Castle to Castle (50 page)

I've got to admit, it seemed like enough to me . . . seven . . . eight hundred pages . . . I'd reread the whole thing . . . and have it typed . . . and ship it out! . . . to Brottin or Gertrut! . . . which one? . . . who cares? . . . to the highest bidder! . . . birds of a feather! . . . to the one that's least scared of what people are going to say! . . . let him have it! . . . I've turned into a materialist? . . . hmm! . . . possible! . . . but not really! . . . my jealous thieving looters are certainly a lot worse materialists than I am! . . . and in my condition, sick, crippled, old, and broke . . . it would take a great big bank account . . . like Claudel, Thorez, Mauriac, Picasso . . .to put a little wind in my sails . . . an account at the Chase National . . . Like all real artists . . . wages or piecework . . . I'll always be miles behind Jimmy Higgins, laborer, not to mention the crummiest bone-setter! . . . and that's why I'm giving my fine work to the highest bidder! . . . eight hundred . . . twelve hundred pages! . . . hell! and double hell! . . . the grocer doesn't give a shit! . . . or the coal man! and they're the only people who count . . . austere and smiling and serious! . . . the price is the price! . . . metronomes of our existence! . . . Publishers? . . . much more to be feared! same mentality, but monsters! . . . plus every known vice! and to think you're totally dependent on them! . . . champion two-timers! their rackets are organized with such precision . . . so expertly tangled it would put you in the bughouse . . . three straitjackets . . . to try and figure it out . . . how they go about it . . . even a faint idea . . . from the distance . . . You ingrate! you who owe them everything! . . . and they never owe you anything! . . . their cars get bigger and bigger . . . maybe they'll let you hang on behind in your rags, with your tongue hanging out on the street! . . . out of pure kindness of heart maybe they'll deign to throw you a crust! . . . you're dying in the poorhouse? . . . splendid! . . . that's the least of your duties! . . . you won't even get a forget-me-not! . . . the orchids are for Miss Gash! . . . platitudes, you'll say . . . here's another platitude! . . . I can see the both of them hanging! and swinging in the breezes! swinging high and swinging low! Brottin and Moray! what a jig! . . . frozen smiles and monocles! I listen to progressive, committed people, Communists, Anarchists, Cryptos, fellow travelers, Rotarians . . . they're all nitwits! . . . "anti-boss" is all you need! . . . you've got him right there in front of you! you know what you're talking about . . . ! Your Commie dialectifies, splutters, and charges windmills! . . . But Morny and Brottin . . . exist! they exist! . . .

I'm not saying anything about my patients . . . I've stopped talking about them . . . I stopped counting on them long ago . . . they cost me money, that's all . . . if I weren't a doctor, I'd stop heating . . . I'd spend the whole winter in bed . . . I can't count on anybody or anything any more . . . lying in bed, I'd think about my stupidity . . . always been a victim . . . crusading for beans! . . . shit! . . . while other people cleaned me out of everything . . . including my manuscripts . . . and yes, thank you, they're doing fine! all my furniture to the Flea Market! . . . every land of injustice, I can say . . . I haven't missed one! . . . prison, sickness, wounds, scurvy! . . . plus the
Médaille Militaire!
. . . what about the resistants? you'll say . . . one of them jumped out of the window . . . Between 1914 and 1918 millions of people jumped out of the window! did you make much? no! and Jeanne d'Arc? in my bed I could think about the talents I had . . . that I squandered! for swine! . . . the strings to my bow! . . . I couldn't win! . . . if you're a real artist, it makes too many people jealous! . . . if they murder you, it's only normal! . . . I'm thinking of my apothecary jar on the rue Girardon . . . the purifiers went up, so drunk with patriotic fervor they couldn't help carting everything off to the Auction Rooms! . . . my friends and relatives, uncles, cousins, nieces . . . preferred the Flea Market! . . . they would have impaled me too, that would have been real pleasure! practically everybody has forgotten me . . . not they! not they! . . . the people who've robbed you never forget you! . . . or the ones who copy from you either! . . . hell! . . . they owe you their life! . . . Do you expect Tartre to come clean? "I, plagiarist and paid stoolie, I confess! I am his asshole! . . ." Don't count on it! . . .

More of my rancor! . . . you'll forgive me for being a little soft in the head . . . but not if it gets so bad that I bore you . . . me and my three dots . . . a little discretion! . . . my supposedly original style! . . . all the real writers will tell you what to think of it! . . . and what Brottin thinks of it! . . . and Gertrut! but what does the grocer think of it? . . . that's what counts! . . . that gives me food for meditation! Hamlet of the carrots . . . I meditate up here in my garden . . . a splendid view . . . a really admirable situation if you've got the wherewithal . . . but if you're the nervous jittery type, anxious about everything! . . . everything and all the time! . . . about carrots . . . and taxes . . . and everything else . . . to hell with the view! . . . dreaming isn't for you! . . . shit on the panorama! . . . delinquent the pauper who dreams! . . .

All the same, Paris catches the eye . . . the whole of Paris down there . . . the loops of the Seine . . . Sacré-Coeur far in the distance . . . up close Billancourt . . . Suresnes with its hill . . . and Puteaux between the two . . . Puteaux, memories . . . the Sentier des Bergerès . . . and Mont-Valérien, more memories . . . the Foch Hospital . . . come to think of it, why don't I put in an application? . . . I'd be all right at Mont-Valérien . . . I can see myself as governor . . . the governor of Mont-Valerien really has peace and quiet to work in! I can see his residence clearly with my spyglass, a really magnificent Greco-Romantic mansion . . . just what I need . . . that severe . . . military sumptuousness . . . with Doric columns . . . he gets the full benefit of the rising sun . . . and he's higher than we are, a good hundred and fifty feet . . . oh, don't feel sorry for the Governor of Mont-Valérien! . . . maybe we could get together . . . make an "exchange"? . . . wherever I go, I hear people talking about "exchanges" . . . "will exchange this for that . . ." maybe my qualifications will be contested . . . maybe they'll say I haven't got Saint Pierre and Miquelon . . . that Laval is dead . . . and Bichelonne left no word, nothing in writing! . . . that there's no record at the Ministry of Colonies, and that my say-so isn't enough! . . . but look how sick and anemic I am, I could certainly use some sun . . . I really need it! . . . seventy-five percent disability! . . . I have rights! . . . Clemenceau said so . . . and wouldn't that be friendly Justice! and the guy that's governor up there is certainly younger than I am . . . up there in his Greek temple, I'd finally have some peace and quiet . . . I could work at my ease, no more in the way, no more cars, no more factories . . . the woods around the house . . . a little prison under my heel, for pests . . . the one Henry° committed suicide in . . . they're still arguing whether he really committed suicide . . . or if they didn't help him a little . . . take it from me . . . Mont-Valérien hasn't given up all its secrets! even with binoculars you can tell: all very enigmatic! . . . oh, you wouldn't catch me idle at Mont-Valérien . . . I'd make those cells talk! . . . and here, alas! alas! they don't leave me time to meditate! . . . harassed I am! . . . I wonder which would suit me better . . . Governor of Mont-Valérien? or Governor of Saint-Pierre? meditations . . . fat chance . . . especially these last few days . . . I've been really worried for the last few days . . . oh, nothing very serious . . . but . . . well, presentiments . . . actually a little more than presentiments . . . the postman told me . . . and a kid too . . . that Madame Niçois had come back . . . yes . . . that she's home . . . I didn't really believe it . . . that she's home from the hospital . . . back on the former Place Faidherbe . . . feeling fine . . . completely cured! . . . fine, so much the better! . . . I couldn't quite believe it, but if that's what they're saving . . . of course she might have let me know . . . maybe she doesn't want to see me any more? maybe she's taken another doctor? . . . zounds, she'd be perfectly right! . . . perfectly right! . . . I won't go so far as to say "good riddance" . . . but it would certainly suit me fine! . . . at a certain age, especially after certain hardships, you only want one thing: to be left alone! . . . or better still, you'd like people to think you're dead! in a recent poll on "what the young people think," they all thought I was dead . . . died in Greenland! not bad! . . . anyway, talking about Madame Niçois, I couldn't see myself traipsing down to the former Place Faidherbe, the riverfront, and climbing back home! twice a day!

Instead of hopping myself up imagining I'm Governor of Mont-Valérien . . . or of Saint-Pierre-Langlade over there . . . it would make a little more sense if I really asked the postman if Madame Niçois had really come home . . . he could find out in a second, he'd only have to go up and knock . . . she'd be there . . . or she wouldn't . . . anyway I was going to be alone again . . . Lili had to go to Paris . . . she never left me alone very long . . . of course she had to go now and then . . . errands . . . this and that for her pupils . . . especially her pupils . . . unbelievable the amount of slippers those pupils can wear out! . . . so Lili goes! . . . I stay home with the dogs . . . I can't claim to be really alone . . . the dogs keep me posted . . . they tell me the mailman's coming when he's still three miles away! or Lili's at the station . . . they know when she gets off the train . . . they never go wrong! I've always tried to find out how they knew . . . they know, that's all there is to it! . . . we knock our heads against the wall, we're mathematical idiots . . . Einstein wouldn't know if Lili was coming . . . or Newton either . . . or Pascal . . . all deaf, blind, and knuckleheaded . . . Flute knows too! my cat Flute . . . hell go to meet Lili, hell go down to the road . . . just like that, he knows . . . as soon as he starts moving, I'll listen . . . for the moment, nothing! . . . first his ears! . . . I'll know in plenty of time . . . a mile from the station at least! . . . it's all a matter of waves . . . dogs have waves, too . . . but not so subtle as Flute's . . . the birds' waves are even subtler than Flute's . . . ten miles away they register . . . they know! the birds are the kings of the waves! . . . especially titmice! . . . when I see them take flight . . . when Flute starts off . . . Lili will be practically in Bellevue . . . I'll tie up the dogs . . . because it's terrible if you let them gang up . . . your ears! . . . you can hear them in Grenelle! . . . but it's not time yet . . . I can still meditate awhile . . . that's how you know you're old, you never really sleep, but you're never really awake, you're always dozing . . . even when you're on tenterhooks, you doze . . . that's how it was, waiting for Lili . . . I must have been a little better than dozing, I didn't hear the dogs . . . and I didn't see Flute the cat take off . . . or the birds fly away . . . but now I hear something plainly! . . . coming out of my dream . . . a voice! a real voice! . . . it's Lili! . . . I listen hard! . . . yes, it's Lili! . . . oh, but she's not alone . . . two other voices! . . . the cats have come back! . . . there they are! . . .
purr! purr!
not exactly disinterested, to be sure . . . it's their day for liver! . . . they don't stir an inch from Lili! . . . welcome home! . . .
miow! miow!
but I heard three women's voices! I wasn't dreaming . . . my eyes aren't so good, but I'm not blind . . . I see Lili at the end of the garden, I recognize her perfectly . . . ah, and another lady! . . . and Madame Niçois! . . . yes, it's Madame Niçois! . . . they come up very slowly! . . . ah, here they are!

"See, Madame Niçois is much better . . . she came home two days ago . . . she wants to speak to you!"

"Oh, splendid! splendid! how are you, Madame Niçois?"

She comes closer . . . I can't see that she's so much better . . . it seems to me that she's even thinner . . . she's holding the other lady's arm . . . they've climbed all this way . . . I tell them to sit down on the other bench . . . Madame Niçois doesn't see any better than a month ago . . . she looks up in the air, over my head . . . not a thing! I can shout . . . she doesn't hear me . . . I'm curious to know what they did to her in Versailles? . . . the other one answers, the other lady, not the least bit embarrassed! ah, I can say without exaggeration that she was a talker! I don't know her, never seen her . . . where's she out of ? . . . she tells me . . .

"We met in Versailles . . . in the cancer ward . . . yes, Doctor!"

In case I doubt her word, she tells me again . . . she repeats . . . she and Madame Niçois had got to be very good friends . . .

"I was there for a breast, see, Doctor?"