The Bark Tree (21 page)

With love,

your nephew,

Clovis Belhôtel.

Pose crypt: the nut’s called Narcense; he was accusing Le Grand of having let him down, of promising and not keeping his word, etc. I got this from the page boy. So you can see that he’s another member of their gang, and he’s fed up, no one knows why, exactly.

Clovis.

Tuesday

MAXENCE SCAR FOREHEAD URGENT CLOCHE

Tuesday

YES SCAR CLOVIS

Tuesday

My poor child,

What you’ve just told me is terrible. This Narcense that you saw knows that I know that the others are getting ready to strike and he’ll tell them and I’m only a weak woman, so’s Ernestine, and you’re only a child. Whan can we do against these three dangerous evildoers? Ernestine’s wedding is on the 25th of August, your father will see that you’re back for that day, don’t worry unless in between time, you never know what may happen; in any case keep your trap shut in all directions and burn my letters. Be sure and write me everything you see, it’s all very serious, but if I pull it off, think of the beautiful trip you’ll go on.

Your affectionate aunt,

Sidonie Belhôtel

Widow Cloche

P.S. The two of them are certainly coming back to Paris.

Thursday,

Dear Aunt Sidonie,

Here’s what’s happened since last time. It’s been raining a lot, which means that people haven’t been out much, me neither. I’ve been playing backgammon with a pal. The tourists are fed up because it’s raining.

There, my dear Aunt Sidonie, that’s what been happening since last time. I’m looking forward to having a whale of a time at Ernestine’s wedding.

Your affectionate nephew,

Clovis.

—oooooo—oooooo—

Sensitif junior was the first to arrive at the rendezvous; young Nécessaire was close on his heels, but they had to wait for Théo.

“Théo’s always late,” grumbles young Nécessaire, whose first name begins with the letter P.

Sensitif junior, awkward and virginal, nods his agreement, at the same time turning over the pages of a dilapidated little book covered with brown paper.

“What are you reading?” sighs P. Nécessaire.

Sensitif waits a couple of minutes and then answers:

“
The Song of Roland.”

Intimidated, the former dares to ask:

“Is it good?”

And Sensitif junior snaps his fingers admiringly. They say no more, and wait for Théo Marcel, who finally arrives. They can see by the way he looks that he knows more than he’s going to tell them and that he’s going to tell them more than he knows.

They rush up to him. To start with, they had despised him a little because he hadn’t got his baccalaureate, but since he had discovered that they weren’t students, but simply future members of the top class at school, they could no longer cash in on their title:

“Well? Well?”

Théo sits down, makes himself comfortable and, smiling:

“Huh, what a business!”

“Oh, tell us what happened?” implore ess and enn.

“I don’t know whether I ought to tell you everything.”

“Oh yes! Oh yes!”

“Well then, slike this.”

“Ah! Ah!”

“That,” Théo begins, then, “guy who came yesterday is called Narcense; he’s the one I told you about that hung himself in the wood…”

“The one that had a thing on your mother?” asked P. Nécessaire.

“Yes.”

Sensitif choked back his saliva with a nervous movement of his larynx.

“Well, that’s the guy that arrived yesterday evening by the 6:20 train. He went straight to the
Café des Fleurs
and there, it seems, he drank five aperitifs. And then my father arrived with Le Grand. He got up and went over to say hello to them. They all three knew each other; they sat down together and Narcense ordered another drink. That time, it didn’t do him any good. He started cursing Le Grand. Because, if you can imagine such a thing, he’d promised to find him a job, because he hasn’t got one at the moment and he’s at his rope’s end, and then he hadn’t done anything about it; so he was fed up.”

“I don’t understand very well,” sighs Nécessaire.

“It’s not complicated. Narcense is looking for a job and Le Grand was supposed to get him one; but he didn’t find him one and Narcense thought he’d let him down
...
Inde irae.”

“Ah yes. And what does he do, Narcense?”

“He plays jazz. Thought I’d already told you. So then he starts cursing Le Grand: “Yerra fraud! You take people ferra ride! You look down on people from the heights of your idleness, you promise and you don’t keep your word! and what happens to me, while all this is going on? I just starve to death!’ That’s what he said, and Le Grand replied: ‘But Shibboleth can’t do anything for you.’ Because Shibboleth, he’s the guy who came through here bout two weeks ago with a huge car with terrific broads in it. He owns some bars and night clubs; he was the one Le Grand was supposed to talk to about Narcense so’s he would strike it lucky. After five minutes, they were coming to blows. My father stopped them. And people were already starting to look at them, in the café. And just then, I turned up. Oh, when he saw me he jumped up and shouted: ‘You filthy little swine.’ But I went up to him, I didn’t turn a hair, I said to him: ‘Are you addressing your remarks to me, Meussieu?’”

“Go on, is that what you said?”

“Just like I told you.”

“But why did he say you were a swine?”

“All that, that’s because of the first business, the letters he wrote to my mother. Squite true that I was a little nasty to him, but that’s no reason to try and kill me, like he already has once.”

“He was boozed, eh?”

“Hang on. So then I said to him: ‘Do you wishter speak to me, M’sieu?’ And then he banged on the table, the glasses flew all over the place: ‘I’m fed up,’ he shouted, ‘I’m fed up with all these swine that don’t have any guts.’ Yes, that’s what he said, but it was Le Grand he meant when he said that. ‘I’m fed up with all these swine that don’t have any guts, and this kid that plays with me like a cat playing with a mouse. A kid. All these creatures who look on and never do a goddamn thing.’ Yes, a kid, he dared call me.”

“What’s it all mean, what he was saying?” young Nécessaire interrupted again.

“Well, the guy’s sick,” explained Sensitif, emphatically.

“And then,” added Théo, “you need to understand who Le Grand is. I finally found out. He’s a rich guy who doesn’t have anything to do and amuses himself watching other people live. Which means that Narcense, who’s starving to death, he says so himself, and hasn’t got a bean, he’s had enough of this guy who’s taking it easy acting the voyeur.”

“Oh, a voyeur!” exclaimed young Nécessaire, inexplicably.

“How d’you know that about Le Grand?” questioned Edgard, the son of M. Sensitif senior.

“I realized it from what my father said. Because my father, from what I guessed, Pierre Le Grand was watching him too, doing all this and that; and he used to follow him in the street.”

“No!” exclaims, incomprehensively, Paul N.

“Yes, that’s how it was.”

“I don’t know,” insinuates Sensitif, “that’s odd, a man that follows men, like that.”

Théo laughs
(sic).

“You’re getting ideas into your head. Pierre Le Grand, well, he just kidnapped a woman.”

Nécessaire shuts his eyes and his ears tingle. Sensitif leans over:

“Who is she?” he vibrates.

“Oh but,” Théo goes on, “I haven’t finished yesterday’s story yet. Everything in its proper place, eh? Well, I’d got to the point where Narcense was starting to break the glasses. People were afraid. The manager came up, you know, the bald one with the little beard. ‘What d’you want with me?’ shouts Narcense and he flings a glass in his face. Then the waiters jumped on him; Le Grand said to take him to a room upstairs. And there, it was as if he was delirious, a very thin man; he wrecked everything; his nose was bleeding and he was puking
...
It lasted a good half hour. After that, he looked as if he was dead. Then my father and Le Grand took him to the hotel. There he went to sleep. But that’s not all. This morning, at 7 o’clock, Le Grand came and fetched him in his car and took him away, I don’t know where. And what’s more, in the car, there was a woman with him. Guess who?”

The others remain silent.

“Catherine.”

“No?”

“No?”

“Yes, Catherine’s his girl now.”

“Well, that’s a funny one.”

Sensitif, giving a little cough, asks:

“What about your mother, what does she say about all this?”

“If anyone asks you, you must say you don’t know anything about it,” replies Théo, who likes historic words.

—oooooo—oooooo—

“Natch,” went on Sidonie, “everyone’s going to wonder why you’re marrying ole Taupe that hasn’t got a bean.”

“Yes, that’s a difficult one to essplain,” Ernestine agreed.

“Gotta get our brain boxes working,” declared Mme. Cloche. “It’s ticularly for Dominique and his wife that we’ve got to find a likely essplanation.”

“Strue,” Ernestine once more agreed. “M’sieu Belhôtel, he’s going to think it’s peculiar. What’ll we tell him?”

The two women fell silent. The sweat radiating over their skin, which was sprinkled with dust. The
CHIPS
shack was melting in the August sun. This was the time of day when they were manipulating the chloride and sulfuric acid in the factory with the blue windows. The two women were alone.

“And who’s going to pay for the wedding breakfast?” questioned Mme. Cloche.

Ernestine didn’t answer, but then hazarded:

“Old Taupe.”

“No, he won’t give anything away so long as we haven’t taken anything.”

“Well then?”

“Haven’t you got any money saved up, Ernestine?”

Ernestine blushed.

“Yes, Madame Cloche, I’ve got a savings bank book.”

“Well then, you’ll pay for it. We’ll have the wedding breakfast at Dominique’s. We can pay him back later.”

“That’s right, Madame Cloche.”

Two truck drivers came and interrupted this important confabulation. While Ernestine was serving the two dust
-
covered men a liter of white wine, which she embellished with a few piquant pleasantries destined to reawaken their eroticism, which might have been deadened by their exhausting work, Mme. Cloche, with one fist on her hip and the other supporting her chin, was putting her brain box to work. Her nephew’s letters were not calculated to reassure her; Narcense’s arrival at X
...
, the brawl that had followed it, his departure with Le Grand, all this boded no good. For it was quite clear that he’d come to demand his share of the loot, in exchange for giving them some information. And that information could only be about her own visit! What an absurd thing to do! And the very same day! when he’d shouted something at her from the train! that she hadn’t understood! Ah, if only that idiot of an Ernestine had agreed right away! None of this would’ve happened. Stead of which, she’d had to try and play it
her
way; she’d wanted to bring it off on her own. But Ma Cloche was there. What an old fox, huh! she thought, referring to herself, and young Ernestine had after all had to agree to give her half Taupe’s treasure. As for that one, he was obviously an old rogue; he agreed to everything; talmost looked zif he was letting himself be married on purpose. And not a sausage to be got out of him! Yes but, after the wedding, they’d soon see about getting his small change out of him. Funny thing was, he wasn’t as old as all that after all: only sixty. He looks much much older. Natch, not a word to Ernestine about the new conspiracy that had got under way at X
...
. Mustn’t scare the little thing. As it was, she wasn’t feeling too happy about it. The most awkward thing was to get Dominique to accept her marriage to Taupe. After all, she was what you call his concubine, and he’d promised her all this and that when he’d got his brothel. So he wouldn’t be very pleased. That was a nuisance. What were they going to tell him?

The two men had gone; Ernestine came and sat down with Mme. Cloche again.

“And who’ll we invite to my wedding?” she asked.

“I’ve already thought about that,” replied Sidonie. “There’ll be me, natch; and then Dominique, Eulalie and Clovis; and then Saturnin and his missus. With the two of you, that makes eight. And then there’ll be your relations. Who’re they?”

“Vonly got two brothers; there’s Themistocles, that’s an N.C.O. in the Zouaves, and it just so happens he’s on leave at the moment; and then Pierre, that’s married. He’s a magician, plays the music halls; he calls himself Peter Tom the Anchorite. I’ve got some cousins in the provinces, too, but they won’t come.”

“Then that makes three more, that makes eleven.”

“And then my girl friend Suzy.”

“That makes twelve.”

“And ole Taupe, he’s sure to invite the Pics.”

So they’d be at least fifteen; apart from that, they couldn’t find a valid reason to explain why Ernestine, young and almost pretty, and an ordinary waitress in a bistro, should marry a self-styled beggar.

“If we leave it like that, everyone’ll say that it’s because Dominique’s got you pregnant,” says old Cloche, “and the child’s got to have a father.”

Flies were fluttering around their brains.

“What the hell does it matter if they say that,” exclaimed Ernestine, confidently.

“Yes, that’s true, we don’t care. Here, give me a Cointreau, Ernestine.”

Impelled by the effort of thought, Sidonie was scratching the table with the nail of her index finger, a familiar gesture.

Could they also say that Ernestine had developed a liking for the junk business? That old Taupe had won her heart? If the idiot didn’t always claim to be so badly off, none of this would present any difficulty. But he was really lousy. And yet, after all, he
was
someone; everyone knew he’d been a gent and that he’d lost all his money in the Russian Revolution. The most difficult is Dominique. How to get him to swallow it? This was going to cause more trouble, this business. She’d tell him ’at Ernestine had fallen for Taupe. That swot she’d tell him, her brother. She was perfectly entitled to get married to anyone she wanted to, wasn’t she? And then, after all, Dominique, he’d be very pleased that it’d worked out like that for Ernestine. And Mme. Cloche was very pleased, too, that it should work out like that in her mind, because all this was making her feel tired. Whereupon, in came old Taupe.