North (50 page)

"Nicholas! . . . Nicholas! where?"

Nicholas is really throwing up, I can see him . . . everybody's trying to make him talk! . . . vomiting is all very well, but . . . !

"Sagt, Nikolaus!
. . . speak up! speak up!"

He doesn't answer, he lies down . . .

"Sagt!"

He's flat on the ground, vomiting some more . . . right in the mud . . . blobs of phlegm . . . poison? . . . I'm wondering . . . the RAF is outdoing itself, the illumination is magnificent the whole park, the church, the thatched roofs . . . I'd never seen them so clearly . . .

"Sagt,
Nikolaus! speak up!"

He's retching and straining . . . the air's full of sparks . . . rising into the sky . . . gliding . . . that could set the Whole place on fire! . . . little commas . . . maybe there's a fire already . . . somewhere . . . but the question right now . . . we'll see about the rest later . . . is what's become of the cripple! . . . at that critical moment some housewife tugs at Kracht's belt, she wants to talk to him . . . she insists . . . they go off to one side . . . I watch them, she's gesticulating and pointing at something . . . ah, the pit! . . . she's pointing at the manure pit! . . . That's what she had to say! . . . I get it . . . I'm so clever . . . I say to myself: she knows! . . . no great strain on my gray matter! . . . she saw big Nicholas chuck the cripple in! . . . I wasn't wrong! . . . Kracht blows two blasts! . . . his police whistle! . . . he had at least four whistles! . . . and they all came running! . . . a whole crowd of
bibelforschers!
he gives them an order . . . several orders! . . . to go and get the cripple, I think! . . . immediately! from under the manure! . . . this hole" is more dangerous than the other . . . the other was just weeds and muck . . . this one is reinforced concrete . . . I hear what they're saying . . . deep, over a man's head . . . and hadn't "been emptied in three years" they were waiting for the end of the war . . . but the cripple, if he's in there, can't wait till the end of the war . . . Le Vig and me, we'd have laughed if Inge and the kid hadn't been there . . . they're talking it over around the pit . . . built expressly for the beets and silo juice, but then they'd used it for the liquid manure . . . from four hundred cows . . . I'm learning things. . . not so easy getting into this pit, it had to be emptied first. . . but how? open the sluice . . . they'd find the cripple at the bottom! . . . Nicholas hadn't said a word, he was still lying there trying to vomit . . . retching . . .

"Sagt, Nikolaus!"

Everybody's trying to get him to talk. . . the housewife had seen him . . . chucking the cripple! . . . she showed us how . . . he'd been all alone in the yard, with the cripple on his shoulders . . . straddling as usual . . . he's passing the manure pit, and
plop!
. . . he chucks him! far! . . . she'd seen him . . . and heard the
plop!
. . . taking his cripple to the
Tanzhalle
. . . the
Landrat
was supposed to join us too . . . he'd ended up in the other pond . . . they'd both come from the von Leiden farm . . . but the
Landrat
, nobody'd seen it . . . garroted with this cord just about the same time . . . well, we'll find out later . . . if we have time! . . . the first thing was to find the cripple! . . . to open the sluice! . . . they knew how to do it! a big loss, it seems, that thick manure was very valuable . . . they go to it . . . six or eight of them . . . it comes pouring out . . . tons of it! . . . no more flares or sparks coming down from upstairs . . . they're bored with us . . . they're not giving us any more light . . . only Kracht's two "torches" . . . the RAF hasn't unloaded anything . . . with one little bomb they could have ended it all, Zornhof and all our mysteries and the ponds and our very questionable futures and the grocery store and the
Tanzhalle!
. . . they'd been having a little fun, that's all, we weren't worth a bomb . . . the
bibels
had battered the sluice gate out with their shovels . . . it had finally given way . . . the muck came cascading down . . . that precious muck, enough fertilizer for hundreds of acres . . . Kracht on his knees at the edge, trying to spot the cripple . . . in the thick sludge at the bottom . . . he's found him!. . . he shows me . . . at least six feet down! . . . had Nicholas done it on purpose? . . . possible! . . . and made himself sick on purpose . . . so he couldn't answer? . . . perfectly capable! . . . with what? . . . liquor? . . . poison? . . . Rough on Rats? . . . one thing sure . . . I wasn't going to say anything . . .

Now we could see the cripple . . . in the sludge . . . it was him all right, von Leiden Junior . . . all huddled up, the big torso, the atrophied legs . . . coated with manure . . . black and yellow . . . no cord around his neck like the other one, they hadn't strangled him . . . luckily Kracht was giving them light, the
bibelforschers
were able to see and poke around . . . four big bruisers pull him out! . . . they hoist him up to the rim . . . now it's up to me . . . my duties . . . I feel him, I auscultate . . . this manure is really pungent! . . . the forearm is stiff . . . sudden death . . . maybe heart failure first . . . maybe I won't mention it . . . they'd worked very quickly, while we were at the show! . . . before the intermission! . . . neat job! . . . we might have suspected . . . yes . . . but not all this and in less than an hour! . . . the
Rittmeister
, his son, and the
Landrat
. . . all that was SS Kracht's business, not ours! oh no, not ours! . . . we'd been right there at the show . . . everybody'd seen us . . . Lili, me, Le Vig, and Bébert! . . . we were indebted to Joseph . . . I can't deny it! . . . why had that hateful hayseed warned us? . . . this "compulsory recruit" was certainly a member of the other camp that hated our guts . . . Léonard and Joseph had excellent reasons for rubbing us out . . . traitors, etc.  . . . why had they warned us? . . . for liquor? . . . for cigars? . . . maybe in part, but not entirely . . . twenty years later I'm still wondering . . .

But what were we going to do with the cripple, our third stiff? . . . Kracht decides to put him down beside the other . . . he couldn't be left in the yard . . . and have him laid out decently . . . on a bed of leaves like the
Landrat
. . . he gives the. order . . . the
bibels
go to it, always the
bibels
, six or eight of them . . . they pick up the bundle . . . much blacker and slimier than the
Landrat
. . . Inge, her daughter, and the countess follow the body . . . and Marie-Thérèse and all the
Dienstelle
crowd, and the Kretzers, and the three of us . . . and all the Gypsies . . . through the park . . . here we are! . . . on the leaves beside the
Landrat
. . . they clean him up a bit . . . they scrape off the ooze  and muck . . . there's water handy . . . they put his hands together . . . now what? . . . Moorsburg must be notified at once! . . . the 
Kommandantur
at least . . . Kracht'll go on the bike! . . . oh no! I object! . . . nothing doing! . . . either he stays or we go with him! . . . the minute he goes well be massacred, they'll skin us alive! he'll never see us again! . . . sure as shit! . . . that's all they're waiting for! the whole village! . . . roaring with impatience! . . . he agrees . . .

"You're right!"

Better he should kill us right away! I suggest it, I'm dead serious! . . . no, he won't do that! . . . he stays "with us . . . he sends four
bibelforschers
with a note . . .
dringend
. . . "urgent!" . . . we'll wait for the answer . . . fine! . . . Le Vig has lost his grip . . . he doesn't understand . . . not a thing . . . I ask him . . .

"How's it going?"
^'

"Rotten! . . . punk!"

He seems to be walking in his sleep . . . he was like that on rue Lepic when he was struggling with a part . . . and hadn't got it yet . . . absent . . . halfway between stage and reality . . . I shake him . . .

"Let's go upstairs!"

Okay with him . . . he follows me . . .
hey! hey!
. . . somebody calling us . . . it's Kracht . . . he's got his answer already! . . . not from Moorsburg, from the road! . . . they'd run into the captain, he knew what had happened . . . oh yes! . . . the whole thing! . . . this captain was the town commandant . . . he'd even got a written order . . . "not to move under any pretext" . . . they should all "stay in their rooms and not touch the bodies". . . Christ! we'd touched them plenty! if there was an investigation, we'd look pretty sick! . . . the prize European regulation: don't touch the dead! . . . alive, you can crack their skulls! excellent! . . . even dying: oh well, it can't be helped! but cold and stiff? you're sunk! you're a criminal! . . . for my money, we were in a bad jam . . . good time to clear out . . . but where to? . . . and how? . . . I had ideas, I've told you, but wouldn't they have ideas too? lots of them! and what lovely ideas! . . .

"Stinking mess, Ferdie!"

I could only agree . . .

"Stinking mess!"

Same for Lili . . . "stinking mess!" . . . we'd see in the morning . . . we fell asleep right there on the stairs . . . they were still bombing in the east . . . and southeast . . . not too hard . . . pretty regular . . . that's the best way . . .
boom!
. . . not too hard . . . and regular . . .

You're busy working . . . that's when they say: come on, boys, now's the time! . . . they spring into action, they loot you, they sabotage you! . . . characters that never do anything but horse around and put on airs . . . they sabotage the tools of your trade, they destroy your labors of twenty years, what a splendid opportunity, what a ball! morning and night, watch them gobbling, belching, guzzling, consulting the cards, checking their flies, sending each other flowers, and whoopie! pile in! give her the gas! anothery beanery, another dish of caviar! . . . you step out . . . when you come back you find your workshop upside-down and inside-out, beams, bricks, and balconies and arcades . . . higgledy-scrambled . . . a ghastly tumulus! . . . those haggard hateful bigmouths, those drolling, gibbons have got into your work! . . . try and, get your bearings! . . . nothing to do but paste up the pieces and start all over . . . with a hundred times more sweat . . . and lash yourself into a lather!

Here I saw where I was at, approaching page 2500 . . . with three stiffs on my hands . . . corpus delictis I should say . . . who's going to be interested in that?

Mademoiselle Marie has just dropped in . . . my secretary . . . I ask her what she thinks . . .

"Oh, you know. . . your books . . . since
Journey
 . . ."

"What since
Journey?"

"You can't expect very much . . ."

"I assure you, Mademoiselle Marie, I wouldn't expect a thing if they hadn't stolen everything I owned . . . I need so little to live on, I take up so little room, I can do without social life . . ."

"Well?"

"I'll go end my days under another name . . . someplace where nobody goes . . . in the dunes for instance . . . somewhere . . ."

Mademoiselle Marie isn't dreaming . . . I've told her my troubles a thousand times . . .

"Yes, but your statement . . . have you seen it?"

I've seen it all right! . . . my debts come to nine million! . . . a tidy sum! for a man who lives on nothing!

They're sabotaging me, Mademoiselle Marie!''

She knows that too, all the details . . .

"I'm accused of everything! . . . by everybody! . . . from death-house Cousteau ° to Petzareff, the honorary Buchenwald ° . . . how can you expect me to get anywhere?"

"How indeed!"

I'm well aware . . . they've told me often enough: your books don't sell any more! not just your books, all books! people have stopped buying! all these expenses . . . taxes, television, vacations, cocktails, their cars to keep up, insurance! . . . and besides they haven't got time! . . . to tell you the truth, they never bought books in the first place, they borrowed them and kept them! . . . they stole them from friends or bookstores . . . a sport! . . . but now with golf and striptease and teen-age gangsters . . . they've got other fish to fry!

"All the same . . ." I say . . . "I'll go see the monster! . . ." He's inaccessible! . . . my secretary knows . . . since the trouble with his hearing they say he's locked himself up . . . he's walled in . . . he lives and sleeps in his safe . . . counting his shekels, his new francs . . . "well see him!" . . . I say . . . "well see him!"

"Mademoiselle Marie, do me a favor, come with me, you'll be my witness!"

I call a cab! and here we are! . . . the sanctum is known to all . . . sinister . . . big black and white marble flags . . . an enormous amphitheater . . . cold as a morgue . . . we wait . . . ah, a settee . . . just one . . . and sitting there with his legs crossed, the "monster's" brother . . . he doesn't speak to us . . . I think of the page I've just left that's waiting for me, page 2500 . . . this brother gives me a pain, the time I'm wasting! . . . with my three stiffs up there . . . on the wet weeds . . . I confront this man of gloom . . .

"Where's Brottin?"

He shrugs, he doesn't know . . .

"And the others?"

This time he's got an answer . . .

"Saving a lesson!"

"What kind of a lesson?"

"Trumpet!"

This isn't getting me anywhere . . .

"And Monsieur Nimier?"

"At the Trebizond Motor Marathon". . . 

That's all, I see he won't tell me any more . . . I'm getting on his nerves . . . he yawns toward the bust of his brother at the far end of the amphitheater . . . then he yawns again and leaves the room . . . he's tired out . . . Mademoiselle Marie and I are left alone . . . right next to the bust . . . I spot a bench, a really indigent piece of furniture, they wouldn't give you a hundred (old) francs for it at the Flea Market . . . the springs are all coming out . . . corkscrews . . .

Voices from the corridor . . . I listen . . . big discussion . . . I go out . . . not a soul . . . it's in one of the offices . . .

"Who you voting for?"

Opinions . . . two . . . three . . . ten opinions! . . . and then suddenly a song . . . punctuated by applause . . .

                                    You're going to get it in the neck! 

                                    Holé! holé!

Men and women together . . .

                                    They're going to get it in the neck! 

                                    Holà! holà!

Ah, there's a lady coming out! . . . tomato-scarlet . . . she sees me . . .

"All right . . . you! . . . and you! . . . who you voting for?"

Sounds very urgent! . . . I have nothing to say . . . I don't vote for anybody. . .

"Oh, but aren't you Céline?"

"Why yes! in person!"

"Have you come for the lesson?"

I must look like I'd fallen out of a rocket . . . not of this world . . .

"Didn't you know? . . . after the footbath! the congress of flagellants!"

"No! not I assure you . . . we came to see Achille . . . to ask him . . ."

Gales of laughter . . . am I as funny as all that?

"Achille has been in the safe since the thing with his flappers . . . three months ago . . . didn't you know?"

She runs out . . . to tell the others . . . in the back office . . . she's got them in stitches . . . who are these people? . . . one of them comes out . . . sweater, glasses, and a pipe . . .

"Im Rastignan," allow me to introduce myself, but you don't know me, Céline! . . . editor of the
Compact Review!"

"Congratulations, my friend! But who are those people bellowing?"

"Our Committee, of course!''

"Bellowing and voting?"

"Exactly! a brilliant idea! my idea!"

"I don't doubt it! but who are they?"

"Socialites . . . wealthy, and absolutely idle! . . . pederasts . . . alcoholics . . . just what we need . . . I demand it! . . . a few murderers . . . a few juvenile delinquents . . ."

"I see, Rastignan . . ."

"The 'New Wave,' you understand . . . Our Committee of Readers! all strictly incompetent, I insist on it! . . . they gauge and measure . . . they judge . . . all their lives they judge . . . and they speak English . . . and Kirghiz!"

"I see!"

What else could I say?

"Have you got your manuscript, Céline? the Committee is ready! are
you
ready?"

"They already turned down
Journey
. . ."

"Oh, you know, in those days! . . . they were all literary people . . . men of letters!"

"I've deranged you, Rastignan!"

"Oh, 'derange!' say it again, Céline! . . . say it again! what a delightful verb!"

He's thrilled . . .

"Derange! Rastignan!"

Man, are they roaring! in that back office! the Committee of Headers are in a hurry to vote . . . they call him . . .

"Slug! . . . talking machine! . . . stinker! . . . shake a leg!"

"You hear them?"

"Yes indeed! well be going! . . . they want to vote!"

"Ah, Céline, say it again . . ."

"Derange! derange! Rastigan!"

That'll do . . . Mademoiselle Marie gestures that we've had enough and had better be going . . .

She's right . . . nothing we could say or do! . . . the big mistake is going back to a place where people are dancing this way . . . and that way . . . not the same as you any more . . . you're out of step . . . they give you a funny look . . . I think it over . . . little by little the times have taken quite a lot of people . . . this one . . . and that one . . .

"My own daughter, for instance, Mademoiselle!"

"Really?"

Tve never seen her again . . ."

"What's become of her?"

"I don't know . . ."

We'd landed where I always do . . . one street leading to another . . . Square Boucicaut . . . the cars are whizzing around the square . . . and more cars . . . three . . . four people come from the street, and go into the little park . . . three of the four are priests . . . their hangout is nearby, on rue de Babylone . . . their mission . . . I can still remember
ding! ding!
their matins bell . . . ah! now we can cross . . . boulevard Raspail . . . but what a racket! really no place for precise memories . . . of this and that! . . . this visit had exasperated me! to hell with Brottin! and his Committee, and his safe!

"Definitely! definitely! taxi!"

Mademoiselle Marié is all for it . . .

There's one!

"Taxi! . . . Meudon! . . . back to my book!"

"Yes, sir! Certainly!"

This man's courteous, at least!

"Mademoiselle Marie, tell me, didn't those people at the Editions Brottm insult us?"

"Oh, hardly at all! . . . hardly at all!"

"What did I go there for?"

"To say hello . . ."

"That's it . . . they weren't very polite . . ."

I wouldn't say that . . . they were polite in their way! . . . we caught them at work . . ."

"And we disturbed them?"

"Perhaps . . . perhaps . . ."