“Auguste! Oh, you’re hurting me! You’re so rough! Oh, my ankle! Now you’ve done it! I’ve twisted it!”
The screams went on for an hour…
He started up again. He kicked the chairs to pieces. He went raving mad! Even so, she pursued him wherever he went… even up the stairs. That drove him even wilder… Tip-tap-plunk! Tip-tap-plunk! To hear her clumping on the stairs… He’d have gladly thrown her straight over the banister… Or crawled into a rathole… She’d make me little signs as she passed… meaning that he was beginning to weaken… He kept on losing his cap… He let her catch up with him… He couldn’t keep up the pace… He fled as from a bad smell… “Leave me alone, leave me alone, please, Clémence!… I beg you, leave me alone, goddamnit! You stinking bitch! Won’t the two of you ever get sick of persecuting me! All you do is talk talk talk, I’ve had it up to here! Goddamnit to lousy stinking hell! Will you ever listen to me!…”
My good mother didn’t care what he said, she was worn to a frazzle, but wouldn’t relax her grip. She grappled him by the neck, she kissed him on the moustache, she closed his eyes with kisses… She treated him to a convulsion. She spat supplications into his ears… In the end she had him gagging. His head was sopping wet with storms and caresses… He couldn’t stand straight. He collapsed on the stairs. Then she began talking about his own health, his alarming condition… Everybody had been saying how pale he was… Then he was willing to listen…
“You’re going to make yourself really sick, my poor angel, working yourself up into such a state! If you come down, where will that get us? What will become of us?… I assure you it’s better he should go away… His being here is making you sick!… Édouard saw that… He told me so before he left…”
“What did Édouard tell you anyway?”
“Your husband won’t last long! If he keeps on working himself up like that… He’s wasting away… Everybody’s noticed it in the Passage… Everybody’s talking about it…”
“Were those his exact words?…”
“Yes, angel. I assure you!… He didn’t want me to tell you… You see how tactful he is… You see, I assure you, you can’t go on like this… You see? You agree, don’t you?…”
“To what?…”
“To letting the child go!… It’ll give us breathing space… Just you and me together… Wouldn’t you like that?…”
“No, certainly not! Not so fast! God almighty! No! Not so fast!…”
“Come along, Auguste! Just think! If you fret yourself to death, where will it get us?…”
“Die? Me? Good Lord! Die! That’s all I’m asking for. Die? Hurry hurry. Good grief! You think I give a damn! Why, it’s all I want in the world!… Ah! Christ! Christ!…”
He disentangles himself, he shakes himself loose, he knocks my mother over. He begins to bellow again… He hadn’t thought of that… Death!… Christ! His death!… He starts up again in a fine lather… He puts his whole soul into it! He jumps up!… He runs for the sink… He wants a drink of water. Pum pum crash!… He skids!… He somersaults!… He sprawls on all fours… He plunges into the sideboard… he ricochets into the buffet… He hollers so the whole place echoes… He’s bumped his nose… He tries to pick himself up… The whole shooting match comes down on us… All the china, the cutlery, the lamp… A waterfall, an avalanche… We’re snowed under… We can’t even see each other… My mother screams in the ruins… “Papa, papa, where are you?… Papa, answer me!…” He was stretched out full length on his back… I see his shoes sticking out over the red varnished tiles in the kitchen…
“Papa, answer me! Answer me, darling!…”
“Shit! Can’t you leave me alone!… Goddamnit, am I asking you for anything?…”
* * *
In the end he was worn down… He finally consented… My mother had her way… The fight had gone out of him… He said it was all one to him… He talked about suicide again… He went back to his office. He stopped thinking of anything but himself. He threw in the sponge. He went out so as not to have to look at me. He left me alone with my mother… That was when she began to dish it out again… her grievances… her whole litany… All sorts of ideas cropped up in her head… and they had to come out, she wanted me to benefit by them, to get a whole bellyful before going away… Just because my father had given up didn’t mean I should think I could do anything I pleased!…
“Listen to me just a minute, Ferdinand!… It’s high time we had a little talk: I don’t want to pester you, scold you, threaten you with one thing or another. That’s not what a mother’s for and it’s not my way! But even so there are certain things a mother can’t help noticing… I often seem to be daydreaming, but I see what’s going on!… I don’t say much, but that doesn’t keep me from thinking!… It’s a big risk we’re taking… Of course it is! Just imagine!… Sending you to England!… Your father isn’t crazy… He’s a thoughtful man… Yes, he’s nobody’s fool!… For poor folks like us it’s sheer madness!… Sending you abroad?… We’re deep in debt!… And the price of that pin to be paid back!… And now two thousand francs to your uncle! Your father was talking about it only this morning, it’s insane… And that’s God’s truth!… I don’t want to rub it in, but your father knows what’s what!… He’s got eyes in his head! I’d like to know where we’re going to find all that money! Two thousand francs!… Even if we move heaven and earth!… It doesn’t grow on trees!… Your father, you’ve only got to open your eyes, is at the end of his tether!… As for me, I’m all in, exhausted, I don’t mention it to him, but I’m ready to collapse… You see my leg?… It’s begun to swell up every night… Do you call this a life?… What have we done to deserve it? Are you listening, my boy? I’m not reproaching you… I just want you to realize… to look the situation in the face… to know what we’ve been through… Because you’ll be away for several months now. You’ve made life very hard for us, Ferdinand! I’ve a right to tell you that, to let you know! I’m always inclined to be lenient with you… I’m your mother, after all!… It’s hard for me to judge you… But strangers, your employers… these people who’ve had you with them day after day… They haven’t got the same weakness… Gorloge, for instance! Only yesterday! I can still hear him… I didn’t tell your father what he said!… As he was leaving… he’d been here a whole hour… ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘I see the kind of woman I’m talking to… Your boy… well, if you ask me, it’s all perfectly simple… You’re like so many mothers… You’ve spoilt him! He’s rotten! That’s all there is to it! You think you’re being kind, you work yourselves to the bone! And you’re ruining your children!’ I’m telling you exactly what he said, word for word. ‘With the best of intentions all you’ll make of him is a lazy, pleasure-seeking egotist!…’ I was flabbergasted, take it from me! I didn’t say boo! I didn’t bat an eyelash! As a mother, I wasn’t going to tell him he was right!… But what do you suppose I was thinking?… He was able to see clearly… With us it’s not the same, especially with me!… If you’re not more affectionate, more reasonable, more hard-working, and especially more grateful… if you’re not more considerate… if you don’t try to help us more… in this hard life of ours… there’s a reason, and I’m going to tell you what it is… I’m your mother, I understand because I’m a woman… It’s because you’re heartless… That’s the whole trouble… I often wonder whom you can take after. I’m wondering right now where you get it from? Certainly not from your father or from me… Your father is all heart… his heart’s too big, poor man!… And me, I guess you saw the way I was with my mother… My heart’s always been in the right place… We’ve been weak with you… We were too busy, we didn’t want to face the facts… We thought things would straighten out all by themselves… And in the end you did a dishonest thing!… How perfectly abominable!… We’re all of us a little at fault… I’ve got to admit it… And this is what it’s led to!… ‘He’ll be your ruination!’… Ah, he made no bones about i
t! Lavelongue warned me long ago!… He’s not the only one who saw it, Ferdinand!… Everybody who lives with you catches on after a while… Well, I won’t rub it in! I don’t want to paint you blacker than you are… Over there you’ll be in entirely different surroundings… Try to forget your evil ways!… To keep out of bad company!… Don’t go running around with little hoodlums!… And most of all, don’t imitate them!… Think of us!… Think of your parents!… Try to mend your ways over there… Play in recreation time, but don’t play when you’re supposed to be working… Try to learn the language quickly and then you’ll come back… Improve your manners… Try to mould your character… Make an effort… The English always seem so correct… So clean! So nicely dressed! I don’t know what to say, my boy, to make you behave a little better… It’s the last try… Your father has explained it all to you… Life is a serious business at your age… You want to be a decent man!… I can’t tell you any more…” That was God’s truth, I’d heard just about all there was to hear… The whole business left me cold… All I wanted was to get out of there as quickly as possible and not to hear any more talk. The main thing isn’t knowing whether you’re right or wrong. That really doesn’t matter… The main thing is to keep people from bothering you… The rest is vice.
* * *
When it came time to go, I felt bad after all, worse than I’d have expected. It’s hard not to. As the three of us were standing on the platform in the Gare du Nord, we were a miserable sight… We hung on to each other’s clothes, trying to keep together… As soon as we were in a crowd, we grew timid, furtive… Even my father, who hollered so loud in the Passage, was helpless outside… He shrivelled up… It was only at home that he could wield thunder and lightning. Outside he blushed for fear of being noticed. He peered out of the corner of his eyes…
It took a lot of gumption to send me so far… all alone… just like that… All of a sudden we were scared… My mother, who was the most heroic, tried to find somebody who was going my way… Nobody had ever heard of Rochester. I went in to get a seat… They repeated all the necessary instructions… to be careful, very careful… not to get out before the train stopped… never to cross the tracks… To look in all directions… Not to play with the door handle… to watch out for draughts… not to get things in my eyes… To keep an eye on the baggage rack… because something can fall down and bash your brains in when the train jolts… I had a jam-packed suitcase and in addition a blanket, sort of a carpet, an enormous oriental rug with coloured checks, a green and blue “plaid”… We got it from Grandma Caroline. We’d never been able to sell it. I was taking it back to its home country. It would be fine for the climate, that’s what we thought…
In the middle of all the racket I had to recite my lesson a last time, everything they’d been dinning into me for the last week… “Brush your teeth every morning… Wash your feet every Saturday… Ask to take sitz baths… You have a dozen pair of socks… Three nightgowns… Wipe yourself properly when you go to the toilet… Chew your food and eat slowly… You’ll ruin your stomach… Take your worm syrup… Get rid of that habit of touching yourself…”
I was treated to many more precepts for my moral resurrection, my rehabilitation… They gave me everything before I left… I took it all away with me to England, good principles, excellent principles… and shame on account of my vicious instincts. I’d want for nothing. The price was all settled. Two months had been paid for in advance. I promised to be well behaved, obedient, courageous, attentive, sincere, grateful, scrupulous, never to lie, especially never to steal, not to stick my fingers up my nose, to come back completely changed, a model of good behaviour, to put on weight, to know English, not to forget my French, to write every Sunday at the very least. I promised everything they asked! If only they’d let me leave right away… and cut the tragedy. We’d talked so much there was nothing left to say… It was time to get going. Nasty thoughts came to me, sinister feelings… There’s something stupefying about all this loathsome confusion… the steam, the crowd, the whistles… In the distance I could see the rails disappearing into the tunnel. Soon I’d be disappearing too… I had some rotten presentiments, I wondered if the English weren’t going to be meaner and crummier, a damn sight worse than the people around here…
I looked at my parents, they were trembling all over… They couldn’t hold back the tears… I began to bawl too. I was terribly ashamed, I was breaking down like a girl, I didn’t think much of myself. My mother clutched me in her arms… It was time to close the doors… They were shouting “All aboard!”… She hugged me so hard, with such a storm of emotion, that I reeled… On those occasions the tenderness that welled up from her misshapen carcass had the strength of a horse… The idea of parting drenched her in advance. A howling tornado turned her inside out, as if her soul were coming out of her behind, her eyes, her belly, her bosom… it hit me in all directions, it lit up the whole station… She couldn’t help it… it was something awful to look at.
“Calm yourself, Mama, please!… The people are laughing at us…”
I begged her to control herself, I implored her amid the kisses, the blowing whistles, the racket… But it was too much for her… I extricated myself from her embrace, I jumped on the step, I didn’t want her to start again… I didn’t dare to admit it, but in a way I was curious… I’d have liked to know how far she could go in her effusions… From what nauseating depths was she digging up all this slop?…
With my father at least it was perfectly simple, he was nothing but a slobbering fool, there was nothing left in his dome but rubbish, pretence and uproar… a clutter of idiocy… My mother was different… She kept her wits about her, her mind was still in one piece… Even in the lousiest situation… the slightest caress would send her into a tizzy… like some broken machine, the piano of genuine unhappiness that had nothing left but a few sour notes… Even when I was up in the car, I was afraid she’d grab me again… I went in and out, pretending to be looking for something… I climbed up on the bench… I took down my blanket… I stepped on it… I was mighty glad when the train gave a jolt… We pulled out in a roar of thunder… We had passed Asnières before I settled down like everybody else… I was still anxious…
* * *
When we got to Folkestone, they pointed out the head conductor, who was supposed to keep an eye on me and tell me when to get out. He was wearing a red shoulder strap with a little bag hanging in the middle of his back. I couldn’t very well lose sight of him. In Chatham he motioned to me. I grabbed my suitcase. The train was two hours late, the people from my school, Meanwell College, had gone back home, they’d given me up. In a way that suited me. I was the only one getting out, the others were going on to London.
It was already dark, the place wasn’t very well lit. It was a raised station, propped up on piles… like stilts… It was elongated, a big wooden tangle in the mist, all covered with coloured posters… When you walked on the platform, thousands of planks resounded…
I didn’t want to be helped any more, I was sick of it. I left by a side door and then a footbridge… Nobody asked me anything… I couldn’t see my man any more, a different one in a red-and-blue uniform who’d been pestering the life out of me. I looked around outside the station, the square was mighty dark. The town began right away. Little streets tumbling downhill, from one dim light to the next. The air was thick and sticky, swirling around the gas jets… The effect was spooky… From way down below came gusts of music… carried by the wind, I guess… Tunes… like a busted merry-go-round in the night…
It was a Saturday when I arrived, the streets were full of people, flocking past the shops. The tram, which looked like a fat giraffe, towered over the shanties, compressed the crowd, shook the window panes… The crowd moved in dense, brown waves, it smelt like muck and tobacco and anthracite, and also like toast and a little like sulphur for the eyes; it got thick and more enveloping, more suffocating the farther down I went, it clo
sed in after the tram had passed, like fish after a dam…
In the eddies the people felt oilier, stickier than our people. My suitcase got tangled up in legs, I passed from one paunch to another. I took a gander at the food piled up in the shop windows. Little mountains of hams… Valleys of cured meat… I was mighty hungry, but I was afraid to go in. I had a pound in one pocket and some change in the other.
After a lot of pushing and poking we ended up on the riverfront… The fog was pretty thick… You get used to stumbling… Mustn’t fall in the river… The whole place was rigged up like a fair, with little booths and some regular stages… Thousands of lamps and what a mob… Peddlers fished for suckers in the crowd… shouting themselves hoarse in their language… There were lots of stands all along the esplanade, to suit every taste… Fish and chips… mandolins, wrestlers, weight lifters, a sword-swallower, a bicycle track, little birds… there was a terrific mob around the canary pecking the “future” in a box… There was something for everybody… nougat… whole barrels of currant jelly, dripping all over the place… A dense cloud comes down from the sky… it falls on the fair… for a moment it hides everything… blots out space… You can still hear all right, but you can’t see a thing… neither the man nor his acetylene lamp… Ah, a gust of wind! There he is again!… A real gentleman in a frock coat… He exhibits the moon for twopence… for three he gives you Saturn… it’s written on his sign… There’s the mist again, falling on the crowd, spreading out… Everything’s muffled! The guy breaks off his spiel, folds up his telescope, curses, and clears out. The people are all laughing… You can’t even move any more… People lose each other, then they get together outside the stands where the light is really bright. Music drifts over from all directions… You think you’re right in the middle of it… It’s a kind of mirage… Like you were bathing in sound… That’s a banjo… A Negro on a carpet right beside me, whimpering on the ground… he imitates a locomotive, he’s going to run everybody over. We’re all having a fine time, we can’t see each other.
Death on Credit Page 23