Castle to Castle (13 page)
So I went down to see Madame Niçois . . . but I repeat, I was on my guard . . . the people along the riverfront are hostile . . . plenty of reasons . . . this, that, and the other . . . one, the way I'm dressed . . . two, the posters . . . my not taking money, plus "no maid," "no car," the garbage pail, and the shopping . . . Obviously I could only go down there at night . . . I'd go down the "cowpath" with a dog, or rather two . . . on the cowpath after seven you seldom meet anybody . . . from the bottom of the path it's only a minute to the former Place Faidherbe . . . Madame Niçois, next to last house, third floor . . . I'd been there before . . . first I settle my mutt . . . I almost always take Agar . . . he waits for me, he sleeps . . . I'd never risk it without a dog . . . Agar's full of faults . . . he barks, he howls . . . and the way he tangles up his chain! . . . it's all over the place . . . he turns it into a snake . . . it's in front of you . . . it's twisted between your legs . . . it's behind you . . . you keep bellowing . . . "Agar! Agar! . . ." with him for a companion you're always on the verge of a nosedive . . . yes, yes, but Agar has one good quality . . . he doesn't make friends with people . . . he's not a social dog . . . he's not interested in anybody but me . . . for instance: at Madame Niçois', while I'm treating her, he's out on the landing, if there's anybody prowling around, I don't have to worry . . . even somebody on the sidewalk across the street . . . he'll throw a howling fit! . . . with all his faults, he's a real watchdog . . . no "supposedly" about him . . . Frieda, Lili's bitch up on the hill, is worse . . . she hardly knows me, won't go out with anybody but Lili . . . so I settle my mutt on the landing, on the doormat . . . Don't go thinking that I'm afraid, I'm not afraid of anything, but after fifteen years of hot pursuit I wouldn't want to be bumped off . . . it's my sporting pride . . . by one of those pimply little hyenas, one of those jittering junk heads with dreams of a marble tablet: "On this spot Lydoirzeff struck down . . ." and glory! Oh, it wouldn't surprise me . . . to have one . . . or two . . . or three of them waiting for me . . . down below . . . right there . . . and Madame Niçois in the know . . . to cap the climax! in cahoots . . . with her doped-up look and the cancer in her ass! . . . absolutely, I've known sicker people, nearer the end than she was, getting mixed up in crummier machinations than that . . . the moment I set foot out of doors, patients or no patients, I could look forward to trouble . . . if you're really devoted to your calling, you can expect the worst . . . especially on stairs, going up, going down . . . take my stairs on the rue Girardon, it was touch and go . . . the murderers were right there . . . they'd come to give me a Prague . . . a Budapest . . . they wrote me . . . they still can't forgive themselves . . . one good burst . . . no more jeremiads out of me . . . and no vague threats . . . oh no! . . . from a heavy-duty Stalinist . . . one Etienne Vaillant! . . . not the one in the Chamber . . . nobody's interested in the Chamber any more! History is made of caprices! whims! rages! scene 1: whoopie . . . hurrah . . . scene 2? . . . boo! dragass! shitass! look at Caesar . . . how many have tried it since? too many to count! from Louverture to Christine to Mollet! as many as there are writers who imitate me! . . . Caesar, Alexander . . . that's somebody! . . . but try to do the same! . . . like Vaillant No. 1! . . . and No. 2! . . .
But leave the past to the waxworks . . . Back to the present! to Madame Niçois! . . . I'm down at her place . . . as I was telling you . . .' I check to make sure everything's all right . . . if Agar is behaving . . . he's asleep on the doormat . . . his ears twitch . . . stop twitching . . . I trust Agar more than Madame Niçois . . . the slightest suspicion on the stairway? . . . the slightest creaking of a door? . . . you'll hear from Agar . . . a revolution! "Wouldn't it be better for me to be down, Doctor?" "Lie down, Madame Niçois . . ." I'd brought my instruments, syringes . . . compresses . . . forceps . . . "Am I still bleeding, Doctor? . . ." "Oh, no, Madame
. . . very little . . . less and less . . ."
"And
the smell, Doctor? . . ." "Less and less, Madame . . "
Suppose I had Vaillant to take care of . . . Vaillant, my weak-kneed assassin . . . Tropmann or Landru . . . or Tartre in person . . . or the hundreds of thousands of bastards who've been hounding me for years, from prison to prison . . . straining at the leash . . . I wouldn't change my style . . . my methods . . . one iota . . . I'm the good Samaritan in person . . . the Samaritan of the cockroaches . . . I can't help helping them . . . Abbé Pierre is more like Gapon . . . Father Gapon . . . well see . . . but my case is already clear . . . I'm "Dr. Better and Better" . . . that's why, at the dispensary in the Vesterfangsel (lights on day and night) I was in charge of "lifting morale" . . . Suppose I saw Tartre there in his death agony . . . "bastard," I'd say, "get up, get better, you stinking shitass . . . make your getaway! recapture all your bile! don't be discouraged! . . . you're stupid as hell, but you're educated! . . ." Tartre or somebody else! . . . Obviously morale is everything . . . actually, the honest truth, I couldn't see Madame Niçois going on for more than five, six weeks at the most . . . and she didn't want to go to the hospital . . . oh, no, nothing doing . . . it's me she wanted . . . only me . . . my care . . . yes, she was in pain . . . but nothing terrible . . . cancer, yes . . . but the form that's more toxic than painful . . . luckily . . . yes, luckily . . . the form I wish you . . . the patient doesn't know what's going on. . . . so befuddled . . . debilitated . . . what? . . . which? . . . he drools and trembles and sweats . . . Madame Niçois complained some . . . but not of a very acute pain . . . she was the land that tries to get up . . . to talk to you . . . even to eat . . . and then she can't . . . she gives up . . . weaker and weaker . . . a look of death . . . That was Madame Niçois . . . as for me, I saw one thing . . . that I had at least two months ahead of me . . . of coming down here to fix her dressings . . . she couldn't possibly go out . . . the trek was for me . . . oh, but not in the daytime . . . oh no . . . only at night . . . Not that I'm so much afraid of being killed . . . no . . . but in the first place I didn't want to be seen . . . I wanted to be left alone . . . let them think what they like behind their windowpanes . . . okay . . . but I don't want to see them . . . that's all I ask.
Well then, Madame Niçois on her bed . . . I finished my dressing . . . I start talking to her about one thing and another . . . that the winter cold was over . . . soon there'd be lilacs . . . we'd frozen long enough . . . pretty soon the jonquils . . . lilies of the valley . . . this winter had been exceptional . . . broken all records . . . I pick up my cotton . . . she asks me for a roll . . . wants me to leave her one . . . ah, and the peach tree on the Route des Gardes . . . did it come through the cold all right? . . . I tell her . . . it's in blossom . . . the one that grows in the middle of the wall, between two blocks of granite . . . that tree was the spring itself . . . it was news to her . . . oh, I know how to buoy up people's spirits . . . give them a boost . . . in prison I saw hunger strikers, given up for lost . . . I got them to start eating again! . . . in a friendly kind of way . . . a little joke . . . and then another.
While we were chatting, I was putting my things away . . . oh, I almost forgot . . . the injections! . . . she needed one . . . two cc's of morphine . . . she'd drop off to sleep . . . then I'd leave . . . I inject my two cc's . . . I look out the window . . . I accuse other people of being voyeurs . . . but actually . . . I'm hopeless. . . . the complete peeper . . . I can't stand being looked at . . . but I myself, I admit . . . I'm terrible . . . wherever I am . . . well, there it was inevitable . . . the lights outside . . . I look into the distance . . . the Seine . . . Madame Niçois is dropping off . . . She's stopped talking . . . that window . . . I told you . . . looks out almost directly on the former Place Faidherbe . . . the riverfront . . . it's still pretty cold out . . . March . . . it's dark . . . you can see the water . . . I see it all right . . . naturally Madame Niçois doesn't . . . for one thing she's asleep . . . I even see people coming and going . . . men loading a barge? . . . I'll ask Madame Niçois . . . I wake her up a little . . .
"Say, Madame Niçois . . . have you seen those people down there?"
"Down where?"
"Loading the barges."
She doesn't know, she doesn't care . . . she turns over . . . she's asleep . . . I'll look all by myself . . . I've got to tell you that in addition to being a voyeur I'm a fanatic about the movement of harbors, about everything that goes on on the water . . . everything that sails or floats or docks . . . I was on the jetties with my father . . . a week's vacation in Le Tréport . . . Christ, the things we saw! . . . the fishing boats moving in and out . . . risking their lives for mackerel . . . the widows and their kids imploring the sea . . . the emotion on those jetties . . . the suspense! . . . make the Grand Guignol and the billion-dollar thrillers from Hollywood look like a kindergarten! . . . Well, down there the Seine . . . oh, I'm just as fascinated . . . just as nuts about everything connected with water and boats as when I was a kid . . . if you're nuts about boats, the way they move, their comings and goings, it's for life! . . . there aren't many fascinations that last a lifetime . . . whenever a barge comes along, I've got my spyglass . . . up in my attic . . . I keep my eye on it, I see the name, the number, the washing hung out to dry, the man at the wheel . . . I keep looking . . . the way it takes the arch at Issy, the bridge . . . either you've got the bug . . . or you haven't . . . if you've got an eye for those things, harbors, barges, docks, and dams . . . the movement . . . a measly little yawl puts into shore and down I go . . . on the run . . . I used to run . . . I don't any more . . . nowadays I'm satisfied with the spyglass . . .
Any old moldy, knock-kneed barge working its way through a canal . . . I'd follow it to the next lock . . . oh, I've followed girls all right . . . lots of them . . . but I've spent a good many more hours fascinated with the movement on the water . . . the hide-and-seek of the arches . . . the next arch . . .. the big tank barge . . . another . . . a little yacht . . . a gull . . . two gulls . . . the magic of the bubbles in the current . . . the lapping of the water . . . you feel it or you don't . . . the procession of barges . . .
Through Madame Niçois' window I saw that the waterfront was busy . . . I could tell . . . men . . . I saw it was a barge. . . either you've got an eye for those things . . . or you're a stupid landlubber . . . a different animal . . . okay . . . crazy about buses, for instance . . . okay . . . well, after staring hard at the waterfront I saw that this movement wasn't at all what I'd thought . . . no sign of a barge . . . no shipment of junk . . . or coal . . . this was something entirely different . . . absolutely . . . I wouldn't have believed it . . . my excuse is that the riverfront at the former Place Faidherbe is never lighted . . . the township can't afford it . . . in the first place there aren't enough people . . . in the second place the kids smash all the lamps . . . their greatest Joy! . . . bang . . . it takes skill! . . . the township gave up long ago! result: total darkness! . . . makes you think of Suez! . . . besides, the street is all jagged cracks . . . enormous holes . . . needs a complete repair job . . . so does our path . . . what doesn't? . . . and what prevents them from fixing the road? . . . the big factory is spreading out . . . still through the window I'm looking at this movement . . . they're not loading sand or coal . . . I tell Madame Niçois, lying there . . . I wake her up . . . the riverfront doesn't interest her in the least . . . she was back at what we were talking about before . . . the late vegetation, the spring . . . she won't talk about anything but the spring . . . I listen . . . we're not on the same wave length . . . me, it's the riverfront . . . and I can tell you . . . what I see in the blackness isn't normal and it's not a barge! . . . ah, those piercing eyes of mine! . . . damned if it isn't a
bateau-mouche
. . . I can even see the name . . . in enormous red letters:
La Publique
and the number: 114 . . . how do I see it? . . . Maybe a feeble glow from a light bulb? . . . from a shop window? . . . no . . . all the store fronts are locked up tight . . . but I'm positive! I look, I can see the whole square . . . and there it is:
La Publique
. . . pulled up by the dock . . . and the comings and goings on board . . . the people in twos . . . in threes . . . mostly in threes . . . they've come from up top . . . same path as we use . . . I imagine . . . they get into the boat . . . they talk to somebody . . . and they get off again . . . did I say: they talk? . . . well, that's what it looks like, I can't hear them . . . I can only see them . . . groups of three . . . coming and going on the gangplank . . . I can see their faces some . . . well no, not exactly . . . rather their silhouettes . . . yes, of course, dim, muddled silhouettes . . . unclear . . . I'm muddled myself . . . who wouldn't be? . . . I was a little shaken . . . in fact, I'd had a rotten shock! . . . that's right, a shock . . . the whole of Europe on my ass . . . yes, the whole of Europe . . . plus my friends . . . my family . . . all competing to see who could grab more away from me . . . not leaving me time to say boo . . . my eyes! . . . my nose! . . . my fountain pen . . . the ferocity of Europe! . . . the Nazis were no lovebirds, but don't tell me about the sweet gentleness of Europe . . . I'm not exaggerating . . . that little warrant . . . and all those public prosecutors . . . I admit it's left me kind of groggy . . . for instance, I'm not quite sure about seeing these comings and goings on the shore . . .
Damn . . . I'm digressing . . . I'm getting you mixed up . . . this
bateau-mouche
is really pulled up alongside . . . I see it . . . nobody can tell me different . . . I can even make out groups of people . . . coming and going . . . trailing through the darkness of the landing . . . over the gangplank . . . going aboard . . . they can't be excursionists . . . impossible . . . it's not that kind of place . . . besides it's the end of March . . . a glacial wind . . . sure, we've seen worse . . . Körsor up there! Baltavia, the Belt! . . . on the subject of ice, I'll have a few things to tell you . . . but this right here is no slouch . . . a mean shivery wind . . . you'd want to be out strolling around . . . and this
bateau-mouche
,
La Publique
. . . it wasn't a dream . . . no, I could see it . . . but like everything else, all misty . . . my own weakened state? . . . anemia? . . . or from staring so hard? . . . Madame Niçois had stopped listening to me . . . she was dozing . . . I couldn't expect her to help me untangle the pros from the cons . . . whether it was a real
bateau-mouche
? . . . in the first place, even when she was awake, Madame Niçois had lost most of her bearings . . . you only had to see her on the way to my place . . . catching hold of branches . . . catching this and that and the other . . . it wasn't drunkenness that made her stagger . . . She just wasn't what she used to be . . . she couldn't have done six feet on the landing . . . ploof! . . . she'd have been in the drink! . . . six feet . . . it was up to me to go see . . . not to her . . . I'm not the hesitant type . . . was I cockeyed or not? . . . brass tacks! . . . either it's
La Publique
, or I'm screwy drunk! . . . on what! my senses off kilter? . . . facts are facts . . . Agar's even more rationally positivistic than I am . . . the least thing unusual in the air? . . .
grrr
. . .
grrr!
. . . a cyclone . . . you can't hold him . . . he'll make hash out of the former Place Faidherbe and all those people . . . people? . . . that are coming and going . . . and the shops . . . he'll make them open up . . . I've just got to say: Agar! . . . he's the loudest of the pack . . . the neighbors, for instance . . . their nerves . . . "Give him a shot, Doctor . . . put him out of his misery . . . he's making our lives unlivable . . ." suburban neighbors . . . it doesn't take much to make their lives unlivable! fatigue, the wear and tear of commuting their nerves are on edge . . . your mutt is the last straw . . . plus the aggravations of life . . . exasperated wives, the housekeeping . . . being too near the department stores . . . you and your wolf pack are all they need . . .
Meanwhile Agar would put me straight . . . ghosts or not ghosts? Illusion? or what? some effect of the water? I'll be right back, Madame Niçois!" The stairs . . . there we are on the sidewalk . . . me and the dog . . . people coming . . . going . . . crossing the former Place Faidherbe . . . absolutely . . . Agar sniffs at them . . . he doesn't bark . . . I can't see their faces . . . they're wearing hoods . . . not real hoods, rags . . . ragged hats . . . kind of turbans pulled way down, anyway their faces are hidden . . . to give you an idea that this wasn't normal . . . besides it was dark . . . or pretty near . . . it's never completely dark . . . Agar doesn't bark . . . I approach the landing . . . I see it . . . positive . . . the
bateau-mouche
. . . a real one . . . and the number: 114 . . . and the name . . . I go still closer . . . it's an old one . . . none of the phony
bateaux-mouche
you see today . . . showcases for tourists . . . all glass! . . . that I see passing when I look down from my window . . . this was a genuine old one . . . obsolete . . . older than myself . . . with an enormous anchor . . . up front . . . life preservers all around . . . chaplets of life preservers . . . garlands of life preservers, yellow, pink, green . . . life boats . . . and the big collapsible smokestack . . . and the captain's bridge . . . even the paint was period . . . coal tar and lilac . . . the name plate must be new,
La Publique
. . . I'm not talking through my hat . . . I know my
bateaux-mouche
, I'm not making anything up . . . every Sunday when I was little, for my complexion, we took one at the Pont-Royal, the nearest landing . . . twenty-five centimes round trip to Suresnes . . . every Sunday from April on . . . rain or shine . . . airing the goddam kids . . . all the kids of central Paris . . . I wasn't the only pale and pasty kid . . . and our families . . . out for the "cure" . . . that's what they called it, the "cure" . . . Suresnes and back . . . a bowl of air . . . full in the wind! . . . twenty-five centimes . . . it wasn't exactly the quiet type of cruise . . . you could hear the mothers . . . "Stop picking your nose! . . . Arthur! Arthur! . . . breathe deeply! . . ." The fresh air made the kids caper in all directions! climb all over . . . from the engines to the shithouse . . . picking their noses, fiddling with their flies . . . and especially over the propeller . . . watching the big whirlpools . . . the eddies of bubbles . . . There were always fifteen . . . twenty . . . thirty of them . . . hypnotizing themselves . . . and their mothers and fathers with them! . . . and the clouts! . . . hey, Pierrette! . . . hey, Léonce . . . we were all there . . . howls! . . . tears! . . .
smack
. . .
wham!
. . . breathe that air! . . . you weren't going to lay out twenty-five centimes apiece for nothing! . . . You little roughneck, you'll end up in jail! . . ." children, the family plague! . . . "breathe, breathe, damn it! . . ."
Bingo!
. . .
Zing!
"Breathe, I tell you!" Childhood in those days meant clouts! "Breathe deeply, you little thug!"
Whack!
"Leave your nose alone, you hoodlum! You stink, you didn't wipe your ass, pig! . . ." Illusions about good instincts hit our families later, much later, complexes, inhibitions, etcetera . . . "You stink, you didn't wipe yourself! stop poking in your pants!" was enough in 1900, and tornadoes of whacks . . . for emphasis and punctuation . . . an unswatted kid would grow up to be a convict . . . a criminal . . . a murderer . . . God knows what . . . and you'd be to blame . . .
Result: the
bateaux-mouche
were noisy . . . punitive and educational . . . deep breathing, uninterrupted clouts . . . all over . . . on the anchor in the bow . . . in the stern over the propeller!
Smack!
wham
! "Jeannette . . . Léopold! . . ." "Denise! . . ." "you've done it in your pants again!" Something to remember their Sunday by! . . . pasty-faced, snot-nosed, disobedient brats . . . the trouble the parents went to to make them get the benefit of the fresh air! which they were absolutely determined not to breathe! . . . Pont-Royal-Suresnes and back!
When everybody went over to one side, the whole boat listed . . . naturally . . . the parents too! . . . The mothers started up again! "You little thug, you do it on purpose!" And
wham!
bam!
. . . "Breathe! Breathe!" The captain yelled from his shack . . . they should control themselves! . . . "Not all at once!" . . . through his megaphone . . . No use! . . . they knotted up worse and worse! . . . kids and parents and grandmothers . . . and clouts! and counterclouts! . . . and peepee here and peepee there . . . everybody at the same rail! . . . Going to capsize! . . . Can there be joy without disorder? . . .
biff!
bang!
Clotilde! . . .
boo hoo! bang!
clouts for all Gaston! . . . your pocket! . . . you're touching yourself! . . .
bam!
. . . pig!
