Castle to Castle (22 page)

It's a fact, I still think of her, even now in this fever . . . in the first place I can't tear myself away from anything, a memory, a person, so how would I tear myself away from a dog? . . . I'm a virtuoso of fidelity . . . fidelity and responsibility . . . responsible for everything . . . a disease . . . anti-ungrateful . . . the world is good to you! . . . animals are innocent, even when they run wild like Bessy . . . in a pack they shoot them . . .

I really loved her with her crazy escapades, I wouldn't have parted with her for all the gold in the world . . . any more than with Bébert, though he was the meanest ripper of them all . . . a tiger! . . . but very affectionate at times . . . and terribly attached! from end to end of Germany . . . animal fidelity . . .

In Meudon, I could see, Bessy missed Denmark . . . nothing to hunt in Meudon . . . no deer . . . maybe a rabbit? . . . maybe . . . I took her to the Bois de Saint-Cloud . . . for a bit of a run . . . she sniffed . . . zigzagged . . . and came back in no time . . . two minutes . . . nothing to track in the Bois de Saint-Cloud . . . she walked along with us . . . but she was sad . . . she was a robust animal . . . she'd had a bad time of it up there . . . the cold . . . ten below . . . and no kennel . . . and not just for days! . . . for months . . . years . . . the Baltic frozen over . . .

All of a sudden up there with us . . . never mind, we forgave her everything . . . she'd take a powder . . . she'd come back . . . never a word of reproach . . . she ate out of our plates, so to speak . . . the worse the world treated us, the more we spoiled her . . . she's dead . . . but she had a bad time dying . . . I didn't want to give her an injection . . . not even a little morphine . . . the syringe would have frightened her . . . I'd never frightened her . . . she was very low for a good two weeks . . . oh, she didn't complain, but I could tell . . . strength all gone . . . she slept beside my bed . . . one morning she wanted to go out . . . I wanted to lay her down in the straw . . . right after daybreak . . . she didn't like the place I put her . . . she wanted a different place . . . on the cold side of the house, on the pebbles . . . she lay down very prettily . . . she began to rattle . . . that was the end . . . they'd told me, I didn't believe it . . . but it was true . . . she was pointed in the direction of her memory . . . the place she had come from, the North, Denmark, her muzzle turned toward the north. . . a faithful dog in a way, faithful to the woods of her escapades, Körsor up there . . . faithful too to the awful life . . . she didn't care for the woods of Meudon . . . she died with two, three little rattles . . . oh, very discreet . . . practically no complaining . . . and in a beautiful position, as though in mid-leap . . . but on her side, felled, finished . . . her nose toward the forests of the chase, up there where she came from, where she'd suffered . . . God knows! . . .

Oh, I've seen plenty of death agonies . . . here . . . there . . . everywhere . . . but none by far so beautiful, so discreet . . . so faithful . . . the trouble with men's death agonies is the song and dance . . . a man is always on the stage . . . even the simplest of them . . .

I don't have to tell you that I absolutely wanted to get better . . . to get up . . . for this to be only a slight attack . . . hell! . . . a week! . . . a whole month! . . . and what a summer, what weather! . . . it seems that never in the last hundred years . . . it almost snowed! . . . fever doesn't prevent you from working as long as you're careful not to catch cold again . . . consequently no riverfront! . . . and what about Madame Niçois? . . . she could wait a week . . . ten days . . . if I couldn't make it, Tailhefer would go . . . he could go in his car . . . I'd give him a ring . . . he wouldn't refuse me . . . I thought of everything, as best I could! . . . Tailhefer was a Prince of Science . . . he wouldn't have any trouble finding the former Quai Faidherbe . . . he couldn't say no . . . he'd get a look at
La Publique
. . . we'd known each other a long time, Tailhefer and me . . . he'd gone up . . . a Master . . . as far as I'd gone down . . . to give you an idea! . . . My only hope of paying the coal bill was my books . . . that didn't sell! . . . shit creek! . . . the hope that this one would sell? . . . rash! . . . that it might interest certain people . . . don't make me laugh! I often take my temperature . . . silly distraction! a briefcase to lean on . . . that's it . . . and I scribble . . . I get ahead . . . rich people have doubts . . . they can afford it . . . but poor bastards . . . no youth . . . no health . . . barge right ahead . . . I'm boycotted? . . . what of it? . . . "He hasn't committed suicide yet? . . ." That's what amazes them . . . "Out of date, decrepit!" . . . Well, here's what I think of them . . . rotten, stinking corpses! rejects from the wax works! . . . scrapings of the dump! . . . each man to his idea! . . . need rewriting . . . to the core! to the bone! to the atom! . . . worse, worse than 1900! . . . ragouts of vanity! phrases, false bosoms! . . . Madame Emery on the rue Royale . . . Paris . . . and Trouville in the summer . . . could make you dresses a damn sight better than their novels . . . the painstaking care! the flounces and embroidery! . . . really fine workmanship! . . . I don't see it anymore . . . everybody's entitled to his own idea . . . I, who have seen Empires ground to hash, if I live long enough (coal and carrots), I'll witness the hash of our "up-to-date" writers . . . thickheaded yokels . . . fakers . . . that's it! . . . coal! . . . carrots . . . tailor-made, that's the main thing . . . and hand-sewn . . . a little appliqué of memories! one here . . . one there . . . a historical incident . . . hand-sewn . . . another . . . I owe you a "revolt of the hungry . . ." Oh, a harmless little revolt . . . it may amuse you . . .

I won't get up . . . I don't feel like getting up . . . Tailhefer will go . . . I'll give him a ring . . .

Revolt . . . not in Lower Meudon! No, in Siegmaringen . . . I'm wandering, taking you for a ride . . . never mind! . . . I'm collecting my historical memories . . . I don't want to go wrong . . . here we are . . . Siegmaringen . . . the morale . . . not so good . . . despite the appeals to the "combative spirit" of "United Europe" . . . flabby! . . . as flabby as right now despite the appeals of Dulles, Coty, Lazare, Youssef, the Pope . . . soft, soft, the morale was soft . . . the "certainty of victory" . . . just around the corner, and so on . . . didn't cheer anybody up! . . . They didn't say anything, but they thought what they thought . . . though God knows they had a stake in victory . . . this elite of collaborators, 1,142 of them all condemned to death, with Article 75 on their ass . . . they began, the nerve of them! . . . to complain that the food was no good, that the
"Stamgericht"
and even the
"Hausgericht"
was absolutely for the birds . . . starvation! That's what they grumbled and pretty soon they were shouting . . . and that the guests at the Castle, the pontiffs, ministers and so on, "active" and "on ice," and their wives and mistresses, bodyguards, nursemaids and babies, were doing fine . . . and the generals, admirals, and ambassadors from God knows where . . . that all those people were superstuffed, fat and full of blood, with eight, sixteen food cards each . . . and it was time for them to cough up!

Naturally all this was passed on: the mentality of those people . . . born cops . . . a stool-pigeon or two in every garret . . . the Castle had its ears open! . . . you'll understand the whole Middle Ages if you've lived a while in Siegmaringen . . . the envy, the hatred of the villeins all around you, dying of rot and starvation, cold and fever . . . and the lords of the Castle had their special ways of keeping the rabble down . . . first the rumors! . . . spreading glad news . . . the rumor they circulated was that they were going to eat with the villeins . . . in person . . . without ceremony . . . by the drawbridge . . . with the 1,142 . . . the muttering rabble . . . the mob from the attics . . . first, bread would be distributed! . . . plenty of bread . . . to all the refugees . . . Thursday at twelve noon . . . on the dot of twelve! . . . we only had to be present! all of us!

You can imagine that rumors like that don't fall on deaf ears . . . that there was some crowd at the drawbridge . . . a mob . . . on the day set . . . they came at daybreak . . . you think the stomach hasn't got ears? . . . the
collabos
were all there by the drawbridge . . . all except the sick and dying of the 
Fidelis
, who really couldn't get up, and the ones who had escaped into the Black Forest . . . Anyway, it's safe to say, out of the 1,142 at least 1000 were there, waiting to get something . . . and the talk, the discussions! . . . the reflections of the gastric juices! . . . black bread? . . . whole-meal bread? . . . rolls? . . . and all remarkably well informed . . . or lousy stool-pigeons? . . . Morale up-lifters? . . . who knew exactly what there was going to be! . . . for the children: croissants! brioches! . . . oh, not a doubt! . . . but I, knowing what it was like in Cissen, I said to myself: this is going to be a raid, a roundup of the hungry . . . this assembly is a hoax! . . .

While waiting for the brioches they exchanged fleas, lice, crabs, and itches . . . convulsive . . . you never saw anything like it . . . a little crowd of epileptics . . . that's what hunger does! hunger worse than anything else . . . Were they going to put it away! my, oh, my! . . . shifting from foot to foot . . . scratching, plowing furrows in their scabs . . . all in a kind of semicircle around the drawbridge . . . rolling their eyes . . . fascinated . . . watching for the feed that was going to come out . . . not just bread . . . ham, too . . . sandwiches . . . with lard . . . but I'm not romantic about food . . . I was quietly on the watch, looking out toward a hole in the catacombs to the right of the bridge . . . a rockpile . . . a land of crater . . . I was expecting a kidney punch . . . a raid of shuppos . . . something . . . a commando from the cellars . . . a frameup . . . S.S.? S.A.? . . .
Sicherheit?
I could see that the Krauts were fed up . . . seeing us there shifting from foot to foot, from doormat to doormat, scratching, coughing, evil-minded, waiting for what?. . . the child Jesus? . . . a revolution in Valhalla? . . . the Knights of Siegfried and the Grail? . . . with rolls thrown in? and the idea of our wanting more to eat! Not satisfied with our turnip "Stams". . . our delicious margarine soups! . . . They had reason to be fed up . . . especially as their affairs weren't prospering . . . disaster in sight . . . their armies all in a heap . . . we with our skeptical ways . . . and our spying . . . we were fouling up their morale! . . . they'd already lost their sky . . . you had only to look . . . behind every cloud twenty . . . thirty planes . . . R.A.F. . . . a merry-go-round . . . and the Americans! . . . three, four squadrons of Fortresses . . . permanent . . . day and night . . . London . . . Munich . . . Vienna . . . not a Kraut in the sky against them . . . to give you an idea that we weren't very popular . . . we and our cynical remarks . . . especially when you remember that they themselves . . . Kraut to Kraut . . . were out to get each other . . . Anyway, there around the drawbridge . . . we kept debating . . . would it be plain K-bread?° . . . or army loaves? . . . or brioche? . . . the handout was supposed to be at twelve . . . at one we were still waiting . . . scratching to pass the time, that's right . . . I knew . . . this was going to end badly . . . quarter past one . . . the whole bell-tower explodes . . . all at once . . . a volley of bells! Magnificent bell-tower . . . you'll hear it if you go there . . . I kept looking at my hole . . .. the crater . . . like I was sure that something . . . And sure enough . . . I see somebody coming out . . . looks like two big rats . . . two people, all muffled up! . . . women . . . two women . . . I see them, they're coming closer . . . I'd never seen them before . . . they come up from the bottom of the crater . . . they must live in the catacombs . . . nobody had ever gone down to the bottom of the catacombs . . . they went under the Danube . . . as far as Basel! . . . and on the other side as far as the Brenner . . . so it seems! . . . nobody had ever looked . . . Maybe these women had? . . . Anyway, these two . . . I knew the Castle well and I'd never seen them . . . nor Lili either . . . I ask her . . . one looked pretty young . . . oh, not the other . . . an ancient hag . . . twisted . . . both of them had parasols! . . . oh yes! . . . pink parasols . . . I could see the old bag close up . . . her nose . . . all covered with warts . . . she kept blinking . . . the other too . . . the light! . . . they must have lived in the dark . . . they were used to the darkness . . . but why? . . . and why the parasols? they didn't talk to each other . . . oh, yes . . . now they're talking . . . the old bag asks what's going on . . . they're talking Boche . . . that old woman is a rough customer!

"What's that? What's that?"