Death on the Installment Plan (37 page)

The fire’s blazing hot … The whole room is crackling … The big dope is all lit up by the glow … He doesn’t seem unhappy … he’s kept his lid on, the little one with the tassel … Ah! The stinker, it tips, it topples … He catches it, he puts it back on … He’s sadder than in the classroom … He’s playing all by himself … He’s got a cup-and-ball … A big one! A colossus! He shakes it, he balances, he tries to catch the ball in the cup … He misses, he giggles … he doesn’t get angry … His cap falls off again … his cloak too … He picks them up as best he can … He burps, he sighs … He puts his toy down for a minute … He pours himself a big glass of liquid … He sips it very slowly … So that’s where the whiskey is! … He even has two bottles beside him on the floor … And two siphons … within easy reach … and a pot of marmalade … a whole pot! … He digs into it with a big spoon … he lifts it up … he gets it all over him … he’s eating! … He goes back to his game … he empties another glass … The string gets caught, it winds up around the caster of the armchair … He tugs at it, gets all muddled … he grumbles … he lets out a big laugh … He can’t find his hands … He’s tied … It only makes him laugh, the damn fool … I’ve seen enough… I come down off my perch … I pick up my chair very quietly … I slip back down the hall … Nobody’s stirred … I go back to bed …

We worried along until Easter vacation … We had to cut down something awful … on food … on candles … on heat … The last few weeks the kids, the ones that were left, didn’t listen to anybody … They did what they pleased … The old man didn’t even give classes anymore … He stayed in his room the whole time … or else he went out all alone on his tricycle … on long excursions …

The new maid came … She didn’t even last a week … The kids were impossible, insufferable, they turned the whole kitchen upside down … A cleaning woman took the maid’s place, but only in the morning. Nora helped her to do the rooms and the dishes too … She put on gloves for that … She protected her beautiful hair with an embroidered handkerchief, she made a kind of turban out of it …

In the afternoon I took the idiot for a walk, I did it all by myself. Nora couldn’t come anymore, she had the cooking to do … She didn’t tell us where to go … I was the boss … We took our time … We took all the same streets and sidewalks, and then down along the waterfront. I looked all over for the fritter kid, I’d have liked to run into her. She wasn’t anywhere in town with her cart … Neither in the harbor nor in the market … nor around the new barracks … No sign of her …

We had some good times on our walks … Jongkind behaved pretty well … Except you had to be careful not to get him excited … When we passed soldiers, for instance, brass bands, loud music, you couldn’t hold him … There were lots of them around Chatham … and sailors too … On their way home from drilling they played wild tunes, triumphant hornpipes … That sent Jongkind out of his mind … He ran right into the band like a dart … It knocked him for a loop … It had the same effect on him as football … He’d dive right into the boom-booms!

A regiment is a lively thing, the color, the rhythm … it stands out against the weather … The band was scarlet… They made a big splash against the sky and the dun-colored walls … The Scotsmen puff their cheeks out when they play; they’re chesty and husky and strong when they play; winsome and stalwart, they play their bagpipes; their music has hair on its legs …

We followed them to their “barracks,” their tents in the open fields … We discovered other parts of the country, past the soldiers … past Stroud and still further … on the other side of another river. We always came back by way of the school, the girls’ school behind the station, we waited for them to come out … We didn’t say anything, we just looked, we sopped up the vision … We came back down by way of the Arsenal, the special cinder field where the “pros” played, real tough guys, who practiced by the numbers, with narrow goals, for the Nelson Cup. They kicked so hard they split all their footballs …

We came home as late as possible … I waited until it was really dark, until I saw all the streets were lighted, then I took High Street, the one that ends by our steps … Often it was after eight o’clock … The old man was waiting for us in the hall, he was afraid to say anything, he was reading his paper …

As soon as we came in, we sat down to table … Nora waited on us … Merrywin didn’t talk anymore … He didn’t say anything to anybody … it was getting to be the easy life … As soon as Jongkind started his soup, he began to drool. We left him alone now. We didn’t wipe him off until the meal was over.

None of the brats came back from Easter vacation. There was nobody left at Meanwell but Jongkind and me. The joint was a desert.

To save on housework they closed off a whole floor. The furniture had gone, they sold it piece by piece, first the chairs, then the tables, the two cupboards, and even the beds. There was nothing left but our two beds. They were really liquidating … There was more to eat though … Quantities of jam … all we wanted … we could take seconds on pudding … The food was plentiful, what a change … that was really something new … Nora did the heavy work, but she prettied up all the same. At the table she was perfectly charming, almost playful …

The old geezer didn’t hang around long, he’d fill up in a hurry and start off again on his tricycle. Jongkind kept the conversation going, all by himself.
“No trouble!”
And he’d learned another word:
‘No fear!”
He was proud of that, it made him jump with joy. He never stopped saying it. “Ferdinand!
No fear!”
he kept saying to me between mouthfuls.

Outside I didn’t like to be noticed … I gave him a few kicks in the ass … He got the drift, he left me alone … As a reward I gave him pickles. I always took a supply with me, my pockets were full of them … They were his favorite delicacy, that way I made him behave … He’d let himself be torn limb from limb for pickles …

There wasn’t much left in our living room … First the knickknacks went … then the upholstered pink couch, then the vases, then the curtains … For the last two weeks there was nothing left but the piano, the big black monumental Pleyel, all by itself in the middle of the room …

I wasn’t very eager to get back, because we weren’t very hungry anymore … We took precautions, we brought provisions along, we looted the kitchen before leaving. I wasn’t in any hurry at all … Even when I was tired, I was happier roaming around …We took a rest whenever we felt like it … We’d treat ourselves to a last stop on the steps or on the rocks right beside our garden gate … The top of the big staircase that led up from the harbor was almost under our windows … Jongkind and I would sit there as late as possible, saying nothing …

From there you could see a lot of ships, coming in or passing each other in the harbor … It was like a magic game … all the reflections moving on the water … the portholes coming and going, glittering the whole time … The train burning, trembling, setting the little arches on fire as it passed … Nora always played the piano while she was waiting for us … She left the window ajar … You could hear her plainly from our hiding place … She even sang a little … in an undertone … She accompanied herself … Her singing wasn’t loud at all … Actually it was no more than a murmur … a little ballad … I still remember the tune … I never knew the words … Her voice rose softly and floated down into the valley … It came back to us … The air over the river has a way of echoing and amplifying … Her voice was like a bird, beating its wings, the whole night was full of little echoes …

The people had all passed, the ones that were going home from work, the stairs were empty …
“No fear”
and I were all alone … We’d wait till she stopped, till she wasn’t singing anymore, till she closed the piano … Then we went in.

The grand piano didn’t last much longer. The movers came for it one Monday morning … They had to take it out piece by piece … Jongkind and I gave them a hand … First they put up a regular hoist over the window … They had trouble getting the piano through. All morning they were tinkering with ropes and pulleys in the living room … They lowered the big crate down to the veranda overlooking the garden … I can still see that big black cupboard rising into the air … over the view …

As soon as they started in, Nora went down to town, she stayed out the whole time … Maybe she had a call to make … She’d put on her best dress … She didn’t get back until late … She was very pale …

The old geezer didn’t come home until eight o’clock, just in time for dinner. He’d been doing that for several days. After dinner he went up to his room … He’d stopped shaving, he didn’t even wash, he was filthy … He smelled very sour. He sat down beside me. He began to eat, but he didn’t finish … He began to poke around in his pants, in the folds, in the cuffs … He pulled up his dressing gown … He looked all through his pockets … He was trembling all over … He belched a few times … He yawned … He grumbled … Finally he found his piece of paper. It was another letter, registered this time … This was at least the tenth we’d received from my father since Christmas … I never answered … Merrywin didn’t either … What was there to say? … He opens it, he shows it to me … I read it just to be on the safe side … I wade through pages and pages … It was copious and thoroughly documented … I start all over again. It was a formal order to return home … It was nothing new for them to bawl me out … Far from it … But this time there was a ticket … an honest-to-God ticket home via Folkestone!

My father was beside himself. We knew his letters. The others had been almost the same, desperate, complaining, full of hooey and threats … After reading them, the old geezer piled them up in a special box … He filed them very carefully by date and subject … He took them all up to his room … He shook his head a little and blinked … There was no call for him to comment … He kept all the letters on file, that was enough … Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof … and all the applesauce … Still, this was a new kind of ultimatum … This time there was a ticket … I had only to pack up and leave … Time to be going, son … Next week it would be … the month was almost up … My account was closed!

Nora didn’t seem to know what was going on … She was completely absorbed … absent … The old geezer wanted her to know … He shouted loud enough to wake her up. She came up from her daydream … Jongkind began to bawl … Suddenly she jumped up and looked through the box, she wanted to read the letter again. She deciphered it out loud …

I have no further illusions about the future you hold in store for us—alas, we have had only too many occasions to experience all the ferocity, all the wickedness of your instincts, your terrifying selfishness … We all of us know your taste for idleness and dissipation, your well-nigh mon-trous appetite for luxury and pleasure … We know what to expect … We realize that no amount of gentleness, no amount of affection will ever check or diminish your unbridled, implacable impulses … It seems to me that in that respect we have done our utmost, tried everything! And now we are at the end of our rope, there is nothing more we can do. We can spend no more of our slender resources trying to save you from your fate … We can only trust in God …

In this last letter I wished to warn you, as a father, as a friend, for the last time, before your homecoming, to put you on your guard before it is too late, against any useless bitterness, any surprise, and futile rebellion at the fact that in the future you must count on yourself alone, Ferdinand. On yourself alone.’ Count on us no longer, I implore you, for your daily keep, your subsistence. Your mother and I are at the end of our tether. There is nothing more we can do for you …

We are literally collapsing under the weight of our liabilities, both old and recent … On the brink of old age, our health, already undermined by continual anguish, back-breaking toil, reverses, perpetual worry, privations of all kinds, is failing, breaking … We are in extremis, my dear boy. Materially speaking, we have nothing left … Of the small sum we received from your grandmother, nothing remains … absolutely nothing … not a sou! On the contrary, we have gone into debt … under what circumstances, you are well aware … The two houses in Asnières are mortgaged to the hilt! … In her business, in the Passage, your mother is faced with new difficulties which I presume to be insurmountable … A change in the styles, an absolutely unforeseen caprice of fashion, has just annihilated our prospects of a relatively successful season … All our hopes have been shattered … For once in our lives we took a chance … At great expense, by scrimping on all our expenses and even on our food … we laid in a large stock of “Irish” boleros last winter. And then suddenly, without the slightest warning indication, our customers’ taste took a radical swing, they began literally to shun this item in favor of other styles, other whims … It is beyond understanding! Destiny seems to have conspired against our frail bark … It seems likely that your mother will be unable to get rid of a single one of her boleros. Not at any price! She is now trying to convert them into lampshades for the new electrical appliances! … Futile efforts! … How long can this go on? Where are we headed? For my part, at La Coccinelle, I am subjected every day to the subtle, perfidious, treacherous attacks of a cabal of young clerks who have recently been taken on … Endowed with high university degrees (some of them have their Master’s), taking advantage of their influence with the director, of their family ties and social connections, of their “modern” upbringing (a well-nigh total absence of scruples), these ambitious young men have a crushing advantage over mere rank-and-file employees like myself … No doubt they will succeed (and very quickly, it appears) not only in getting ahead of us, but in ousting us altogether from our modest positions … Without wishing to take too dark a view, it is only a question of months! On that score it is impossible to harbor any illusions.