Castle to Castle (11 page)

I won't go macabre on you and start in on waiters, undertakers, etc. . . . not . . . I was talking about paupers' graves . . . not the local cemetery . . . further out . . . in Thiais . . . or even further . . . but once I'm gone . . . what about Lili? . . . the cats . . . the dogs . . . I can't see Lili taking care of herself . . . she's not made that way . . . all those "claimants" swooping down . . . friends, relatives, bailiffs, vultures of all kinds . . . oh, it's nothing new to us . . . we've seen pillage . . . here, there, everywhere . . . But Lili all by herself?

"He got everybody down on him . . . Lousy racist, we didn't loot him enough . . . let's massacre his widow!"

I protest too much? . . . not at all . . . my racist ideas haven't anything to do with it! Gang of Tartuffes! . . . The white race went out of existence long ago . . . look at Ben Youssef! . . . Mauriac! . . . Monnerville! . . . Jacob!° . . . tomorrow Coty . . . What's all the fuss about . . . It's the
Journey
that got me into all this . . . My most relentless persecutors date from the
Journey
. . . Nobody's forgiven me for the
Journey
. . . it was the
Journey
that cooked my goose . . . Maybe if my name had been
Vlazine
. . . Vlazine Progrogrof . . . If I'd been born in Tarnopol on the Don . . . but in Courbevoie, Seine . . . Born in Tarnopol on the Don they'd have given me the Nobel Prize years ago . . . but coming from right here, not even a Sephardim . . . they don't know where to put me . . . to blot me out . . . what dungeon to hide my shame in . . . what rats to invoke . . . France for the French!

If I were a naturalized Mongol . . . or a fellagha like Mauriac, I'd be driving a car, I could do what I pleased . . . secure in my old age . . . coddled and fussed over . . . my standard of living, boy oh boy! . . . I'd pontificate from my hilltop . . . To hand out enormous lessons in virtue, in intransigence . . . in mysticism! . . . I'd be on television every day, you'd see my icon all over the place . . . I'd be worshiped by all the Sorbonnes! . . . If I'd been born in Tarnopol on the Don, my old age would be one happy holiday, I'd average two-hundred thousand a month on the
Journeyski
alone! Altman won't say different . . . neither will Triolette or Larengon . . .

I'll try it one of these days . . . well see.

But born in Courbevoie-sur-Seine, you see, they don't let anything by . . . they never will . . . the only resister in the place! that's outrageous . . . can I prove it? the proof is that you won't find me in the dictionary . . . under doctor-authors . . . or at the stationery store . . . or anywhere else . . . same with the
Brottin Illustrated
. . . the "Punctual Review of Bromidics" . . . absolutely not . . . Norbert Loukoum wanted to put me in but ass backwards . . . that was his idea . . . words, text, pages, all upside-down . . . I called him a cocksucker and worse! told him he had an incestuous mouth, etc. . . . that he was one big lump of sadist-bite-me . . . we parted on those words . . . "My 'Excremental Review' is closed to you!" . . . which was what I expected . . . oh! the Bromidic Review! . . . not for me . . . there were other ways of fishing for noodles . . . other strings to my bow! Help me, Hippocrates . . . yes, the patients are few and far between . . . I've told you that . . . but you can never claim to have lost every single patient . . . the chiropracters, faith healers, nurses, masseurs, and so on always let a few slip through their nets . . . oh, not enough to pay for my license . . . or my dues to the Medical Association, or my life insurance . . . or to pay the plumber . . . or buy me a subscription to the Medical Review . . . which gives you an idea of our economic situation! my oh my! the poorest of the poor are spendthrifts by comparison . . .

But since this phony Bolshevism started up you can't say a word . . . Picasso! . . . Boussacle Tartre! another Commie! . . . billions all over! . . . all prisoners of starvation! . . . no time for you . . .The fatter their belly, their ass . . . 
their jowls, the bigger "prisoners of starvation" they are!
Don't
laugh! They'll cut off your head . . .

I'm suspicious of everybody! I don't laugh! . . . our dogs sniff and "
grrr!
" . . . drive everybody away . . . Bécart
°
said to me, must have been two days before he died: "You're stubborn, Ferdinand! . . . dogs are carnivorous, didn't you know that? . . . you're looking for trouble! . . ."

Let's get back to my difficulties . . . the long and the short of it . . . without exaggeration . . . the most unskilled laborer down there on the island, at Renault's, works less than I do, and eats and sleeps more . . . and in two days I'll be sixty-three . . . And respect? . . . I'm lucky if they don't chop me into little pieces! "Stinker! Stalinist! . . . Nazi . . . pornographer! . . . charlatan! . . . menace! . . ."and these kind words aren't whispered! . . . they're written in black and white! . . . all over the billboards! . . . And another capital crime: I give free consultations . . . does that make them hate me! . . . only garbage is free! "Ah, he wants to be forgiven! the lowest stinker of them all!"

I think it over . . . the amusing side . . . my fall from the heights . . . my dear old professor Etienne Bordas wrote me only the other day . . . "You, so distinguished a mind! born to the élite! . . . my best pupil!"

Hell! . . . lucky he's gone away! "Elite!" Ah, that's not the opinion of Lower Meudon . . . or of Upper Meudon either, for that matter . . . he'd have seen the posters! "Traitor, quack, Stalinist, pornographer, drunkard . . ." But maybe the worst of all for my reputation: "He hasn't got a car!"

The butcher, the grocer, the carpenter don't make their rounds on foot! A doctor on foot? . . . No wonder they talk . . . No car? The crust of that bum . . . dangerous charlatan, fit to be hanged . . . the sidewalk is for thugs . . . for whores . . . going to see a patient on foot? . . . an insult . . . naturally he throws you out! . . . and you complain!

Versailles isn't very far away, for instance . . . Can you conceive of a doctor . . . any doctor . . . going to Versailles on foot . . . Fagon
e°
on foot? . . . and a patient conscious of his rights. Social Security, union card, subscriber to three, four, 
five newspapers,
cousin
to
two,
three hundred millionaires,
thinks
a damn
sight more of
himself than King Louis! XIV!
. . . XVI . . . or
XVI!
. . .

On top of all this . . . the last straw! . . . the end of the world! . . . the shopping! they see me with my two shopping bags! . . . one for bones . . . the other for vegetables . . . mostly carrots!

In view of my age, my little tremor, my gray hair, I could pass for Professor Something or other in a pinch . . . Professor
Nimbus
, I'd hand people a laugh . . . they'd help me! but these posters! That's serious, inexpiable . . . and being born in Courbevoie . . . makes me feel like an adventurer . . . lower, much lower than a chiropracter . . . somewhere between a herborist and a condom . . . lower than Bovary . . . a coolie . . . coolie of the Occident . . . the future! . . . bearer of packages, crates, shopping bags . . . and garbage cans . . . bearer of crimes . . . of taxes . . . bearer of the 
Médaille Militaire
. . . bearer of my seventy-five percent disability . . . the complete bearer . . .

Loukoum is certainly not going to help me . . . I don't argue . . . the impression is enough . . .

And there's more to it than my age and the wall inscriptions . . . the state of our house . . . "What keeps it standing?" . . . and my opening the gate in person . . . unlocking . . . locking up again . . . that's the end . . . it does look bad, I admit . . . and the location . . . I haven't told you? . . . in the middle of the hill . . . really an impossible place to live! the path! . . . the muck! . . . my poor patients in the winter . . . climbing, sloshing, breaking their necks . . . and I have the nerve to complain . . . naturally they don't come up . . . they never will . . . they follow the riverbank to Issy . . . everything in one place . . . baker, butcher, post office, drugstore, noodles, barber, wine . . . and the
Grand Rio
, 1,200 seats . . . triple-width screen . . . and God knows how many doctors! . . . what can I expect in me middle of my hill? the sick people up top stay up top, they're not crazy! the few chronic cases who risk it are questioned at the bar . . . am I really as crummy as people say? am I really the Pétiot type? . . . did they see any pieces of victims? . . . ovens for torturing the patients? . . . etc. etc. . . .

Now and then the rain sends me patients . . . not very many . . . a few . . . who start up to the real Meudon . . . and weaken half way . . . oh, only in winter . . . they're making a big mistake, in the summer they'd enjoy the view . . . it's unique . . . and the trees and the birds . . . not just dogs . . . the way they sing! . . . you can see everything . . . as far as Taverny at the far end of the department . . . from my garden, from the path . . . yes, a garden . . . a little Eden three months out of twelve . . . what trees! . . . and hawthorn and clematis . . . you'd never think it was hardly a couple of miles from the Pont d'Auteuil! the woods, the tail end of the Bois d'Yveline . . . then comes Renault . . . right below us! you can't go wrong . . . where the bush is thickest, that's us! the dogs will leap out at you, the pack! . . . don't let yourself be intimidated . . . pretend not to hear them . . . look at the view! the hills, Longchamp, the grandstands, Suresnes, the loops of the Seine . . . two . . . three loops . . . by the bridge, right next to Renault's island, the last clump of pines, on the point . . .

Of course it was a lot more countrified when we came out here delivering lace and fans . . . around 1900 . . . same paths . . . oh, we had plenty of customers in Meudon . . . "it will give him some air!" We breathed in the air . . . I breathed in the air . . . we were suffocating in the Passage Choiseul . . . three hundred gas jets . . . child-raising by gas! . . . We started after the office . . . my father left his Coccinelle Fire Insurance Co. on the run! And off we went . . . the bus, we sat on top with our packages . . . we were never back at the Passage before nine, ten o'clock at night . . . the paths in Meudon haven't changed at all . . . serpentines, corkscrews, precipices . . . it was something to find the customers in that tangle . . . very difficult ladies, and their difficult daughters . . . "it's not right . . . it's too expensive," etc. . . . anything they could dream up to make us take back the bill but leave the merchandise! small repair job: ten francs . . . anything to get out of paying . . . our customers in a 
nutshell . . . what's
become of those families?
. . .
the
houses are still here, just about the same . . .
and the
paths . . . not too safe at night . . . It's all right
for
me, I never go out without my dogs . . . not one . . . three . . . four of them . . . and vicious! . . .

"And your patients?"

"No bargain . . . no easier to satisfy than the swellegant ladies of 1900!. . . our griping, cheating, thieving customers . . . enough to disillusion St. Vincent . . . If I'm the way I am, so poison hateful of all dealings with money,
Communist
at heart, a thousand percent, with sick people and well people, same difference, I believe it's my mother's customers who turned my stomach . . . the floozies and countesses of 1900 . . . the whole crew . . ."

But human nature doesn't change in the slightest . . .immutable gametes . . . the "changing" menopausal lady with a social security card can treat you to worse rages and tantrums than Madame de Maintenon . . . I've never been treated so brutally, called such names, and chased out with a broom except by a social-security "changer" whose feelings I was trying to spare . . . I didn't bring up the question of an operation . . . not yet . . . fibroma? . . . cancer . . . I didn't want to upset her . . . ah, my goddam delicacy . . . my tact . . . my menopause girl had no hesitation about unloading wagonloads of insults! . . . the neighbors heard it all . . . two or three of them stepped outside . . . I knew them by sight . . . "Oh, don't mind her, doctor! . . . she's highstrung! . . ." I think it was mosdy my not having
a
car . . . if I'd had one as big as a house . . . with an enormous hood . . . she wouldn't have said a word . . . and turned it in once a year . . . I could do as I pleased . . . bigger and bigger . . . it's not a Communist world . . . hell no! but plenty materialistic . . . period! . . . disgustingly! Down to the last atom!