Castle to Castle (19 page)

Don't get nervous if I jump around . . . if I zigzag and come back . . . that whacky business with
La Publique
. . . suppose you'd been there in my place!

"still trembling?'

"No . . . no."

At a certain age . . . sixty-three . . . all you can do is say no . . . no . . . and clear out . . . courtesy demands it . . . you're one too many . . . how many times have people wished you dead in the last sixty-three years? . . . too many to count . . . you'd like them to put up with you for another few months? . . . one spring? . . . two? . . . yes, yes, but then first of all you've got to be loaded! rich! . . . rich! that's the main thing! . . . and well disposed toward your heirs . . . a living Santa Claus . . . and assure them in your will . , . holographic certainty, notarized, sealed, and registered . . . that everything will go to them . . . everything to Lucien . . . nothing to Camille . . . and that you're really feeling terrible! and that you'll never make another . . . because you're on your last legs . . . last gasp . . . last everything! that it won't be long . . . that your tongue is hanging out . . . coated with black and yellow plaster . . . well, maybe in that case . . . maybe? . . . they won't think you're such an abject horrible rapacious tyrant . . . though it's the unanimous opinion . . . but watch your step . . . remember you're living on borrowed time . . . puff and blow! . . . spit yellow! . . . limp! . . . if they make you get up . . . stumble . . . collapse! . . . send for the priest . . . extreme unction does wonders for the people who set all their hopes in you . . . in your last breath! . . . it's amazing the way a dying man can shatter a family's nerves . . . the cruelty of it! . . . can't he get it over with? . . . the sadism of the "last moments" . . . extreme unction, rain check . . . ah, you moribund slowpokes, you drive everybody crazy!

I've seen people dying all over the world, in the tropics, in the ice fields, in indigence and wealth, in the pen, in power, laden with honors, leprous convicts, in revolutions, in peacetime, in artillery barrages, in showers of confetti, every stop of the
de profundis
organ . . . the most harrowing, I think, is dogs . . . and cats . . . or the hedgehog . . . oh, that's my experience . . . for what it's worth . . . I haven't gone out of my way . . . believe me . . . I take no pleasure in it . . . if one night I found Madeleine Jacob . . . let's say in the last stages of cancer of the womb . . . I wouldn't be like Charon . . . not at all! . . . I wouldn't disembowel her, I wouldn't draw and quarter her, or hang her up on a hook by her tumor . . . to drain like a putrid rabbit . . . no, without any whorish coquetry à la Schweitzer or . . . Abbé Pierre . . . no, I can say . . . I can prove it . . . that I'm the good Samaritan in person! even with the most ferocious hater . . . the most furunculous spasmodic . . . that you wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole . . . Madeleine, for instance . . . makes you puke that she should even exist . . . a syncope of ugliness! As I live and breathe, you'd see me down my feelings! I'd pat and coddle Madeleine! play the ardent lover . . . like Abbé Pierre . . . or the apostle of the
"Tropic Harmonica Digest"
!

"Last moments?" . . . Not so fast . . . I'm feverish . . . Madeleine, Schweitzer . . . the Abbé . . .

I can see them coming . . . naturally . . . they exist! Madeleine, Schweitzer, and the Abbé . . . and I receive them . . . oh, not with Charon's methods . . . I wouldn't smash their skulls in a second time . . . make them die again . . . no . . . the exact opposite . . . all gentleness . . . thebaic tenderness . . . two c.c.'s of morphine . . . why not? . . . Sydenham said long ago (1650) that he could cure anything he pleased, any ailment whatever, with four or five ounces of opium . . . that's why I tell my colleagues: don't waste your opium . . . maybe there'll be a war . . . restrictions . . . they promise this . . . they promise that . . . but your death agony? . . . you can't expect Blablablah, to help you . . . later! . . . oh, of course! . . . as late as possible . . . when your time's up . . . your own little private supply . . . everything in its time . . . moderation in all things . . .

There's nothing moderate about my memory . . . not by a damn sight . . . it thrashes and shakes like my bed . . . and that Madame Niçois . . . look at this fit she's got me into . . . with her riverfront! . . . the chills! . . . the draft! . . . I've caught my death! . . . and all these tormented souls . . . and
La Publique
? . . .
La Publique
. . . I had plenty to hold against her . . . that capricious old bag with her cancer . . . all that gas-blowing on the riverfront with that gang of hoods . . . those insulting stinkers! "Peony" they called me . . . peony! . . . they dared! . . . the shameless bastards!

Ambassador Carbougniat,
°
as Vichyssois as Brisson, as much a Doriotist as Robert . . . you should have seen his tantrums . . . His Excellency! . . . don't send me to Vincennes! . . . boy, did he shake his Embassy bed, sixty-nine fits in a row, chewing whole mouthfuls out of his gobelins . . . it was really alarming! . . . looked like he was going to eat the whole Embassy . . . the furniture and the files . . . everything . . . They had to promise him a "super-class" job in the other hemisphere . . . he was getting sicker than me . . . having me there so near to him, in the Vesterfangsel . . . suffering agonies . . . because they didn't impale me . . . he claimed I'd insulted Montgomery . . . and the Führer . . . and Prince Bernadotte . . . you should have seen the letters he wrote to the Baltavian ministers . . . regular ultimatums! I've seen copies . . .

Lying here now in my fever, I tremble as much as he did . . . I wet the bedclothes . . . oh, but I'm not goofy enough to forget what I was . . . the prize package . . . the, gilt-edged quarry of the chase . . . Glory! Bravery! Supreme Flunkeydom! even here like this, worn to a frazzle, a tottering wreck, I still get the same effects . . . Line up on the line . . . no deviations . . . The living proof is that they throw me out of everywhere . . . invariably . . . like forty-five chancres . . . everywhere . . . everything . . . the one and only genuine shithead: Ferdinand!

And I've seen them all at work . . . with their asses . . . all smeared with vaseline . . . licking everybody's balls . . . I know their names and addresses . . . same as the addresses of my moving-men and would-be assassins! I'm still here, only one foot in the grave . . . and I know their ages . . . their birthdates, every last one of them . . . I say them over to myself . . . their birthdates . . . I see their big moments of happiness . . . kick! trample! . . . in a vision! . . . they'll be a thousand times worse . . . a thousand times luckier next time . . . they've said as much . . . they've taken their positions . . . some positions! . . . I see them . . . I see them . . . over 102° you see everything . . . fever must be good for something! . . . I never forget a thing! . . . never! . . . it's my nature . . .

Yes, of course . . . after eight months in the hole . . . I was falling apart . . . but I've told you that over and over . . . hell! . . . I'm boring you . . . Anyway, I've got other worries! my respect . . . my courtesy . . . go out to different people . . . Achille, for instance . . . him and his surplus profits . . . ninety million a year . . . not bad! . . . and already a billionaire! the superstinker! an army of flunkeys and flunkettes sticking their tongues in all his holes, but does that keep him from sighing and screaming and yelling? Torture! Bloody murder! It's not enough! the tongues aren't juicy enough! not enough gold nuggets in the books! they're burning him alive . . . his scribbler galley-slaves are leading him a dog's life! . . .

The fever's dropping . . . I'm really not raving any more . . . delirium? . . . delirium? . . . no, reflection! . . . "Destiny is Politics!" . . . that's right That's Bonaparte's opinion . . . okay! Communists? . . . Good, let's commune . . . Achille, for instance . . . tiller to the left . . . how much will he give next time? . . . everything and then some! . . . the Pontoise bridge and the Arch of Triumph! . . . and Mgr. Feltin, Lacretelle,° and all the choir boys! Lacretelle and Monsieur Robert if you like, with Article 75 on their asses, would they let so much as a fart or find anything better to do? . . . well? . . . I can see Loukoum, a prelate if ever there was one . . . the feebleminded are all for him! . . . his flabby vagina-shaped puss . . . so prehensile! . . . so sticky! . . .

I'm still hot . . . I'm slinging balloon juice . . . I'm sorry . . . No! Loukoum would be even more unbearable than all the stinkers from
La Publique
! If Charon saw him, he'd give up! No violence . . . he'd go soft . . . he wouldn't stir up his skull with his oar . . . Make him recite the divine Sade backwards? . . . Maybe . . .

I know . . . I know . . . I missed Charon! . . . If I'd stayed a minute longer, I'd have seen him! . . . Le Vigan and the others must have seen him . . . My excuse is . . . I felt the fever coming on . . . and I had another excuse . . . I'll tell you about it . . .

To hell with all that! . . . I can take you on an excursion with different people . . . delirium or not . . . a prettier place! . . . fever or no fever . . . really a very picturesque place . . . a tourist's paradise . . . dreamy, historical, and salubrious . . . ideal for the lungs and the nerves . . . perhaps a little damp near the river . . . the Danube . . . the shore . . . the rushes . . .

Maybe I shouldn't talk Siegmaringen up . . . but what a picturesque spot! . . . you'd think you were at an operetta . . . a perfect setting . . . you're waiting for the sopranos, the lyric tenors . . . for echoes you've got the whole forest . . . ten, twenty mountains of trees! Black Forest, descending pine trees . . . waterfalls . . . your stage is the city, so pretty-pretty, pink and green, semi-pistachio, assorted pastry, cabarets, hotels, shops, all lopsided for the effect . . . all in the "Baroque boche" and "White Horse Inn" style . . . you can already hear the orchestra . . . the most amazing is the Castle . . . stucco and papier-mâché . . . like a wedding cake on top of the town . . . And yet . . . if you'd take the whole business . . . the Castle, the town, the Danube to the Place Pigalle! . . . the crowd you'd draw! . . . the Ciel, the Néant and the Lapin à Gill wouldn't hold a candle to it . . . Christ, the tourist buses you'd need . . . the brigades of police . . . the crowd! . . . and all ready to pay!

In our time, I've got to admit, the place was gloomy . . . tourists, sure . . . but a special kind . . . too much scabies, too little bread, and too much R.A.F. overhead . . . and Leclerc's army right near . . . coming closer . . . the Senegalese with their chop-chops . . . for our heads . . . nobody else's . . . right now I'm reading the paper . . . they're weeping over the fate of those poor Hungarians . . . if we'd been welcomed like them . . . if anybody'd spilled so many tears over our misfortunes, we'd have been very happy, I can tell you! we'd have danced the polka. If those poor Hungarian refugees had had Article 75 on their asses, Coty wouldn't have kept them for dinner . . . hell no! . . . if they'd been plain Frenchmen from France, he'd have cut them in two on the spot . . . in ten if they'd been war cripples . . . especially with the
Médaille Militaire!
French sensibility is stirred by anything that's against France . . . the heart of France goes out to its professed enemies! masochistic to the death!

For us there in the attics, cellars, and broom closets, starving, I can assure you there was no operetta . . . our stage was full of men condemned to death . . . 1,142 of us . . . I knew the exact number . . .

I'll have more to say about this picturesque spot! it wasn't just a watering place and a tourist haven . . . tremendously historical! . . . A Shrine! . . . take a bite out of that castle . . . stucco, bric-a-brac, gingerbread in every style, turrets, chimneys, gargoyles . . . unbelievable . . . super-Hollywood . . . every period from the melting of the icecap, the narrowing of the Danube, the slaying of the Dragon, the victory of St. Fidelis down to William II and Goering.