Rigadoon (28 page)
Authors: Louis-ferdinand & Manheim Celine
"It must be the brick, you know."
She can't believe that I feel like laughing . . .
Anyway we're moving! . . . pom! pom! and heading north! . . . with my compass I'm sure! . . . we can hear the engine . . . we're right in back of it, first car . . . I can't see the engineer . . . who cares! . . . we're moving and we won't stop! north! . . . north! . . . no reason to stop . . . anywhere! Christ, do I feel like laughing! . . . I won't sit up, I'd fold . . . I won't talk to Lili, she'd only say it was the brick . . . I know what's going on better than she does! . . . and I don't want to be contradicted! she'll see, she'll get a surprise . . . in maybe an hour . . . oh, I had my suspicions . . . we were getting there all right . . .
Crossing the canal may have been amusing but it wasn't the end of our troubles . . . far from it! . . . the worst danger now, in a way, was the Danish border . . . I hadn't mentioned it to anybody, but I'd been thinking about it since Paris . . . in fact it had always been in the back of my mind, because all the royalties of my beautiful works, about six million francs, were up there . . . not just lying around, no, in a bank vault . . . now it can be told . . .
Landsman Bank
. . .
Peter Bang Wej
. . . no danger now . . . only I wouldn't want people to think this chronicle is nothing but a tissue of applesauce . . . the police wondered to the very end what I'd come to Denmark for . . . I never told them, other people shot off their mouths, but never the exact address, Landsman Bank . . . Peter Bang Wej . . . at this late date it doesn't matter . . . in the meantime I'm forgetting you! . . . we were on this flatcar in with the dynamos, searchlights, and miscellaneous hardware . . . but only Lili, me, and the kids, and Bébert in his bag . . . the others were gone, I've told you, Le Vig, Restif, etc. . . . you're always losing people, that's the way it goes . . . here . . . and there . . . I'd be losing a lot more people . . . I'll tell you as I go along . . . all the more or less amusing vicissitudes . . . takes all kinds of crap to make a world . . . not to mention a book! . . . I guess you think I'm an awful sap . . . I could easily have stayed home taking a lofty view of events, and written about the stirring adventures of our intrepid armies of the Great Shit Parade, the way they managed to come home in triumph, welcomed by marshals under the Arch . . . I could have spawned words of genius . . . the Boches had done it all, the horrible V 2 genocides, the dissection camps, the Volkswagen, and the Grand Guignol . . . I'd never have said that since Stalingrad France and the colonies had ceased to exist . . . nothing left but black, yellow, and green nondescripts . . . a kind of mock Brazil . . . who don't know where they come from . . . Provence? . . . Normandy? . . . mountains or seacoast? . . .
At the moment we're not on vacation, our problem is to hold on tight and not get thrown out on the roadbed! . . . one jolt and good-bye! and barring that, still another danger: that damned border! suppose they turned us back! or pulled us in! we'd be cooked! must be about an hour to this border . . . two hours from the canal. . . it all depended . . . on a lot of things . . . the train might change its mind and switch off to the east . . . or west . . . no! it's still going north . . . my comfort is my compass . . . it doesn't lie! . . . we'll get to the border all right . . . main thing is to be prepared . . . and not start talking through my hat . . . got to stop these mirages . . . can't have them thinking I'm nuts . . . that locomotive in the clouds, for instance! . . . and no fumdiddle about my head or the brick, et cetera! . . . we're expected in Denmark, a whole raft of friends . . . names and addresses . . .
Veg Stranden
, purpose of trip: recreation,
Staegers Allee
, and especially my bank, my funds,
Landsman Bank
. . . you get the picture . . . I'm pulling myself together, getting ready for their interrogations . . . not so easy with all this jiggling hardware . . . muddlement isn't presentable . . . on the day of the Deluge the ones that came through were the ones that got out of the Ark in good order, properly dressed, with their little bundles under their arms . . . that's what we've got to be, Lili, me, Bébert, and the kids . . . properly dressed . . . of course there are unpredictables! . . . I'm trying to get my wits back, my clear mind! hell, I've still got the vapors! . . . no good! I can stagger some other time, not now! . . . I fill Lili in: "I'll give you my arm, I'll only take one cane, two'd make me look too much like an invalid . . ." while I'm talking we roll along . . . jolts, but not bad . . . the sky is blue, practically no mist . . . on my back like this I'd see the planes if there were any . . . why wouldn't I look at the country? . . . the yellow plain . . . I roll over, now I can see it . . . kind of fuzzy in the head . . . it's not just a plain, there's woods and farmhouses . . . some pretty big ones, with gables . . . Schleswig is like this, we're tourists . . . Léon Bloy . . . didn't dig it at all. . . his passion was meat, steak . . . Schleswig is no place for gourmets . . . it's a rugged moor between two seas, you either like it or you don't . . . Bloy complained something terrible, he'd never been in the clink or in the war, would have done him good, same as the people today, flatulent, swilling, boozing hogs . . . our Great Paleface, think of him! the poor bastard! with nothing to do but pick up the pieces after the gigantic heroic shambles! the gangrene, the scraps and tatters of Ural, Stalingrad, Maginot . . . pulp the white race! . . . no more degrees, no more shadings! from boulevard Saint-Michel to Hong Kong! . . . you've made your bed! . . . all yellow you'll be, you are already, hell, you asked for it! . . . and black on the side! the white man has never been anything but a "make-up base" . . . he was waiting . . . that's right! . . . I'm delirious again . . . it's my age, plus the hardships! . . . but back to Schleswig . . . city and province . . .
"Lili, you'll see . . . it can't be far . . ."
I'm not too confident . . . vision still blurred . . . better she should look . . . but she can't read German, she could go wrong . . . I think it over . . . maybe another five minutes . . . the train's slowing down . . . curses! I drag my head up . . . there! on the right! . . . sure enough, houses . . . I'm so damn dizzy . . . I look . . . we're still moving though . . . very slowly . . . a sign . . . another . . . Schleswig! . . . this is it! . . . a platform . . . intact . . . the station too . . . no civilians . . . a few Kraut soldiers . . . who don't even look at us, they must be used to . . . this
pom! pom!
isn't stopping . . . we're only passing through . . . okay . . . Lie down again . . .
"Lili, be careful."
"Why?"
I explain . . . we'd be coming into Flensburg, a name that wasn't so well known at the time . . . I myself didn't realize . . . anyway, not much . . . seeing that Denmark is like a swan's head at the top of Europe . . . obviously everything has to pass through the neck . . . this neck is Schleswig and the border cuts across the neck . . . at Flensburg . . .
And the details . . .
"The customs . . . we haven't got anything! . . . except Bébert in his bag . . . no papers, no photos, nothing . . . lost! burned! the kids don't know and they can't talk!"
The closer we come, the more I suspect that it's going to be tough, that I'll need my wits . . . as many as I've got left . . . no more visions in the sky! no planes, no locomotives! . . . not even a soft purring in the distance . . . it's early May, springtime . . . perfect visibility . . . if they'd wanted, it's a cinch, we wouldn't be here, neither would these hardware wagons . . . but I've told you they hadn't been out to destroy these tracks . . . or the switches . . . or the bridges . . . it's the submarines they were after, we'd seen that at the canal . . . destructive sons of bitches, but practical! . . . same thing at home, at Renault Billancourt down below, I'd seen their routine . . . a deluge of bombs, you'd have thought all Paris was on fire, lit up from Montmartre to Suresnes . . . you'd have said: good-bye Renault! reduced to powder! wrong again! they hadn't touched a screwdriver, the next day the plant was going stronger than ever! tanks and trucks and even big guns! not a day lost! I can easily see one of those rockets they talk about falling on New York without touching a single drugstore, business as usual . . . the super-power giants know what they're doing, rest assured, they're as finicky as old maids, needlepoint . . . it's the tropicals that don't give a damn, that barge right in and bugger everybody, government, dairymaids, nuns . . . and don't give a shit about the future! pigstickers, tomahawks, go to it! the primitive's motto is: get 'em while they're hot!
With all this malarky I'm only trying to show that you can't judge by appearances . . . all over Bocheland, for instance, I saw factories running full steam that were supposedly reduced to ruins . . . between supposedly and the real thing . . . a yawning chasm! no chasms around here, I see other flatcars same as ours on other tracks hitched to other locomotives, full up with the same kind of hardware, dynamos, and searchlights . . . looks like we're really coming to this damn border . . . this is it! . . . not a single sign! . . . it's Flensburg, though, I know it . . . pom! pom! . . . but not so hard . . . hey, look at all those people . . . railroad workers, men and women . . . this station is really doing business . . . the men are in army uniform . . . the women in overalls . . . I'm giving you these details so you won't think I'm making it up . . . right away a big fat lout lights into us . . .
"raus! . . . raus!
. . . get out!" and tells us where to go . . .
"Wartesaal! Wartesaal!
waiting room!" . . . obviously! . . . this lout has a spiked helmet and a big badge . . .
Feldgendarmerie
. . . naturally! we know the type . . . his job is to bellow at people, keep 'em moving . . . we comply, what else can we do? . . . but not so fast, brother! . . . we're down . . . this rough treatment could be upsetting, but this is no time to worry about sensibilities, the idea is to watch our p's and q's! it's here in Flensburg that they sort out the ones they let through and the ones they send back . . . I wonder where . . . must be in the
Wartesaal
. . . the customs? we haven't got a thing . . . but the police? . . . plenty of papers, but which ones do we show? . . . presence of mind, that's the ticket! . . . it's a toss-up! . . . when it's a toss-up you've got to know what you're doing, but they don't give us time to think, they push us into a basement, well, a cave under the station . . . barely time to read: Flensburg . . . oh, I don't like stations! . . . I especially don't like basements and crevasses . . . even now you couldn't get me to take the Métro for a kingdom, or risk my neck in a movie theater . . . it's my experience of very nasty things, solitary confinement et cetera . . . any time they invite you down to the basement it's to brutalize you something terrible . . . you're engulfed, everything turns to ectoplasm, you can see it in the movies . . . and the catacombs . . . naturally some people like it . . . perverts! . . . there used to be volunteers for the penal colonies . . . that's the human race for you, they'll eat flowers and they'll eat manure . . . don't let it worry you . . . plenty more waiting!
We were waiting too . . . customs? . . . police? . . . all I could see was a lot of shapes stretched out on the stone floor . . . people . . . your eyes adapt . . . up top an enormous globe . . . it gave off something, you couldn't call it light, more like a bluish glow . . . hard to tell if all these people are dead . . . or asleep . . . though this is at least the tenth time they've shoved us into this kind of waiting room . . . in Oddort I knew why, here I don't think it's the same . . . I can't see them demolishing Flensburg, especially the station, which is the most strategic, I'd even say the most valuable place in all Denmark . . . I've told you all that . . . now what? . . . nothing to do but lie down like everybody else . . . it's been a rough trip! dead or alive, we're entitled . . . anyway nobody can stop us . . . sounds like they're snoring . . . not very loud . . . we've got all the kids around us . . . they've followed us . . . slobbering idiots but faithful, their travels have done them good, I think . . . how many are there? I still don't know . . . never mind, we'll count them later . . . try and remember the state we were in, a miracle that we'd reached that border . . . after so many detours, holdups, and zigzags! . . . and all the times we could have gone up in smoke! . . . we'd dropped a few companions on the way . . . no! they dropped us! . . . Harras . . . Le Vig . . . Restif . . . Felipe . . . what would you expect? . . . they had no faith in our tourism . . . they goofed off, I'm not complaining, I haven't got much faith myself . . . soon as we hit Baden-Baden they told me: don't go to Denmark, they're even more ferocious . . . worse than France . . . and here we're at the border trying to cross . . . I have my reasons!
Landsman Bank
. . . my nest egg, my cash . . . if nobody's glommed it! . . . the Boches attach everything, I'm told, safes and all . . . the Danes too, probably . . . and my friends that have the key . . . the first to help themselves are your friends and relatives . . . relatives have the right! . . . I know from experience . . . well, just so they let us through! . . . Lili feels the same way . . . here in the basement, even on the stone, we're not too uncomfortable . . . I can manage anywhere as long as nobody asks me to move . . . seems to me we've been on and off tracks for at least three weeks, we and our kids . . . this train that train . . . tunnels, flatcars . . . now we're here, a stopping place! pillar to post since Baden-Baden . . . wriggle! jump! . . . and zig and zag! we could be slobbering too . . . worse than the kids! . . . they've got it easy! . . . wards of the asylums! they can stick their wards of the asylums up their . . . we're not exactly asleep, but pretty near . . . there's this blue glow . . . these people lying around don't bother us . . . alive or not, they don't move, I wonder how many there are . . . hundreds, it looks to me . . . soldiers . . . civilians . . . men and women . . . not many children . . . except for ours of course . . . it'll never get light down here . . . little by little I feel I'm sinking . . . dropping off . . . sleep or a kind of faint . . . hell's bells, no! blue light or not, I've got to be absolutely lucid! . . . at least there's no sky to screw me up and make me see locomotives, I'm fit as a fiddle, ready for come what may! a good hour goes by . . . two hours . . . I can't deny that I'm tired, but it doesn't affect my will . . . no indulgence for myself, never had it never will . . . and come to think of it neither has anyone else! . . . infinite skulduggeries! . . . more than my share . . . my character development has had every advantage . . . let's leave philosophy to the advertising barons . . . we had serious things to think about, we were there for the customs . . . maybe this wait in the cellar was part of the program . . . with nothing to eat or drink and this blue light . . . this endless wait . . . no! . . . not endless! . . . here comes a gendarme! a
Feldgendarme
. . . he's reeling . . . he must have been asleep . . . or is he drunk? . . . "Train for Copenhagen! . . . passports! . . ." he yells . . . but in German, a guttural bark! . . . not very many get up . . . four . . . five soldiers . . . the others don't bother, they stay on their backs . . . I never found out what they were . . . wounded? . . . or just asleep? or asleep for good . . . we'd often had that experience in waiting rooms, not knowing if people stretched out like that were only asleep or worse . . . you'll tell me it was none of my business . . . so we follow this gendarme, we and our kids . . . they've woken up, as far as they're concerned it's still an excursion . . . they're still slobbering, they still don't talk, but they're gay, they flop, they pick themselves up, they bawl, they laugh . . . absolutely perfect idiot children . . . the gendarme leads us out of the cellar . . . it's daylight! . . . ah, a platform! . . . two platforms! . . . and all sorts of switches, plenty to look at . . . we're dazzled . . . must be about five six o'clock in the morning . . . let's not worry about being tired, the idea is to look sharp and, hell's bells, be ready for anything! . . . the gendarme leads the others away someplace, the five soldiers . . . he yells at us . . . Lili, me, and the kids . . . to wait, he'll be back, we can lie down on those sacks over there . . . big piles of empty sacks . . . maybe we will, but first let's think! . . . hell of a fix! . . . what are we going to say? . . . what are we doing here? . . . what do we want? . . . where do we come from, we and the kids? . . . they're sure to ask us . . . and where we're going . . . who'll be asking us? . . . Boches? . . . Danes? . . . we don't see anybody, they must be inside . . . it's the border, no doubt about that, signs all over . . .
"Grenze"
. . . and
"Flensburg"
. . . big ones and little ones . . . and the Danish flag, red with a white cross . . . they'll send us back or throw us in jail . . . this is going to take some thinking. . .
