Castle to Castle (41 page)
"Well, Chateaubriant? Well?"
"Oh, Céline! My dear Céline!"
The old warmth was back again.
He clutches my hands, he squeezes them . . . he's in need of affection.
"Nothing at all . . . a mere trifle!"
"Do you think so, Céline? Do you really think so?"
"Come come! a little joke!"
"You think so, Céline?"
"Certainly . . . forget it!"
"But even so . . . how many plates do you think?"
It wasn't only plates he'd broken . . . all the china and soup bowls! very thorough! He hadn't seen himself in action: a regular maelstrom!
boom! bang!
against the shelves across the room, the rest of the china! the worst of it was that those things were marvels, complete sets, period Dresden! . . . they'd taken it from Gabold's, the fourth floor . . . all in Dresden . . . marquetry and fine porcelain . . . all pure Meissen . . .
"You know, Céline, I'm going to sleep at the
Bären
, I won't go back to the Castle . . . they've reserved a room for me . . . but they can keep it . . . I'll sleep at the
Bären
. . . We're leaving at dawn . . . all my men are at the
Bären
, my whole 'commando'" . . .
"Oh, certainly, Chateaubriant . . ."
His "men" were the moralists, the men who were supposed to manufacture the bomb . . . anyway that's what I thought . . .
"But Céline, would you? would you be so kind? I'd never find my way alone . . . the
Bären
. . . would you guide me? . . ."
Of course I would . . . I could find my way blindfolded anywhere in Siegmaringen . . . I never got lost . . . not in the darkest alley . . .
"This way, my friend! this way!" Oh, but there was still his
rucksack!
his knapsack! his matériel . . . his crap! it weighed a ton! . . . quite a supply of something! . . . he had to pass it over his big cape . . . or under! we tried . . . he couldn't make it . . . too heavy, too big! . . . we decided to carry it between us, we'd each take a strap . . . but very slowly, I couldn't go fast . . . neither could he . . . he used his ice-ax for a cane . . . that way he could manage . . . I told you he limped pretty badly . . . three of the collaborators had the same limp . . . a "distinguished limp" so to speak . . . Lesdain,° Bernard Faye,° and himself . . . none of them from war wounds, all "temporary deferment" . . . they even had their nickname . . . "the hobble brothers!" . . . to show you how malicious people can be! so the two of us start off, each with his strap . . . very slowly . . . we rest, we start up again every ten, twenty steps . . . some cargo! . . . we laugh about it! even he laughs! . . . we stagger . . . his materiel! he expects to get to the Tyrol with that?
Halt!
somebody up ahead of us! . . . I can't see this somebody . . . he flashes a beam in our eyes . . . a flashlight . . . he sees us! . . . must be a Boche! . . . it's a Boche policeman . . . "Where are you going?" we're not supposed to be out . . . he must know me . . . "to the
Bären
," I answer, "to the
Bären
. . . he's sick . . . krank . . ."
"Nur gut. Nur gut! gehe!"
We were all right . . . but Alphonse starts protesting! nobody had asked him anything . . . he stands up to the cop, his big bush in the flashlight beam . . .
"Kraft ist nicht alles!"
he shouts in his face! "force isn't everything" . . . I can see he's going to get himself pulled in! no! . . . the cop doesn't get sore . . . he even takes hold of the two straps, the famous rucksack, a feather for him! . . . he carries it . . . he escorts us . . . fine, we follow him . . . Chateaubriant and myself . . . it doesn't take us long to the
Bären
. . . we hear the Danube . . . the Danube breaking against the arches! . . . ah, the noisy, angry little river! . . . here we are! . . . the cop knocks . . . three knocks . . . another three knocks . . . somebody opens . . . there we are . . .
"gute Nacht!"
I leave Chateaubriant in the doorway . . . with his dog . . . the policeman puts the knapsack down . . .
"Good-by, my dear Céline!"
I never saw dear Alphonse again . . . I took the
shuppo
back to the
Löwen
with me . . . to get them to open the door . . . that crummy Frucht would have been only too glad to leave me outside . . . always have the police on your side . . . one of the things you learn in the mazes of life . . .
I was supposed to go to Laval's and I took you to Abetz's . . . that little dinner . . . forgive me! . . . another little digression . . . I'm always digressing . . . old age? . . . too full of memories? . . . I don't know . . . I'll know later . . . or other people will know . . . about oneself it's hard to tell . . . Anyway, to pick up where we left off . . . we were leaving the music room . . . I was supposed to go see Laval . . . I'd wanted to go for the last three days . . . since the skirmish at the station . . . when really it was his doing if it hadn't ended in a general massacre . . . only one dead! . . . I really had to go and congratulate him . . . and not discreetly! loud and clear! it's no good treading lightly with politicians! heavy does it! massive! . . . same as with dames! . . . politicians are debutantes as long as they live . . . admiration! . . . admiration! votes! You don't tell a young lady she's nice . . . no, you talk to her like Mariano: "Der's nobod lika you in alla woil!" that's the least she'll stand for . . . same with your politician! . . . besides I had a purpose . . . that he shouldn't raise a stink about the Delaunys . . . Brinon wasn't the only power in the Castle . . . I'd prepared my little spiel . . . at last I was on my way . . . from the music room to Laval's, one floor . . . only one flight . . . I've explained . . . I've told you what it was like . . . his setting, his office, his apartment, his floor . . . all First Empire . . . perfect First Empire! . . . you won't find anything better in Malmaison . . . or I'd even say as good . . . we know the terrible drawbacks of First Empire, that buttock-gouging style . . . absolutely impossible to sit down! . . . chairs, armchairs, divans! . . . resolutely "peach pit" . . . chairs for colonels, marshals! . . . barely time to listen and take off! . . . to fly from victory to victory! no connection with "Capuan delights!" but I was so tired, so much insomnia to catch up on, that I made myself very comfortable on the peach pits . . . I took a very nice rest . . . Naturally I started in with my compliment . . . How splendid he had been! Laval of Auvergne and the Maghreb and Alfortville! the incomparable! the attenuator-conciliator for whom London, New York, and Moscow envied us! . . . once I'd said my little piece, there was nothing left for me to do but nod, wag my head amiably . . . no need to talk . . . it was very comfortable at Laval's . . . he babbled all by himself . . . he didn't ask anything of me . . . except to listen, that was enough! . . . he was doing the talking . . . and he really threw himself into it! . . . he pleaded! . . . this . . . that . . . and then his case! . . . his Cause! . . . you could only nod, he "incarnated" France much too much to leave him time to listen . . . compliments or no compliments! I'd come to tell him that it was thanks to him the massacre had been nipped in the bud . . . that if not for him there would have been a hecatomb! . . . the sincere truth! . . . he didn't give a shit! all he wanted was for me to listen . . . he tolerated me as a listener! . . . not as a commentator! so I stowed my compliments . . . I sit down with my bag on my lap, my instruments, and Bébert on my lap, too, in his game bag . . . I knew his plea . . . he'd dished it out to me ten . . . twenty times . . . "that under the present conditions . . . the weakness of Europe . . . only one way of straightening everything out": his Franco-German policy! . . .
his!
. . . without his collaboration no use trying . . . there wouldn't be any History! or any Europe! that he knew Russia . . . etc. . . . etc. . . . I could nod and wag away . . . this would go on for an hour . . . at least . . . I knew all the variants, the mock objections, the impassioned appeals . . . he felt as if he were already buried! . . . in his family vault! . . . in Chateldon! . . . yes, but first . . . first! he'd demolish them all! all of them! . . . they wouldn't down him so easy! . . . he'd crush them first! . . . first . . . all of them! . . . all those jealous . . . envious deserters! all of his grotesque, slanderous detractors! yes! because he, Laval, he and nobody else, had France in his blood! . . . and all those idiotic midgets would have to admit that he had it in his pocket . . . and America, too . . . yes, America! . . . he could wind it around his finger . . . immense America! in the first place through his son-in-law! . . . and through his daughter, who was an American . . . and through Senator Taft, Roosevelt's Great Elector! . . .
"Ah, the High Court! . . . listen to me, Doctor!"
He made the High Court crawl on its belly! absolutely! . . . I tried to interrupt him just a little . . . give him a breathing spell . . . hopeless! . . . the way he was launched, not a chance of mentioning Delaunys . . .
Best way would be to let him talk . . . and slip out . . . I had plenty of things to do . . . the Landrat for Bébert's leftovers . . . then my patients at the
Milice
. . . then the hospital . . . then see Letrou . . . and then the
Fidelis
. . . even so I tried to interrupt him . . . a few words about my practice, my little troubles . . . maybe he could give me a little advice? . . . he knew more about it than I did . . . naturally! . . . he knew more than everybody . . . about everything . . . that greasy Arab with his ebony cowlick, nothing was missing but the fez . . . he was the real Abdullah of the Third Republic, who talks to everybody in the train, who knows better than anybody what they ought to do and don't . . . who knows more than the farmer about planting his alfalfa and clover, more than the notary about those little inheritance pettifoggeries, more than the photographer about those first communion pictures, more than the post office clerk about shortchanging you on stamps, more than the hairdresser about permanent waves, more than election workers about ways of taking opposition posters down, more than the police about putting on handcuffs, and much more than the housewife about wiping the baby's ass . . .
You had a good rest listening as long as you watched your expression . . . He kept an eye on you . . . if you didn't seem quite convinced . . . he took another windup . . . he floored you for the count!
Ah, Mornet° and Co. wouldn't listen to him . . . they preferred to shoot him! . . . big mistake! . . . he had something to say . . . I know . . . I heard him ten times . . . twenty times . . .
"You can take it from me . . . I had the choice . . . they offered me the moon and the stars, Doctor . . . De Gaulle went looking for them . . . I made them wait! . . . the Russians too!"
I couldn't go on wagging the whole time . . .
"What did they offer you, Monsieur le Président?"
I had to seem to be paying attention.
"Anything I wanted! the whole Press!"
"Ah! Ah!"
That's all I said . . . no more . . . I knew the listener's role . . . he was pleased with me . . . not a bad listener . . . and especially . . . because I don't smoke . . . being a non-smoker, he wouldn't have to offer me any . . . he could show me all his packages, two big drawers full of Lucky Strikes . . . you bummed a cigarette off him, he wouldn't see you again! . . . never! . . . or even a light! . . . a match!
"The English offered you all that, Monsieur le Président?"
"Absolutely . . . they begged me, Doctor!"
"Ah! . . . ah!" Amazement!
"I can even give you a name! . . . it won't mean anything to you! . . . an embassy name . . . Mendle! he
offered to buy me twenty-five newspapers! and as many in the provinces!"
"Certainly, Monsieur le Président! . . . I believe you! . . . I believe you! . . ."
I'm going to have a little fun, Doctor! . . . you hear? . . . very well! Strike me down, I'll say to them! Strike! Strike hard! don't miss me the way you did in Versailles! . . . don't tremble! go right ahead! . . . but I'm warning you! . . . I've warned you! . . . you will be assassinating France!"
"Bravo, Monsieur le Président!"
The least I could do was show a little enthusiasm . . .
