Death on the Installment Plan (67 page)

“Answer me,” she menaces, “what have you done with my marshmallow root?”

He has no answer … she begins to lift the chair … she’s clutching the two struts … He sees her … He lunges over to the sewing table … picks it up under the drawer … They’re both nicely armed … This is going to be quite an argument … I take refuge in the chimney corner … He parleys …

“My sweet angel, please! My sugarplum, I beg you! Listen to me! Just a word before you get excited … Listen to me! … Don’t break anything … I sold it! God! I’ve sold it all!”

“Sold? Sold? What have you sold?”

“Everything! Yes, everything! Only this morning! I’ve been standing on my head trying to tell you! To the Lémenthal Bank … to Monsieur Rambon! You know him … The lawyer. There was nothing else to do! It’s all over! Liquidated! Washed up! Down the drain! Do you understand? Do you understand me now, you stupid old goose! That takes the wind out of your sails, eh? It calms you down, doesn’t it? Tomorrow, see! They’re coming tomorrow morning! …”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow? Tomorrow morning? …” she echoed. She was still in a dream.

“Yes, tomorrow. It’s all settled. All you have to do is sign the papers.”

“Oh, the blackguard! The monster! He’s tearing out my entrails! I’d never have thought it possible … Oh, what a numbskull I’ve been …”

She drops the chair, she slumps down on it … she lets her arms dangle, she’s out for the count … She sniffles and that’s all … She really wasn’t the stronger party, he’d got what he wanted … She looks across the table at him … that beastly lout over there in the distance … the way you’d look at a slimy octopus, a hideous monster in an aquarium … an incredible nightmare from another world … She couldn’t believe her eyes … There really wasn’t a thing she could do. It was no use trying … She gave up, she was completely beaten … She gave in to her grief … She sobbed so violently, she beat her head so hard against the sideboard that the dishes came tumbling out on the floor … A little thing like that couldn’t faze him … He pressed his advantage … He consolidated his position …

“Well now, Ferdinand? What do you say? Do you see? Do you realize … Now perhaps you’re beginning to understand what passionate intrepidity is … You see what I mean? Ah, my decision wasn’t made yesterday … it matured slowly, by God, and wisely … Examples? Epigones? We have plenty to offer you, madame. How many? Rafts of them. Illustrious examples! Take Marcus Aurelius! That’s right! What did that old bugger do? In very similar situations! Harassed! Maligned! Traduced! On the brink of succumbing under the welter of abject plots … of murderous perfidies … What did he do in such a case? … He withdrew, Ferdinand! … He abandoned the steps of the Forum to the jackals! Yes! In solitude! In exile! That’s where he sought his balm! That’s where he found new courage! … That’s right! … He took counsel of himself! And no one else! … He didn’t ask the mad dogs for their opinion! … No! Faugh! Ah, despicable recantation! … And what about Vergniaud?
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The pure, ineffable Vergniaud! At the hour of carnage, when the vultures gathered over the charnel house? When the sickening smell rose up? What did he do, that man who was purest of the pure? … the very heart of wisdom … in those ravaged minutes where every lie means life? … Did he take back his words? Recant? Eat dirt? … No, he mounted his calvary alone … Alone, he rose above the crowd … He withdrew … Alone, he ushered in the great silence! He was silent! There you have it, Ferdinand … I too will be silent, dammit all! …”

Des Pereires wasn’t a very big man. He pulled himself up to his full height to harangue me better … But he was wedged in between the stove and the big sideboard … He didn’t have much room … He looks over at the two of us … He keeps on looking … An idea was budding in his brain …

“Wouldn’t you like to … go out?” he says … “to take a little stroll? … I want to be alone … Just for a minute … There’s something I’ve got to do … Please! I beg of you! Just for a second!”

That was a mighty odd proposition, especially at that time of night! Standing there in the doorway, all shriveled in her shawl, the old girl looked pretty mean.

“So now you’re throwing us out? … Say, you’re completely nuts.”

“Give me at least ten minutes. I don’t ask more. It’s indispensable! Imperative! Urgent! It’s just a little favor I’m asking of you … Leave me in peace for a second! All alone for just a second … You won’t? It won’t be any trouble … Take a turn around the garden … It’s much nicer outside than in … Go on, go on! I’ll call you. Can’t you understand?”

He kept at it. He didn’t have any big cellar like at the
Genitron
for his meditations … He only had three little rooms to pace around in … They were so stubborn, so obstinate, so contradictious I could see they were going to tear each other’s hair out if I didn’t take the old girl away … She was the worse hothead of the two … So I take her out in the hall …

“We’ll come back in five minutes,” I tell her … “Leave it to me … Let him stew in his juice . . He’s a pain in the neck … Anyway, I want to talk to you …”

She insisted on taking her lantern … It wasn’t a very good time for a stroll … It was pretty chilly out … She was tearing mad, take it from me … She was really broken up … She kept wailing the whole time.

“Imagine his doing this to me! The swine! The pervert! The scoundrel! To me, Ferdinand! To me! …”

Gesticulating, she skirted the fence … She stumbled a little with her lantern … She kept mumbling insults … We came to some garden frames … There she stopped … Still wailing and sniffling, she wanted to show me … she lifted the big pulleys … She wanted me to take a good look at the shoots and the little blades that were coming up … and the fine soil …

“I planted it all myself, Ferdinand … All by myself … He didn’t do it, oh no! rest assured …” I had to look again … The little turnips … and the little slugs … and the saucer for the pumpkin… She lifted all the lids … all the frames … There was enough chicory for an army … We went around every bed … Then she was exhausted … She told me, as we went along, about all the trouble she had in times of drought … It was she who pumped the water, she who carried the pitchers … from over there … from the faucet at the end of the walk … Her misery took her words away … She sat down, she stood up … I had to go look at the big rain barrel and see for myself that it wasn’t big enough …

“Oh yes,” she jumps up again. “You haven’t seen his system … It’s mighty cute … His precious invention … You really haven’t heard about it? … Well, believe me it’s a nightmare … He outdid himself! Of course I was against it … what would you expect? … My oh my! I gave him a good piece of my mind! I raised hell! But it was hopeless! Absolutely hopeless. He’s as stubborn as thirty-six mules! He slugged me! Well, I didn’t exactly pet him either, believe you me! And what for? So he could destroy the whole good side of the fence … And eighteen rows of carrots! Yes, eighteen! … And twenty-four artichokes! … For what purpose? To build a shed! … You should see the state it’s in … A sow wouldn’t find her eggs … A garbage can, I tell you … a cesspool! That’s what he did to my garden …”

We started off in that direction, she guided me with her light …

It actually was a little shanty … dug into the ground, almost entirely buried … only the roof stuck out … Inside I looked under the tarps … nothing but rubbish … a lot of broken-down instruments … all in a complete mess … and a big dynamo, completely clogged and rusted … a gas tank bottomside up … a bent flywheel … and a one-cylinder motor … That was Courtial’s invention … I knew a little something about it … The “Wave Generator”! … It was supposed to make plants grow … It was one of his ideas … There’d been a whole special number of the
Genitron
devoted to “The Future of Agriculture Thanks to Radiotel-lurism” … He’d written three manuals and a whole string of articles (with eighty diagrams) … explaining its use … In addition he’d given two lectures in Le Perreux and one in Juvisy to convince small farmers … It hadn’t gone over … And yet, according to des Perei-res, with the help of a “Polarimeter” it was child’s play to radiate the roots of this or that vegetable or plant with those clusters of telluric rays which are otherwise ridiculously scattered, dispersed, and lost to the world! … “I bring you,” he said to them, “my subracinal spray, infinitely more useful than any water! An electric shower! Providential for beans!” According to him nothing was easier, with a small amount of equipment, than to make a salsify swell up to the size of a large turnip … The whole gamut of fructifying infra-terrestrial magnetism was made fully available! … Vegetables grown to meet the needs of every individual! In season! Out of season! … It was really quite an idea!

Unfortunately, harassed as he was by so many daily cares, by all the snags and setbacks connected with the operation of the
Genitron
, he had been unable to perfect the system … Especially the condensers … They didn’t synchronize properly … They needed watching … He couldn’t run them more than two or three hours on Sunday … That didn’t provide enough waves … On weekdays he had other fish to fry … He was busy with the rag and his various contests … Madame des Pereires had no faith whatever in this telluric jazz … “I told him a million times … I was wasting my breath … ‘That thing of yours will never work! It’s impossible! You’ll only make one more mess … You’re going to cave the house in with your trenches … That’s all the vegetables we’ll ever have … Electric currents … if that’s what you want … don’t stay in the ground … they fly through the air, you dope … Everybody knows that. What about storms? Or just take a look at the roads … Why do they spend all that money on telephone lines? And what about lightning rods? The government isn’t nuts, I hope … They wouldn’t go to all that expense if they could help it! …’ I’d have said any old thing to keep him from digging up my garden! ‘You’re talking through your hat!’ He always insults me when he knows I’m right … He won’t give in! He’d rather bust! Oh, I know my little man! Pretentious! Proud! Hell, a peacock is nothing! … Having to listen to that tommyrot day in day out! … For twenty-eight years I’ve been putting up with him … and this is what I get … this is my reward … You’ll never know how bad I feel … But it’s no use … He’s selling us out! … Absolutely! That man would sell his shirt! He’d sell yours, Ferdinand! He’d sell anything! … When he gets the bug and feels he needs a change, he’s not a man anymore, he’s a rattle! It’s the fairs that ruined him! The older he grows the screwier he gets … He’s completely cracked … I can see it, I’m nobody’s fool! He’s diabolical, Ferdinand! … It’s not just a disease with him, it’s a disaster … But I can’t go along with him anymore … Nothing doing … I gave him a piece of my mind when he told me about his system … ‘Courtial,’ I said, ‘you’re always monkeying with things that are none of your business … What do you know about agriculture? No more than you do about elevators and piano factories! …’ But he always thinks he knows it all … That’s his special vice … Knowing it all! Poking his nose into every crack! He’s the original busybody! He’s too big for his shoes, that’s what’s wrong with him! One day he comes home and it’s chemistry … The next day it’s sewing machines … The day after it’s beets … Always something new … Naturally he doesn’t get anywhere … The thing for him is balloons. I’ve thought so all along. I’ve always told him so … ‘Courtial, your balloon, Courtial, your balloon! That’s the one thing you know how to do! With anything else you’ll come to grief. It’s stupid to keep trying! Your business is ballooning! It’s our only hope. If you keep on with these brainstorms of yours, you’ll come to grief. We’ll end up in the poorhouse, making paper flowers.’ I’ve told him a thousand times, I’ve repeated it over and over again. But it’s go chase yourself, you old battle-ax! The balloon? He gets so stupid when those pig-headed spells come on he won’t even let me mention it! I know what I’m talking about. I’ve got to bear the brunt. His highness is a ‘writer,’ I don’t understand such things. He’s a ‘scientist,’ an ‘apostle’! Hell, I can tell you what he is! He’s a loafer … a crook! … A buffoon! … He’s a crumb … a four-flusher … Yes, à bum, that’s what he is! He’s unscrupulous! He wants to dive, does he? Well, he’s heading straight for the bottom … a flophouse crawling with lice, that’s what he deserves! And that’s what he’ll get! What a jerk he turned out to be! … He’s coming apart at the seams! He doesn’t know where the next nickel is coming from … He thinks I don’t know … He can gas all day, he won’t fool me. I know the score! … But he won’t get away with it … no, sir … He’d better not kid himself! He’d better watch his step! I won’t stand for it! …”

She came back to her obsession … She talked about the
Enthusiast
some more … about the early days of her married life, expeditions with the balloon … Even then it wasn’t easy to pump her up full … They never had enough gas … The bag was fragile and not very airtight … But they’d been young and those were the good old days … On Sundays she’d gone up with des Pereires … During the week she’d worked as a midwife . . , She’d applied cups, wet ones and dry ones … little nursing jobs … She’d known Pinard well, who’d delivered the Czarina … It got her all excited to talk about him … an obstetrician of worldwide fame … I was beginning to feel chilly in among the vegetables … The sky and the country all around were turning bluish … I was shivering and stamping my feet … We came back up the little path for the hundredth time … We went down again … She talked some more about mortgages … Their house was made of millstone grit … It must have been worth quite a lot … Did I think he’d really sold out? … I had no way of knowing … He was sly and secretive … I didn’t even know this Monsieur Rambon! … I’d never seen him … And the Lémenthal Bank … I’d never heard of it … Actually I didn’t know anything …