Castle to Castle (26 page)

I know you haven't asked me . . . I'm just telling you what I think! . . . Turn Gaziere° into a Cossack . . . you'll have silent doctors! silent nurses! . . . my colleague Proseidon was there for fifteen years . . . in Paradise! . . . "For fifteen years I 'prescribed' . . . for fifteen years my patients took my prescriptions to the druggist . . . they always came back empty-handed . . . he didn't have any! . . . oh, he didn't protest . . . not a word . . . neither did my patients . . . not a word . . . neither did I . . . not a word! . . ." When Monsieur Gazier, the Cossack, really knows his job, there won't be a word left to say . . . we there in Siegmaringen hadn't got to that point yet . . . we still had ideas . . . pretensions . . . I protested about the scabies, the sulphur I was supposed to get . . . same as Herr Frucht protested about his toilet . . . he'd have liked it to work . . . My training wasn't nearly complete! Herr Frucht died insane, later . . . later . . .

Damn! back to my room! . . . the screwball surgeon and his victim bellowing under him . . . calling out to me: help! I had to do something, get that room cleared out! I say to Lili: "This has been going on long enough! We're going to the Castle! . . . I take Lili . . . Lili-Bébert . . . I had a permanent card . . . "Priority at all hours" . . . I've got to admit it . . . priority . . . Through the postern gate under the vault . . . the ramp dug out of the rock . . . you should have seen that vault! . . . that magnificent equestrian ramp . . . leading to the Upper Court! . . . the Trophy Room! . . . the vault was high enough for lances to pass through! . . . three, four squadrons could have climbed up easy, boot to boot! the spaciousness of a period . . . Crusades! Off the Upper Court, first door on the right, Brinon's antechamber . . . I leave Lili with Madame Mitre and I shake hands with the orderly, a soldier of France! a real one! oh yes! . . . decorated regiment and all . . . even the
Médaille Militaire
. . . like myself . . .
Tap
. . .
tap
. . . he knocks . . . he announces me . . . to speak with Monsieur Brinon! . . . he receives me right away . . . He's sitting there as I knew him on the Place Beauvau . . . and practically the same office . . . maybe not quite so big . . . minus the telephones . . . but the same face, the same expression, the same profile . . . I speak to him, I tell him very respectfully that he might perhaps? . . . etcetera, Christ! he knew all about . . . and a lot else besides! . . . those people read so many reports! and see at least a hundred cops a day! You can't teach them anything! . . . Sartine!° Louis XIV! Brinon knew everything people were saying about him . . . that he was really Monsieur Cohen . . . that his name wasn't Brinon any more than the cat's grandmother . . . any more than Nasser is Nasser! . . . little riddles for dinner plates . . . that his wife Sarah dictated all his policies . . . over the phone . . . ten times a day from Constance! . . . the croakers at the
Fidelis
were all laughing . . . and the listening devices in the bunkers . . . the police forces! . . . and Radio London! . . . the whole works! . . . he knew, and he could tell by looking at me that I knew . . . a time comes when there are no secrets . . . the only secrets are made up by the police . . . I'd come to talk about our room, could he kindly send a small detachment of police? I couldn't receive my patients . . . my bed was occupied . . . the whole hotel was overrun . . . the disorder was appalling! . . . I gave him the details about the nut and his nurse . . .

Brinon was rather somber in nature and expression . . . secretive . . . kind of a cave animal (as X put it) . . . in his office he'd practically given up answering questions . . . he wasn't stupid . . . I always had the impression that he knew perfectly well it was all a masquerade, that it was only a question of days . . .

"Oh, you know, a crazy doctor . . . he's not the only one . . . we know that out of twelve French doctors, supposedly French, supposedly refugees, ten are insane . . . really insane, escaped from asylums . . . in addition, listen carefully, Doctor, Berlin is sending us, you can be expecting his visit, a certain Trivat-Professor Vernier, 'Director of the French Health Services' . . . I happen to know, no surprise to me, my wife told me on the phone, that this Vernier is a Czech . . . and that he's been a German spy for the last seventeen years! first in Rouen . . . then in Annemasse . . . then on the
Journal Officiel 
. . . here's his picture! . . . here are his fingerprints! . . . as of today, he's your superior, Doctor! your superior! orders from Berlin! . . . if anybody's molesting you in your room take your complaints upstairs . . . the floor above you . . . to Raumnitz, You've been treating him . . . you know him! . . . see if he wants to take action! as far as I'm concerned, the Siegmaringen police, you know . . . all these police forces . . . bah!"

Brinon didn't want to get mixed up in anything any more . . . scabies . . . chancres . . . my tubercular women . . . the kids in Cissen that they were killing with carrots . . . or my screwball surgeon . . . he seemed to get a kick out of doing nothing . . .

"Ah yes, Doctor, one thing . . . I've got news for you! you've been condemned to death by the 'Plauen Committee!' Here's your sentence! . . ."

He reaches into the blotter and takes out a "notice" . . . same format, same wording as all the ones I'd received in Montmartre . . . same grounds . . . "traitor, in the pay of . . . . pornographer . . . Jew-baiter . . ." but instead of being in the pay of the Boches . . . it was the "Intelligence Service" . . . if there's anything really boring, it's these ferocious accusations . . . worse crap than love stories! . . . I can still remember later on, in prison in Denmark . . . I got them through in the French Embassy . . . or in the Scandinavian papers . . . they didn't knock themselves out! . . . all perfectly simple: "the unspeakable monster and traitor! . . . whom no words can describe! . . . my pen fails me! . . ." Always the same monstrous crimes: selling this and that . . . the whole Maginot Line! . . . the troops' underdrawers! . . . their shit! plus the generals! the whole fleet, the Toulon roadstead! the channel of Brest! buoys and mines! . . . auctioning off our Country! . . . Ferocious
"collabos"
or vicious purging "Fifis" . . . same difference . . . take it from me . . . London, Montmartre, Vichy, Brazzaville . . . all shady bastards! Bloodhound and Co.! . . . super-Nazi of the New Europe or London or Picpus Committee! watch your step! all looking for a chance to make meatballs out of you!

This way of slipping out from under . . . of leaving you high and dry! . . . what's the matter with me? . . . I was telling you that Brinon had no desire to get mixed up in this business with the screwball . . . why didn't I go see Raumnitz? . . . that didn't appeal to me very much . . . but after all . . . with the state our room must be in! . . . first I'd go see Madame Mitre . . .call for Lili . . . I've got to tell you about Madame Mitre's apartment . . . it was worth it . . . a collection of big and little pieces of furniture, console tables, stands, carved wood, torsades, gewgaws, Gorgons, chimeras . . . An auctioneer's dream . . . they'd have driven every antique dealer on the left Bank nuts! and nothing phony! all perfect Second Empire! . . . stained-glass windows, canopies! settees with ottomans! . . . circular sofas with green plants! a bathtub of chiseled copper with rococo foliage . . . a dressing table, also rococo, with a flounce, room enough to hide twenty hussars . . . tables, monuments of sculpture . . . angry dragons! and Muses! all the Muses! the Princes in their time had looted the whole rue de Provence, the rue Lafayette, and the rue Saint-Honoré . . . you might still find collections like that in the Empress' apartments in Compiègne . . . at Victor Hugo's place in Guernsey . . . or at Epinay for the lady with the Camellias . . . maybe . . . Lili and Madame Mitre were sitting there in style . . . Lili was happy in this "Imperatrice" setting . . . all women . . . I couldn't find fault with her . . . the
Löwen
, our corridor, our bed, and now in addition the lunatic . . . it was a lot for a woman to take . . . even a brave one like Lili . . . from Madame Mitre's windows you could see all Siegmaringen . . . all the roofs of the town . . . and the forest . . . you get to understand Castle life . . . the view from up there . . . the detachment of the nobles . . . the great beauty of not being serfs . . . we were serfs! . . . or worse! . . . I tell Madame Mitre about the hotel, our troubles with our room, and the pay-off . . . this lunatic surgeon! oh, she understands that I should complain . . . but! . . . but! . . . "There's nothing the Ambassador can do anymore, Doctor! . . . or the police! . . . He didn't tell you everything, Doctor . . . you know how discreet he is . . . believe me, you don't know the whole story . . . eight bishops in Fulda! . . . they claim to be French, and they demand to come here, to the Castle! . . . three astronomers in Potsdam . . . claim to be French! eleven 'Sisters of the Poor' in Munich! . . . six false admirals in Diehl . . . who want to come here too! . . . yesterday a whole convent of Hindu nuns, allegedly from the Comptoirs° . . . with fifty little Cashmere girls, supposedly raped and about to give birth . . . and we've got to find room for them here . . . little girls . . . or at the
Löwen
. . . or in Cissen! . . . plus three persecuted Mongols!"

Yes, definitely, that was a lot of people . . .

"You're not persecuted, are you, Doctor?"

"Ah, yes, Madame Mitre, very much so!"

"And what of the Ambassador, Doctor? And Abetz, Doctor! If you only knew! the denunciations! . . . How many would you say?"

"Oh, I don't know . . . a good many!"

"Yesterday three hundred! . . . of Laval! of ourselves! . . ."I can imagine."

"Three reports yesterday. Guess about what"

"Everybody."

"Not just everybody! about Corpechot! . . . and one report from Berlin! . . . that he had been seen in Berlin!"

"Oh, Madame, that's a lie! Corpechot never leaves the Danube! . . . he's guarding it, that's his mission! . . . he's not the man to desert his post! I vouch for him!"

"Even so, we have to answer! . . . the Chancellery! Would you care to write a few lines for me?"

"Oh yes, Madame Mitre . . . right away . . . I'lll tell them that Corpechot doesn't go A.W.O.L., certainly not!"

"Ah, my dear doctor . . ."

"Lili, we must go now. Say good-bye to Madame Mitre . . . Bébert! Bébert!"

Bébert, that's the word that makes her get up . . . "Bébert" means that well stop by at the
Landrat's
for his scraps . . . the
Landrat
was at the other end of the main street . . . I'll tell you about it . . . first what a
Landrat
is . . . a kind of an official, somewhere between a mayor and a sub-prefect . . . I take care of his cook . . . dyspepsia . . . very good family, good bourgeoisie from the old days . . . I also had a tenant of the
Landrat's
. . . ninety-six years old . . . my oldest patient . , . how witty she was! what refinement! what a memory! Christine de Pisan! Louise Labé . . . Marceline! She recited everything, everything! She recited just the way I like it:

Alone I have remained! 

Alone I am!

How true!

Even sweating and feverish as I was, I had no reason to think that this chill I'd caught on the riverfront, this attack, would go on for months . . . go lay an egg! I shook . . . ridiculous! . . . worse and worse . . . I was wringing wet, the whole bed was full of it . . . But even so I applied myself to writing . . . as best I could . . . I'm not the type to discuss working conditions . . . hell no! . . . that land of stuff is from after 1900 . . . "Must I do it, mama?" . . . Either you were born a lazy pimp . . . or a worker! One or the other! . . . Me there shaking the bed . . . how about getting to work all the same! . . .

"Good Lord, let's hope it isn't somebody coming!"

Noises nearby . . . the dogs too . . .
arrgh! arrgh!
. . . it's an obsession as you get older . . . to be left alone, absolutely alone! . . . Christ! . . . Lili's talking to somebody . . . the door is closed but I can hear . . . I listen . . . something about Madame Niçois . . . a neighbor woman . . . Madame Niçois seems to be cold . . . she's been complaining . . . "What can I do?" the neighbor woman asks . . . I sing out:

"An ambulance! Versailles! the hospital! Telephone, Lili! Telephone! . . ."

The door opens . . . Lili and the neighbor woman come in . . . which is exactly what I didn't want . . . I bury myself under the blankets . . . under the mountain of overcoats . . . I don't remember how many overcoats! I'm poor in everything, but Christ! not in overcoats! That's what people who see our misery send us . . . they keep sending them . . . overcoats! they always have too many . . . oh, not overcoats you could wear, absolutely threadbare! you can't go out in them, but in bed with a fever you're very glad to have them! really not too many . . . low-cost central heating . . . we have so much trouble with ours that runs on gas . . . it ruins us! . . .