Castle to Castle (33 page)

All of a sudden I hear "
nun! nun!
Raumnitz! . . . that was his voice: "
Nun! nun!
it's him all right! he looks at Papillon . . . he looks at the people, the circle around him . . . they'd stopped talking . . .
nun! nun!
. . . that's all he said . . . he feels the chains . . .
nun! nun!
. . . and away he goes! . . . he goes upstairs to his place, the floor above, with his dogs . . . he must have just come back from the station . . . he's on his landing, over our room . . . he stops, he leans over the banister . . . "Doctor! Doctor!" he calls me . . .

"Would you mind? In a little while? . . . if you've got a moment . . ."

"Certainly, Major!. . . Certainly!"

Laval, I've got to see him too . . . and the
Landrat
too . . . and Christ Almighty, the
Fidelis!
. . . thirty forty bad cases at the
Fidelis!
. . . plus Madame Bonnard, aged ninety-six . . . and three . . . four . . . five . . . six calls at the other end of town! . . . Should I go? Or shouldn't I? . . . the
Landrat
was also for Bébert! . . . the chicken bones for Bébert! . . . I beg all I can at the
Landrats
, I'm popular in the kitchen . . . I show the cook Bébert, she's delighted . . . she's crazy about him, I take him out of his bag . . . he's the boss in the kitchen . . . we leave with plenty of bones! . . . and more than bones! . . . there's meat on them! . . . Lili and I eat some of it . . . believe me, that Landrat wanted for nothing . . . no reducing diet! . . . I knew, I saw his kitchen . . . every day they bring him two three four pieces of game . . . and good stuff! . . . I saw it! . . . deer, woodcock, fat hens . . . the Black Forest is full of game . . . and the foresters were under him . . .
Landrat
and Master of the Hunt! . . . he was as well fed as Pétain . . . as de Gaulle in London . . . as the Kommandantur in Paris . . . tomorrow the Kommandatura! . . . as Roosevelt on his yacht! . . . as Franco in Madrid! . . . as "Tito-the-Smiling-Sideboard!" . . . So that was the first stop! . . . Bébert in his bag! back to the hotel! . . . and away we go! . . . ah, but first to kiss the old lady's hand . . .

"Au revoir, Madame Bonnard! au revoir!"

And out I go . . . I'll go see Raumnitz when I come back . . . he must want to speak to me about the station . . . maybe about Papillon too . . . certainly in fact . . .

Just as I expected . . . the people hadn't gone at all . . . our landing was choked with
Landsturm
troops and civilians from the trains, from the railroad station, refugees from Strasbourg, so they said . . . the arguments! screaming at each other . . . about what they'd seen and not seen! . . . Leclerc's army! . . . the Senegalese with their chop-chops! . . . the details! . . . we slackers in Siegmaringen couldn't have any idea! . . . any inkling! . . . trouble was their private property! and nobody could tell them different . . . survivors of the most horrible massacres! . . . they occupied the stairs and the landing and the crapper door . . . another invasion! . . . they came up to piss three . . . four . . . ten at a time! . . . they stopped next to Papillon . . . they looked at him . . . lying there on his side chained, with his face all bruised and swollen . . . as if he'd drowned! . . . they formed a circle around him . . . they would have liked to talk to him, ask him what he was doing . . . Clotilde, on her knees beside him, told them the whole story . . . in sobs and snatches, as best she could! the awful ambush! the poplar . . . the twelfth? . . . the thirteenth? . . . crying so hard she lost count . . . and the little brook . . . The refugees from Strasbourg told her off . . . they were in no humor for her sob stories! applesauce! stupid, infantile, inept! . . . they'd really seen something! . . . they'd been through real horrors! . . . they had a right to talk! nobody could tell them! . . . who was this Papillon anyway in the first place? . . . a cop! a bull! a stoolie? . . . and this girl? this weeping willow? what whore house was she from? . . . the more Clotilde told them, the more plaintive and pitiful . . . exhausted from weeping . . . the poplar! . . . the seventh? . . . the twelfth? . . . she didn't remember! . . . the more she got on their nerves! . . . they were really sore! . . . they hadn't escaped from Strasbourg . . . a miracle! . . . and the chop-chop Senegalese to listen to the sob stories of this floozie down there on her knees! hell no! they had a right to holler! . . . after what they'd seen and gone through! . . . rivers of blood! . . . not trickles! . . . nothing you could hold in a handkerchief! . . . mass decapitations! hangings! whole avenues of trees! . . . whole strings and circles of stiffs! this sniveling bitch hadn't seen a damn thing! . . . and we hadn't either! . . . slackers! yellow-bellies! . . . we hadn't seen the Senegalese in Strasbourg or the Fifis that gouge out your eyes! we hadn't seen a thing! . . . and we were driving them nuts with our know-it-all airs! . . . they started talking louder and louder, screaming and shouting about the bloodbath in their Strasbourg! . . . more and more outraged that this slut Clotilde, the nerve of her! . . . the cry-baby . . . hell, she hadn't the faintest idea! . . . or the rest of us, idiots! lazy buttercups! a little trip to Strasbourg! that's what she needed! . . . teach her to appreciate the Swiss border! . . . hamadonna! . . . they'd show her the Fifis . . . with her twelfth . . . thirteenth tree! . . . hell they'd find the right one . . . the branch to hang her from! . . . their asses bled for her . . . listening to that bullshit . . . wait till Leclerc gets here with his army! . . . she'd see a real ambush! . . . they'd cut her guts out . . . blubbering asshole! made you sick to listen! . . . intolerable! "boo-hoo! shut up!" The coons would cut her tongue out! cutting out tongues was their specialty! . . . and her cop boyfriend at the same time! . . . then she'd stop complaining! . . . she hadn't seen a thing! . . . sniveling phony, cop's moll . . . scissorbill! . . . the whole landing agreed that she was a provocateur, stool-pigeon, and cop's moll! and it was high time the coons came and scalped her! and cut off her clit! then she'd shut up! and the best was still to come! the rest of us too! . . . when they'd put our cocks in our mouths . . . we wouldn't talk so much! . . . and this guy chained on the floor! . . . Special Commissioner? . . . bullshit! . . . he'd tied himself up! chained himself . . . obvious! cop's dodge! it wouldn't go down with them! the survivors of Strasbourg! real gilt-edged horrors! . . . They ought to step on her! strangle her on the spot! . . . with her bull! . . . this hysterical whore with her song and dance about borders, ambushes, and kiss my ass! . . . the slut! if she and her cop had been in Strasbourg, you wouldn't hear them complaining . . . suffering ass peddler!

Just to give you an idea of their attitude . . . the new crowd on the landing! . . . really mean, unpleasant! . . . I could see the temperature rising! . . . they were going to thrash her themselves! right away! . . . especially the women, who were really worn out . . . they really had something to complain about . . . "puddles of blood this big! . . . am I right, Hector? Am I right, Léon?" . . . and children's heads cut off! . . . little angels! you couldn't count the heads! chop-chops this big! . . . they showed us remarkable lengths! . . . chop-chops! widths! axes! . . . "Am I right, Hector? . . . am I right, Leon?! Just listen to that slut! Do 'em good . . . and her flatfoot too! Give her something to cry about!" Clotilde was perfectly willing to be slapped, right then and there! she held out her face, her cheek, she wasn't afraid! but the refugees from Strasbourg, survivors of the worst massacres, hadn't come here to the Black Forest, to Siegmaringen and Pétain, for scenes like this . . . oh no! and say, what about Pétain? . . . and his gang! . . . some cathouse! . . . look at it! "Am I right, Hector?" . . . married women, respectable and all, with children . . .they had a few things to say! . . . they'd lost everything in Strasbourg! . . . but they had their dignity! . . . escaped from the horrible massacre! . . . why didn't we listen to them? . . . instead of listening to this filthy police floozie! and besides she was blocking the door . . . to the toilet! and more and more people were coming up . . . from the restaurant and the street . . . The situation is really going sour when . . . up comes a bishop . . . so help me, I'm not making it up . . . up the stairs . . . a bishop in a purple cassock, enormous hat, pectoral cross . . . and still climbing the stairs, blesses everybody . . . he runs around to bless the people in the street . . . and bless them some more . . . and the whole landing! . . . not very old as bishops go . . . pepper and salt, goatee, not very fat either, more the ascetic type, discreet omentum . . . oh, but shifty looking! . . . taking everything in . . . right, left, front, back . . . all the while crossing himself and mumbling "in the name of the Father" . . . but the effect was terrific . . . instantaneous . . . They were so exasperated with Clotilde's plaints and sighs I was expecting them to strip her mother-naked! . . . but instantly, silence! they stopped calling her names! . . . "bitch! mud-hen! liar!" . . . this benedictioning bishop . . . well, he looked like a bishop . . . they start wondering . . . where he came from? . . . where he was going? to the crapper? and the blessings keep coming . . . I wasn't nonplussed, I just get to thinking: Maybe he's come to see me? . . . maybe he's disguised . . . maybe he's a patient? . . . no, no! he comes up, makes a sign that he wants to talk to me . . . Where's he know me from?

"Doctor, I am the Bishop of Albil"

And then he whispers in my ear:

"The occult bishop!"

He looks around to make sure nobody can hear him:

"The Catharist bishop!"

So that's it . . . I try not to look surprised . . . perfectly natural . . .

"Oh yes, of course!"

He has more to tell me: "Persecuted since 1929!"

I don't let him into our room, he's fine right here on the landing . . . he talks and he keeps right on blessing . . . over and over . . .

"I am at the
Fidelis
, Doctor! the nurses are splendid! . . . you know them! . . . I'm very comfortable at the
Fidelis!
Yes, but comfort isn't everything! Is it, Doctor?"

"Oh no, certainly not, Monsignor."

"I need a pass for our Synod in Fulda! . . . you've heard about it?"

"Oh yes, Monsignor!"

"There will be three of us . . . myself from France! . . . and two others bishops from Albania! . . . ah, we haven't seen the last of our troubles, Doctor!"

"I can imagine, Monsignor!"

"Neither have you, my son!"

He seizes my head, oh, very gently, he kisses me on the forehead . . . and then he blesses me . . .

"We are all of us persecuted, my son! . . . my children! . . ."

He addresses the whole crowd:

"Remember, all of you! . . . the Albigenses! God's martyrs! down on your knees! . . . down on your knees!"

The women comply . . . the men remain standing . . .

"Ah, but I forgot, Doctor . . . Monsieur de Raumnitz's office?"

"Next floor, Monsignor!"

Whatever he was, one thing is sure . . . he prevented a massacre! . . . those women were furies, I could see them tearing Clotilde limb from limb . . . and now all of a sudden they were looking at her tenderly . . . crossing themselves! countercrossing! weeping with emotion and sympathy! for Clotilde and Lili and the cop! . . . and for myself . . . we all hugged and kissed . . . communion! . . .

"Nun! Nun!"
 

Raumnitz's voice! that stopped everything! he leans over the bannister . . . he's fed up . . . this riot in the corridor! It had better stop.

"Aisha!"

Aisha and the mastiffs come down . . . that took the starch out of them . . . everybody moves aside . . . she motions to the men: they should pick up Papillon! and take him away! this way . . . she shakes her whip . . . back there . . . let's go! . . . they pick him up . . . chains and all . . . the whole bundle . . . heave ho! they take him away . . . The bishop looks on . . . still blessing . . . all of a sudden: "You're not a Catharist?" he takes advantage of the hubbub to ask me so nobody could hear . . . his name? he didn't tell me . . . I don't know . . . Monsignor what? . . . "No . . . no . . ." I bellow. "Not a Catharist!" so everybody can hear me! in spite of the racket! the whole landing! It was a reflex . . . self-defense! instantaneous! the reflex of self-defense! divine grace! animal instinct! I was too much detested by everybody, the butt of too many calumnies! and now this one? this phony persecuted bishop calling me a Catharist!. . . Article 75 was enough . . . Catharist? Catharist? . . . no thank you! This character must be an extra-special provocateur! . . . fishing! . . . he won't catch me! I shout some more! I want Raumnitz and Aisha to hear me! "Not a Catharist! Not a Catharist! . . ."