . .

"She's inside . . . she's the fireman's helper . . . you don't know the fireman either?"

"No." Why would I know the fireman?

"You know him all right . . . of course, you know him . . . It's Emile! Emile of the L.V.F. . . . from the little Francoeur Garage . . . where you kept your motorbike."

That stirred up my thoughts . . . why yes . . . yes . . . the Francoeur Garage . . . in the alley . . . yes . . . that's it! Emile . . . the L.V.F. . . . my motorcycle . . . I almost remembered . . . sure, that's it . . . sure enough! who'd gone off to Versailles . . . and then to Moscow! . . . certainly! . . . we'd heard about it . . . and then he'd come back from Moscow . . . must have, or he wouldn't be here! . . . but how'd he get to be a fireman? here on the former Quai Faidherbe? . . . 
La Publique
? . . . fireman? . . . and Anita? and the admirable Le Vigan? . . . ah, good old Le Vigan . . . he's the cashier, he shakes his money pouch, he pokes it, what a pouch! . . . hanging down over his stomach . . . and clinking . . . he shows me . . . he opens it . . . full of gold coins . . . kind of like a game bag! . . .

"So you take the money?"

"I'll say . . . but hard coin . . . nothing else . . . no paper . . . Charon's bark! . . . what did you expect! . . ."

I didn't want to seem surprised . . . anyway it was all perfectly natural . . .

"Yes, yes . . . of course . . ."

"Charon's bark . . . you know . . ."

"Yes . . . yes . . . naturally . . ."

"Well, you see, this is it now . . ."

Naturally . . . why not? . . . 
La Publique
 was Charon's bark . . . It's all right with me . . . They call it 
La Publique
? . . . Fine . . . fine . . . I have no objection . . .

"Then these are all dead people?" Just trying to get things straight . . . "All those people getting in?"

"What else would they be?"

So they were dead people . . . fine! . . . I wouldn't ask any more questions . . . he was there, that was the main thing . . . and not dead! . . . not dead! . . . in this screwy get-up! . . . masquerading . . . with a beard! . . . and what a beard! . . . hanging down over his game bag . . .

"Where's your lasso?"

Why not, while he was about it? I'm tactless . . .

"Let's not talk about lassos! 
mazuma first
, son!"

The way he talks! and in English!

"Shekels, son! . . . and only sunbeams! . . . get that through your skull . . . and make it fast! Take it from me, Charon knows his business . . . hang around and you'll see . . ."

Friendly, isn't he?

"But just tell me this. How is it I can see you? . . . and the boat? . . . there's no light on the shore . . . look!"

A last shred of doubt after all . . .

"It's because you're just the one to see us . . . it's special . . . you wouldn't understand . . ."

A convenient explanation.

"And besides, I'm not allowed"

"You're not allowed? . . . and say, Agar not barking, is that special too?"

"Maybe . . . maybe . . ."

"You can't tell me that either?"

"No, damn it!"

Agar, the horrible blusterer, all of a sudden mute . . . discreet . . . special . . . am I supposed to believe that? . . . magic? . . . Agar . . . the boat . . . Le Vigan . . . all magic? . . . all dead? . . . sure . . . sure . . . why not? . . . even dead people are something . . .

I had to keep up the pretense: "Why'd you come back? . . . Couldn't make a go of it over there?" I knew his situation . . . It was still mighty dangerous for him around here . . .

"I couldn't take it any more . . . that's all . . . See?"

"Bored?"