Authors: Eric Chevillard
Palafox (14 page)
We may as well admit it: we are seriously considering getting rid of Palafox. Pupi Luzzatto, contacted by Algernon, offers him a good price. The first number in his program - for the record: Lorenzo, Dino, Stefano, Pietro, Oneto, and Claudio kneel, on the shoulders of whom heave themselves then kneel, Francisco, Luciano and Silvio, on the shoulders of whom heave themselves then kneel Carlo and Domenico, on the heads of whom heaves himself then kneels little Giaquinto - would be even more dazzling were Palafox, with a flutter of wings, to come to perch on the head of little Giaquinto. But the Luzzatto Circus isn’t the only party interested in Palafox. A fight promoter dreams of pitting him against a cock from the Barbary coast, and against a mongoose should he win, and a panther should he triumph, and an aurochs should he triumph, and so on. This sort of spectacle brings the public back to theater, he argues. A good story, well constructed, with unexpected reversals, no digressions or dull patches, an unrelenting dramatic tension, a real suspense from beginning to end, believe me, people will be fighting to get a seat. Yes, or perhaps, but no. No, Algernon says ‘no’ flat out, we won’t let a panther tear Palafox apart (easy winner over the cock and the mongoose) just for the pleasure of the gallery. We hesitate at greater length before declining El Bravo’s proposition, henceforth illustrious Spanish matador, resplendent in matadorial dress - less under consideration, his French equivalents must content themselves with blue and white checkered shirts - for we know Palafox is capable of being the first to gore this handsome hunk. There is always a risk. El Bravo leans over the cadaver studded with banderillas, slices off its ears, its tail, brandishing them to the cheering crowd, one would think he held a toppled tyrant by his hair, the people on their feet cry his name, El Bravo places the trophy on the knees of a señorita overcome with emotion, blushing, who holds it to her heart while batting her lashes and who will keep them on her nightstand long into the future. There are bloody games that passion can forgive, Algernon admits, so long as when we think back on them with a cool head they inspire remorse. Palafox will not die in the arena. Nor will we upon reflection sell him to Pupi Luzzatto. If the animal were disposed to circus life, we would readily exploit those talents ourselves. But Algernon doesn’t think it very likely. Lazing in the sun with his muzzle between his paws, larking about in the hunting ground or in the scrub brush, lying in wait, immobile, to pounce upon his prey, to be consumed raw, then a tongue twenty inches long launches from his mouth, a faded red carpet leading dynastic scarab beetles down into the depths of the palace, the queen-ants and her seconds who will never see the light again, Palafox drinks the dew from a calyx, hoots with a full moon in the background, reads Shakespeare in the stars when among them are enough bats for the bad parts, and falls quadripelegically asleep as if he had done anything more than break stones since dawn - no, it would seem that none of these tricks is well-suited to the ring.
And why not break stones? Why not work, be useful, take children for walks in the square, or harnessed to a fine barouche take tourists through town turning monuments to see into monuments seen, rid attics of rats, watch the herds, harvest bananas for us from up in the stratosphere, or find truffles for us six feet underground, guide blind men through the maze of streets, gather the hay, pull the plow, clear trees, load the timber, maneuver the press and the noria, we lack workers, Algernon enumerates a few of the careers that are wide open to Palafox, and those he forgets we willingly add, save the unlucky buried beneath rubble or under avalanche, a little barrel of rum around his neck, carry coded messages to our spies, return to the dovecoat with microfilm, or place mines beneath the hulls of enemy ships.
Why not entrust him to me, Cambrelin proposes - who secretly hopes to learn through proximity the art and technique of pilot - fish, to then catch a big blue shark and at last get his revenge on life, which is to say on women who reject him, finding him too young then, the next day, much too old for them, adding with a bit of meanness you stink of algae. Baruglio has perfected an anti-venom serum, now he needs the toxin, Pierpont has an insecticide that he wants to test - for different reasons, the three other zoologists covet Palafox equally. Zeiger is planning an ornithological expedition which will cross the Sahara, if he manages to find some camels, and will then make his way to Asia which he expects to cross on mule back, if he manages to find some mules, before undertaking the long return voyage via Northern Siberia and the Laplands, so that was it, he needed a sixth reindeer for his team. Algernon pretends not to understand. He won’t part with Palafox for anything, the animal cost us so much, in oats, in water fleas, in white mice, which is not to begin to mention Olympia’s upkeep. We intend to get something out all of this, if not some fabulous profit, at least to break even. However, Palafox’s market value remains well below what we’ve spent thus far in upkeep, in the cost of sponges alone to clean up after him, we’re not even close - and yet this one here, come closer Mesdames come closer, not only will it absorb and scour but, do not fear Mesdames come closer, is so powerful it will clean on its own once you teach it the motions, if you are slow and patient with it, and will whistle while it works, whose presence will serve as a definitive deterrent against burglars and neighbors who come to borrow, what cynicism, margarine.
Certainly, we would be wrong to sell him to the first housewife or coral-collector to come calling. Piecemeal retail is the way to go. One example of a thousand - but we’ll list them all, you’re getting to know our tricks - Palafox will be of interest to jewelers, knowing that his tusks weigh, one two hundred seventeen, the other two hundred twenty six pounds, so 217+226, four hundred forty-three pounds of pure ivory to sell, to chisel, to polish, which trinkets will then be aged with walnut stain, having belonged to Yong-Io, of the Ming Dynasty, and which will then be easily sold off - knowing that the pearl from his shell, sliced thin and set in the gossamer net of the rose gold crown, will add sparkle to Madame Fontechevade’s conversation, above all when our old rejuvenated friend will have set the pearl sold with it into a ring, and wear it around her neck, so that the finery is completed, this magnificent necklace of alternating claws and teeth, a claw a tooth a claw etc. - knowing then that the multicolored back of his carapace, hollowed, bared, varnished, and lined with velvet, will be fitted with a silver lid. In this way, Madame Fontechevade will make use of a superb jewelry box in which to keep her booty safe. Or a candy-dish, or why not a sewing kit. Or a makeup kit with all the paraphernalia - because Palafox will prove of interest to cosmetics barons and perfume makers - horsehair brushes, silk brushes, pearl combs, down powder-puffs, brushes made of delicate hairs, musk and civet extracts, blush for cheeks and shadow for lids, rouges made from tallow and carmine (that lover who places a kiss on those painted lips, in addition to that adorable little mouth, kisses too hundreds and hundreds of crushed and pressed Mexican cochineals, then melted into a tube of animal fat, it seems normal to us that he would be alerted to that, if he were looking for a pretext to escape, he’s got it). One more word on this subject - amber-a pretty, vague word, is actually an intestinal secretion. The gray amber Palafox produces will be used in the making of heady perfumes ... but let us leave the general’s wife to her boudoir. Palafox will be of interest to milliners, clever scheming monarchists who confect queenly coiffeurs for their clients out of ribbon and rags and the solitary aigrette of a crowned crane. Feathersellers will buy the black and white remexes from his wings, out of which they will design costumes for the stage. Thus disguised, the girl from the chorus line becomes irresistible, infinitely more desirable than a plain woman, the clot of spectators swollen to bursting with desire would pay anything to touch her (there are those nonetheless who remain stone-faced, there are those who take offence, those who think it’s a ruse). Furriers and skinners will line up as well. Palafox’s fur is doubtless our most valuable commodity, we will negotiate accordingly. The artisan will do with it as he pleases, this partisan of the royalist plot, tailoring for some arrogant lady far richer than she is cold a panoply fit for Russian princesses, coat, muff stole, toque, mittens and linings for boots, or instead elect to treat with moth-repellant this silky bedside throw, its four paws outstretched, its head and tail intact. At the hour when lions drink, others are trampled underfoot, flabbergasted carnivorous carpets, perfectly inoffensive if they slip into our dreams, it is absolutely time for us men to go to sleep.
(Tan or tannin, according to Webster, is a brownish or yellowish substance found in plants and used in tanning, dyeing, and as an astringent, making skin rotproof. Webster’s also says that tannin can produce ink, perhaps that’s the secret of those books that become immortal? No of course, what an idea, still we should admit to having gotten our hands on some of this ink, a barrelful, as a joke, for fun, gallons and gallons of the ink, and another barrel, defiantly, in order to last, in order to be read until the end of time, day and night until all the lights go out for good.) Tanned therefore, then curried, mollified, Palafox’s leather will find its way into the hands of a fine leather craftsman, and from there, emblazoned with a crest, provided with a zipper, on the pilot’s shoulders, one of these brave men who even as we write this are bombarding enemy villages, if all is going as planned. But we can nonetheless hope that it will be allocated differently, that the girdle makers and bookbinders will fight over his glossy, flexible skin. By their own admission, there is no finer material to work with than galuchat, named after its discoverer, Monsieur Galuchat, who was the first to have the idea to use the skin of a shark to slim down the silhouette of his wife, fat Madame Galuchat. We will happily pit them against the upholsterers, leather-workers, glove makers and bookmakers, who will not hesitate to outbid the others to get their hands on the piece, since crocodile pumps, it seems, are back in style.
Palafox’s nasal horn won’t be on our hands for long either. They’ll fight over that too. A persistent rumor in Asia, spread by traffickers, attributes astonishing properties to it. Ground, crushed, mixed with a little water, isn’t it said to supply those unlikely to tolerate their profiles in a mirror with renewed vigor and vitality, whether disgraced lovers, flaccid fellows, dried out old men, or limp little fuckers? Crushed, ground, mixed with a little water, we stand by it.
Two days later, Algernon received the recipes from Madame Fontechevade. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we’ll slow things down to seconds (insects of the order siphonaptera that are about an eighth of an inch long, with rear hopping legs and a proboscis designed to suck up human blood, according to professor Pierpont’s definition) before ringed eternity, consisting of a succession of legless segments, seals the fate of seconds and our own. We recalled therefore this oriental legend in which the dead awaken and smile again, among other things, thanks to the virtues of the elixir with a base made from the ground horn prepared by their widows. Chancelade seemed distracted. All of a sudden he struck his forehead. Eureka, he cried while picking up his shako, we’ll fatten Palafox, force-feed him chickpeas, like filling him up with gold, his hypertrophied liver will be our ingot, a rare commodity, priceless, do you have a funnel? But the duration of the operation and the risks incurred by this or that person charged with holding Palafox still between his thighs was enough just thinking about it to dissuade us. Nonetheless, Chancelade was right about one thing: Palafox, already so charming and in addition worthy of admiration, would doubtless be, as much as for his qualities as a loyal companion, appreciated for his meat. The list of potential buyers is already approaching infinity, to which now we’re to add roasters and skinners? And why deal with the middlemen? Why not go straight to the consumer? We could slice him up ourselves, price out the parts, brain, sirloin, breast, sparerib, rump, collar, ribs, hocks, rack, filet, tongue, kidneys, tripe, haunches, bacon, sweet-breads, saddle, heart, flank, shoulder, spare ribs, to each his own, everyone gets some, and the head of household grants himself the gizzard his wife and kids coveted,
quia nominor leo.
But why resort to consumers? Algernon asked the question. The friends I invited to come cheer Palafox, since because of him I’ve had to cancel the spectacle I’d promised them, will console themselves by devouring him, which would make for a memorable feast. Madame Fontechevade has recipes passed down from her mother whose mother passed them down to her, etc., savory recipes dictated to her grandmother by her own father, one of these all-powerful master-chefs who transform the world into an edible pumpkin with a plain wooden spoon. She will be happy to send them our way, she has a big heart. Two days later, she did.
quia nominor leo.
But why resort to consumers? Algernon asked the question. The friends I invited to come cheer Palafox, since because of him I’ve had to cancel the spectacle I’d promised them, will console themselves by devouring him, which would make for a memorable feast. Madame Fontechevade has recipes passed down from her mother whose mother passed them down to her, etc., savory recipes dictated to her grandmother by her own father, one of these all-powerful master-chefs who transform the world into an edible pumpkin with a plain wooden spoon. She will be happy to send them our way, she has a big heart. Two days later, she did.
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