David Golder, The Ball, Snow in Autumn & The Courilof Affair (2008) (12 page)

BY
THE TIME
Golder had recovered, it was already the end of September, but the weather was better than in the middle of summer, without even the slightest breeze; the sky was bathed in a light as gold as honey.

That day, instead of going back upstairs to rest after lunch as he usually did, Golder sat on the terrace and had his cards brought to him. Gloria wasn’t at home. A little later on, Hoyos appeared.

Golder peered at him over his glasses without saying anything. Hoyos adjusted one of the recliners so that its back nearly touched the ground, stretched out on it as if it were a bed, and let his fingertips contentedly graze the cold marble floor.

“It’s beautiful out here,” he murmured. “Not too hot. I detest the heat…”

“Would you happen to know,” asked Golder, “where my daughter went for lunch?”

“Joyce? To the Mannerings’, I suppose. Why?”

“No reason. Just that she’s never here.”

“It’s like that at her age. Say, why did you get her that new car? She’s like a woman possessed now…”

Hoyos raised himself up on his elbow and surveyed the garden. “Look, there’s your Joy, over there!”

He went over to the balustrade and called out, “Hey, Joy! What’s going on? Are you leaving? You’re a mad little thing, you know!”

“What?” grumbled Golder.

Hoyos was laughing uncontrollably.

“She’s so funny…My word, she’s got her menagerie with her …Jill… Why not take your dolls with you too? No? But what about your little prince, eh? Aren’t you taking him, my little beauty? Look at her, Golder, she’s hilarious.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed Joyce. “Is Dad there? I’ve been looking everywhere for him.”

She ran up on to the terrace. She was wearing her travelling coat, a little hat pulled down nearly over her eyes, and carried her dog under one arm.

“Where are you going?” asked Golder, standing up abruptly.

“Guess!”

“How do you expect me to know what’s going on in your silly little head?” cried Golder, annoyed. “And answer when I speak to you, will you?”

Joy sat down, crossed her legs, looked at him defiantly and started laughing happily. “I’m going to Madrid.”

“What?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Hoyos interjected, “Yes, she’s decided to drive to Madrid… All by herself… That’s right, Joy, isn’t it? You’re going alone?” he murmured, smiling. “Of course, she’ll probably get into an accident on the way, she drives so fast, but that’s what she wants, there’s nothing anyone can do. So, you didn’t know?”

Golder stamped his foot angrily.

“Joyce! Are you out of your mind? What’s all this about?”

“I told you ages ago that I’d be going to Madrid as soon as I had a new car … Why are you so surprised?”

“I forbid you to go, do you hear me?” Golder said slowly.

“I hear you. And?”

Golder made a sudden movement towards her, his hand raised. But Joyce continued laughing, her face just a little paler. “Dad! Now
you
want to slap me? Go ahead, I couldn’t care less. But you’ll pay dearly for it.”

Golder lowered his arm, without touching her. “Go on then! he said, the words barely audible through his clenched teeth. “Go wherever the hell you like …”

He sat down and went back to his cards.

“Come on, Dad,” murmured Joyce, affectionately, “don’t be cross. I could have left without saying anything, you know. And besides, why should it upset you?”

“You’re going to smash up your pretty little face, my Joy,” said Hoyos, stroking her hand. “You’ll see…”

“That’s my business. Come on, Dad, let’s call a truce…”

She slipped her hands around his neck and gave him a hug. “Dad…”

“It’s not your place to suggest a truce. Leave me alone! The way you speak to your father!” he said, pushing her away.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be teaching your pretty little girl manners?” Hoyos sniggered.

Golder banged his fist down on to the cards.

“Get the hell out of here!” he growled at Hoyos, “and as for you, Joyce, just go. Do you think I’m going to beg you?”

“Dad! You always spoil everything for me! Everything I like doing! Everything that makes me happy!” shouted Joyce, with tears of exasperation welling up in her eyes. “Leave me alone! Just leave me alone! Do you think it’s been fun around here while you’ve been ill? I can’t take it any more. ‘Walk quietly, speak softly, don’t laugh’… There’s been nothing but sad old angry faces to look at. I want to get away from it all… “

“Go on then. Who’s stopping you? So you’re going alone …”

“Yes.”

Golder spoke more quietly. “You don’t imagine for a moment that I believe you, do you? You’re taking that little gigolo. Slut. Do you think I’m blind? I know there’s nothing I can do about it. What
can
I do about it?” he repeated, his voice quivering. “Just don’t kid yourself that you’re pulling the wool over my eyes. The person who can pull the wool over old Golder’s eyes, my girl, hasn’t been born yet, you hear me?”

Hoyos put his hands over his mouth and laughed quietly.

“You are tiresome, the two of you,” he said. “Really, Golder, there’s absolutely no point making a fuss. You simply don’t understand women. The only thing to do is to give in. Come and give me a kiss, my lovely Joyce.”

Joyce wasn’t listening; she was rubbing her head against Golder’s shoulder.

“Dad, my darling Dad…”

He pushed her away. “Get off, you’re suffocating me … And get going quickly, otherwise you’ll be leaving too late.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“Kiss you? Of course…” He placed his lips against her cheek.

Joy watched him. He was laying out his cards; it was as if his clumsy fingers were slipping on the wood of the table.

“Dad…” she said, “you know I’ve run out of money?”

He didn’t reply. “Come on, Dad,” she continued, “give me a bit of cash, please?”

“Cash for what?” asked Golder in a dry tone of voice that Joyce had never heard before.

She tried to hide her impatience, but she couldn’t help wringing her hands nervously as she replied, “For what? For my trip! What do you expect me to live on in Spain? My body?”

Golder suppressed a grimace.

“And you’ll be needing a lot of money, will you?” he asked while slowly counting out the thirteen cards for the first row of his game of patience.

“Well, I don’t know exactly how much. Look, you’re being very tedious… It’ll be a lot, naturally, just like always. Ten, twelve, twenty thousand…”

“Ah!”

She slipped her hand into Golder’s jacket pocket and tried to take out his wallet.

“Oh, stop winding me up, Dad. Just give me the money now, will you! Give it to me!”

“No,” said Golder.

“What?” cried Joyce. “What did you say?”

“I said no.”

He tilted his head back and looked at her for a long while, smiling. He hadn’t been able to say no this way for ages, with the clear, harsh tone of voice he’d used in the past. “No,” he murmured again. He seemed to savour the shape of the word in his mouth, as if it were a piece of fruit. He slowly clasped his hands under his chin and stroked his lips with his forefinger several times.

“You seem surprised. You want to go. Go. But you’ve heard me, not a penny. Sort yourself out. Oh, you don’t know me as well as you think, Joyce.”

“I hate you!” she shouted.

He looked down and started quietly counting out his cards again. One, two, three, four… But when he came to the end of
the row, he became confused and started repeating in a shaky voice, “One, two, three…” Then he stopped, as if he had no strength left, and sighed deeply.

“Well, you don’t know me all that well, either,” said Joyce. “I told you I wanted to go and I’m going. I don’t need your bloody money!”

She whistled for her dog and left. A moment later, they heard the sound of the car shooting past on the road. Golder hadn’t moved.

Hoyos shrugged his shoulders. “She’ll manage, old boy…”

Since Golder didn’t reply, Hoyos half closed his delicate, sleepy eyes and murmured with a smile, “You know nothing about women, old boy… You should have slapped her. It might have shocked her into staying. You never know with little creatures like that…”

Golder had taken his wallet out of his pocket; he turned it over and over in his hands. It was an old black leather wallet, worn out, like most of his personal belongings; the satin lining was torn, one of the gold corners was missing and an elastic band stopped the banknotes from falling out. Suddenly, Golder clenched his teeth and started banging it angrily against the table. Cards flew off in all directions. He continued pounding the wooden table, which resounded with each thump. Finally, he stopped, put the wallet back into his pocket, got up and walked past Hoyos, deliberately pushing into him with the full weight of his body.

“Now, there’s a slap for you… ” he said.

EVERY
MORNING, GOLDER
went down into the garden and walked along the tree-lined path for an hour. He moved slowly, in the shade of the great cedars, methodically counting his steps; at the fiftieth step, he would stop, lean against a tree-trunk, sniff through his pinched nostrils, and take a deep, painful breath, straining his trembling lips towards the sea breeze. Then he would start walking again, taking up the count where he left off and absent-mindedly pushing away the gravel with his cane. Wearing an old greatcoat, a woollen scarf around his neck, and a worn-out black hat, he looked strangely like some Jewish second-hand clothes merchant from a village in the Ukraine. As he walked, he would sometimes raise one shoulder, in a weary, mechanical movement, as if he were hoisting a heavy bundle of clothing or scrap iron on to his back.

On that day, he had gone out for a second time around three o’clock: it was a beautiful day. Sitting on a bench with a view of the sea, he loosened his scarf, unbuttoned the top of his coat, and cautiously breathed in. His heart was beating regularly, but there was still a continuous asthmatic wheezing as the air went in and out of his chest; the sound was sharp and faintly plaintive.

The bench was bathed in sunlight, and the garden basked in a yellowish glow, as transparent as fine oil.

The old man closed his eyes, let out a sigh that was a mixture of sadness and contentment, then stretched out his perpetually frozen hands and rubbed them gently against his knees. He liked the heat. No doubt, in Paris or London, the weather was awful… He was expecting a visit from the director of Golmar; he’d called the day before to say he would be coming… That meant, time was up; he would have to leave. God only knew where he would need to drag himself… It was a shame he had to go … It was such a beautiful day.

He heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path and turned
around to see Loewe coming towards him. A short, pale man, with a grey, shy, weary face, he was weighed down by an enormous briefcase, crammed full of papers.

For a long time, Loewe had been a simple employee of Golmar. Even though he had now been its director for five years, one look from Golder was still enough to make him tremble. He hurried over, hunching his shoulders, laughing nervously. Golder couldn’t help thinking of what Marcus used to say: “You think you’re a great businessman, my friend, but you’re nothing but a speculator. You don’t know how to find or choose the right people. You’ll be alone for as long as you live, surrounded by beggars or fools.”

“So, tell me why you’ve come,” he asked, interrupting Loewe’s long, embroiled inquiry after his health.

Loewe stopped short, sat down on the edge of the bench, sighed, and opened his briefcase.

“I’m afraid… Let me explain… You’ll have to listen carefully … But perhaps it will be too tiring for you? Do you prefer to wait? The news I have …”

“Is bad,” interrupted Golder, annoyed. “Naturally. Stop making speeches, for the love of God. Say what you have to say, and clearly, if that’s possible for you.”

“Yes, Sir,” replied Loewe quickly.

He was having difficulty balancing the enormous briefcase on his knees; he held it against his chest with both hands and started pulling out bundles of letters and papers that he let fall haphazardly on to the bench.

“I can’t find the letter… ” he murmured in desperation. “Oh, yes! Here it is… Shall I read it to you?”

“Give it to me …” Golder snatched the letter from him.

He was silent as he read it, but Loewe, who was watching his every move, noticed that his lips quivered slightly.

“You see,” he said quietly, as if he were apologising.

He handed Golder some other papers.

“All the problems started at the same time, as usual…The New York Stock Exchange, the day before yesterday, was the final blow, so to speak. But it only aggravated things… You were expecting it, weren’t you?”

Golder looked up sharply. “What? Yes,” he murmured, absent-mindedly. “Where’s the report from New York?”

Seeing Loewe begin riffling through his papers again, Golder angrily swept them away with his fist.

“Couldn’t you have got them in order before, for God’s sake?”

“I only just arrived… I didn’t even stop at my hotel.”

“I should think not,” grumbled Golder.

“You see the letter from the Bank of England?” Loewe said, coughing nervously. “If the overdraft hasn’t been paid off within a week, they’re going to start selling your collateral.”

“We’ll see about that… The bastards! This is Weille’s doing. But he won’t get his hands on it for long, that I can promise you. My overdraft with them is about four million, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Loewe, nodding. “Everyone is very negative about Golmar at the moment, very negative. The most depressing rumours have been going around the Stock Market ever since poor Monsieur Marcus… And your own enemies have even gone so far as to spread the most malevolent lies about your illness, Monsieur Golder…”

Golder shrugged his shoulders. “Well…”

He wasn’t surprised to hear it. Nor was he surprised at the effect Marcus’s suicide had had. “That must have been of some consolation to him before he died,” he mused.

“None ofthat,” he said, “is anything to worry about. I’ll have a word with Weille. The thing that worries me the most is New York… It is absolutely essential that I go to New York. Is there nothing from Tubingen?”

“Yes, there is. A telegram arrived just as I was leaving.”

“Well, give it to me for heaven’s sake!”

“
WILL
BE
IN
LONDON 28
TH,
” he read and gave a sly smile. With Tubingen’s help everything would be easy to sort out.

“Send a telegram at once to Tubingen, and tell him I’ll be in London the morning of the twenty-ninth.”

“Yes, Sir. Excuse me, but… is it true what certain people are saying?”

“What are they saying?”

“Well, er, that you’re the one whom Tubingen has asked to negotiate an agreement with the Soviets for the Teisk
concession, and that Tubingen is buying your shares and taking you into the company? Oh, that would be wonderful, a real coup, and we’ll have no trouble getting credit once it’s made public…”

“What day is it?” Golder interrupted, making rapid calculations. “Four o’clock… We could still leave today… No, there’s no point travelling on a Saturday. I absolutely must see Weille in Paris. Tomorrow, then. Monday morning in Paris; I could leave by four o’clock and be in London on Tuesday. Then I could get a ship to New York on the first. If only I could avoid going to New York. No, impossible. Though I’m supposed to be in Moscow on the fifteenth, the twentieth at the latest. It’s all very tricky.”

He rubbed his hands together as if he were cracking walnuts between his closed palms.

“It’s not easy. I have to be everywhere at once. Well, we’ll see…”

He fell silent. Loewe handed him a sheet of paper covered in names and figures.

“What’s this?”

“Would you please take a look? It’s the salary increases for the employees. Perhaps you remember? We spoke to you and Monsieur Marcus about it last April.”

Golder frowned and looked at the list.

“Lambert, Mathias, fine … Mademoiselle Wieilhomme? Oh yes, Marcus’s typist… the little slut who couldn’t even be bothered to type a letter properly! I don’t think so! The other one, yes, the little hunchback one, what’s her name?”

“Mademoiselle Gassion.”

“Yes, that’s fine … Chambers? Your son-in-law? Tell me, don’t you think it was enough to hire that moron? He deigns to come to the office twice a week when he’s got nothing better to do, and for all the work he does … Not a penny, you hear me, not a penny more!”

“But in April…”

“In April, I had money. Now, I don’t. If I gave a raise to all the freeloaders, all the spoiled little rich kids you and Marcus crammed into the offices … Give me your pencil.”

He angrily crossed out several names.

“What about Levine? His fifth child has just been born.”

“I don’t give a damn!”

“Come now, Monsieur Golder, you’re not as hard as all that.”

“I don’t like people being generous with my money, Loewe. It’s very nice making promises left, right, and centre … but then it’s up to me to sort things out when there’s not a penny left in the pot, isn’t it?”

He suddenly stopped speaking. A train was passing. They could hear it clearly through the still air; it was getting louder, coming closer. Golder listened with lowered head.

“Won’t you reconsider?” murmured Loewe. “Levine … It’s difficult trying to feed five children on two thousand francs a month. You have to feel sorry for him.”

The train was moving further and further away. Its long whistle hovered in the air like a plea, like a fearful question.

“Sorry!” shouted Golder, suddenly angry. “Why? No one ever feels sorry for me, do they? No one has ever felt sorry for me…”

“Oh, Monsieur Golder…”

“It’s true. I’m just expected to pay, pay, and keep on paying… That’s why I’ve been put on this earth!”

He breathed in with difficulty, then said quietly in a different voice, “Forget about the increases I crossed out, all right? And make those reservations. We’ll leave tomorrow.”