Death on Credit

by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

  Another scene! Holy creepers! I jump off the bed… I’ll flatten her out! She’ll be the last! Damn it to stinking hell! She doesn’t wait, the slut! She’s gone!… I hear the downstairs door opening and slamming hard!… I run to the window! I open it… I’m just in time to see her running out of the alley… under the street lamps… I see her movements, her nightgown fluttering in the wind… She dashes down the steps… She’s crazy! Where the hell is she going?

  It flashes through my mind that something terrible is going to happen!… I say to myself: “This is it! You’re in for it! This is going to be one sweet mess! And you’re going to take the rap! That’s sure as shit! Bloody murder! She’s going to throw herself in the drink!…” I knew it! She’s off her rocker! Damn it to hell!… Could I catch her?… But it’s none of my business!… There’s nothing I can do!… The whole thing is beyond me… I listen… I look out through the hall door… to see if I can see her on the waterfront… She must be down by now… There she is again! Still screaming!… “Ferdinand! Ferdinand!” And then some more Ferdinands… Her screams cut through the sky!… That’s her again, the bitch, yelling way from the bottom!… She’s got some nerve!… Damn it to hell! I can hear her from the other end of the harbour! I’m scared!… I stare! They’ll say I knew something!… They’ll pinch me for sure!… I’m in for it!… It’s the handcuffs for me!… I’m in one hell of a dither… I go and shake the idiot in his crib… If I leave him alone for a minute and he gets panicky… he’ll do some damn-fool thing… He’ll set the place on fire… Christ! I wake him up… I pull him out of his cage… I drag him out in his kimono… I pull him helter-skelter down the stairs…

  When we get out into the alley, I lean over the rocks, I try to look down as far as the bridge, under the lights… Where can she be? Ah, there she is, I see her… A spot… wavering through the shadows, a white spot, whirling… That’s the kid all right, that’s my loony! She flits from one lamp to the next… Like a butterfly, the stinker!… She’s still yelling here and there, the wind brings back the echoes… And then for a second there’s a terrible scream and then another, an awful scream that fills the whole valley… “Hurry up, boy!” I tell the kid. “Our lady love has jumped in! We’ll never make it! We’re in for a dip! You’ll see, kid! You’ll see!”

  I run like hell, I race down the steps, through space… Bing! Just like that! All of a sudden!… Right in the middle of the stairway! My blood freezes!… I’ve had an idea! I stop! I’m trembling all over! That’s enough! I’m not taking another step!… It’s for the birds! I pull myself together! I look back!… I lean over the rail! I see… The place on the waterfront where the sound was coming from isn’t very far… There’s a big crowd now!… People pouring in from all sides!…

  The esplanade is full of rescuers! There’s more coming. They’re talking it over… They’re running around in all directions with poles, lifebelts and canoes… All the whistles and sirens begin to blow at once… It’s a hullabaloo, a riot!… But they’re working hard! They’re knocking themselves out… They don’t catch anything!… The little white square in the waves… It’s being carried out farther and farther…

  I can still see her from where I am, clearly in the middle of the water… she passes out beyond the piers… I can even hear her choking… I can hear her gurgling… I can still hear the sirens… I hear her swallowing water… She’s caught in the tide… She’s caught in the eddies… The little white speck is passing the breakwater! Oh Christ! Oh holy shit! She’s drunk up the ocean by now!… I’ve got to get the brat home! I give him a poke in the arse! They mustn’t catch us out!… We’ve got to be out of here before they come back… That’s for sure!

  He’s worn out from running… I push him, I throw him… He can’t see a thing without his glasses… He can’t even see the lamp posts. He starts bumping into everything… He whines like a dog… I grab him and pick him up, I carry him up the hill!… I toss him into his bed… I run to the old man’s door!… I knock hard! No answer, not a word!… Come on! I knock again, I pound!… Then I give a good push, I bash it in!… He’s there all right!… Just the way I’d seen him… He’s stretched out in front of his grate, all pink… He’s stroking his belly, as peaceful as can be… He gives me a look as if I’d interrupted him… He blinks a little, his eyelids flutter… He doesn’t know anything… “She’s drowning! She’s drowning!…” I yell at him… I repeat it even louder!… I shout my lungs out… I make motions… I imitate the glug-glug… I point down… into the valley… out the window! Down there! Down there! The Medway! “River! River! Down there! Water!…” He raises himself just a little… the effort makes him belch… He loses his balance, collapses on a stool… “Oh, nice Ferdinand!” he says… “Nice Ferdinand!” He even holds out his hand… But his cup-and-ball gets all fouled up… It’s stuck in the armchair… He tugs at it, he’s exhausted, he has to stop… He upsets all the bottles… All the whisky drips down… The marmalade, the jar tips over… Everything topples… like a waterfall… That cracks him up… he’s convulsed… He tries to pick things up… the gravy… everything collapses… the plate too… he skids on the pieces… He slides under the bench. He doesn’t move… He’s wedged against the fireplace… He shows me how it’s done… He ruminates… he grunts… He massages his belly with round strokes… He bunches up wads of fat and gives them a good going over… He kneads them slowly… He rubs and squeezes… he pushes them apart… he works into the furrows…

  I’ve completely forgotten what I was going to say… What’s the use? I close the door, I go back to the dormitory… I say to myself: “You’re going to clear out of here at the crack of dawn…” My bag is all ready!… I lie down on the bed for a minute… but I get up a second later… I’m in a panic again… I don’t know exactly why. I start thinking about the kid again… I look out of the window… I listen… Not a sound… Nothing… There’s not a soul on the waterfront… Had they all left so soon?

  Then suddenly this thing begins to plague me, in spite of my terror, in spite of my tiredness… I couldn’t resist… I wanted to go down and see if they’d pulled her out of the drink… I put on my coat and trousers, my suit… The kid was sound asleep… I lock him up in the dormitory… I meant to come back right away… I make it quick… I’m down at the bottom of the stairs… I see a cop making his rounds… I see a sailor who calls out to me… That cools me off… I’m scared again… I stop still in my niche… Hell! It’s too complicated for me! I’m not moving! I’m too exhausted anyway! I stay there quite a while… There’s nobody around. Down below, that’s the bridge she jumped from… I see the lights, red ones, a big long string of them, trembling in the reflections on the water… I say to myself, I’ll be getting back now… It’s not far!… Maybe the cops are there by now!… I begin wondering… imagining… I’m exhausted… I’m knocked out… I’m really not feeling very good!… I’m all in!… So help me, I can’t move… I’ll never make it back to Meanwell… I won’t even try… I lean back… There’s nothing I can do after all!… This mess has nothing to do with me!… Not a thing!… Just let me beat it out of here, all by myself… Slowly I head for the station… I wrap up tight in my overcoat… I don’t want anybody to recognize me… I slide along the walls… I don’t meet a soul… The waiting room is open… Good deal!… I stretch out for a while on the bench… There’s a stove right near… I’m doing fine… I’m in the dark… The first train for Folkestone is at five… I haven’t got my stuff, not one damn thing… It was up there on the bed… To hell with it! I’ll go home without it… I don’t want to go back there… It can’t be done… The one thing for me is to make myself scarce… I sit up so as to keep awake… I’m sure of making that five o’clock train… I’m sitting right under the bulletin board… I lie down right there… I stretch out. “Five o’clock. Folkestone via Canterbury.”

  * * *

  Coming home that way without any of my stuff, I really expected to be welcomed with the
broom handle… Not a bit of it!… My folks seemed pleased, they were kind of glad to see me… They were just surprised that I hadn’t brought back a single shirt, a single sock, but they didn’t press the point… they didn’t start up a scenario… They were too much absorbed by their own private worries…

  In the eight months I’d been away they had changed a good deal… their whole appearance and bearing. I found them all shrivelled up, with wizened faces and hesitant movements… My father’s pants bagged at the knees, they fell down in big folds on all sides like an elephant. His face was livid, he’d lost all his hair on top, he disappeared under his sea captain’s cap… His eyes were almost colourless now, they weren’t even blue at all, but grey, all pale like the rest of his face… He was all wrinkles, they were a dark colour, furrows running from the nose down to the mouth… He was falling apart… He didn’t talk to me about anything much… He only asked me once or twice how come we’d stopped answering his letters to England… Were they dissatisfied with me at Meanwell College?… Had I made progress?… Had I caught the accent?… Did I understand English when they talked fast?… I mumbled something vague… He didn’t seem to expect any more…

  He wasn’t listening to me anyway… He was too panic-stricken to worry about things that were over and done with. He’d lost interest in arguing… Morose as his letters had been, they hadn’t told me the whole story!… Far from it!… There was plenty more to come! Calamities – brand-new ones! So I heard it all, in every detail… They really had put themselves through the wringer to send me my keep for the first six months… It had been rough!… The disaster with the boleros had sunk them completely… without exaggeration!… My father’s watch never left the pawnshop!… Nor my mother’s ring either… They’d taken out some mortgages in Asnières… on those beat-up houses…

  Not having his watch drove father crazy… not having the time on him… that contributed to his collapse. He so punctual, so exact in everything he did, he was obliged to look at the clock in the Passage every minute… He’d go out on the doorstep… Every time Mme Ussel, the seamstress, would be waiting for him… Tick-tock, tick-tock!… she’d say to get his goat… she’d stick out her tongue…

  New difficulties cropped up… end to end like a string of sausages… They were too much for them… They huddled up in their misery, disintegrating, lacerating themselves with despair, shrinking so as to offer less surface… They tried to wriggle out from under their calamities… It didn’t help! They got caught, they got the same going-over every time.

  Mme Héronde, our seamstress, couldn’t work any more, she was in the hospital all the time… Mme Jasmin, who took her place, was completely unreliable… A spendthrift, always in debt! Her tastes ran to liquor. She lived in Clichy. My mother spent all her time on the bus, she went out there twice a day, morning and evening… She always found her in some bar… She was married to a colonel, she steeped herself in absinthe… The customers that gave us things to mend had to wait months for their gewgaws!… They had terrible fits of rage and impatience… It was even worse than before… They were always in a fury about the delays and postponements!… And when it came time to pay up, it was always the same song and dance, the same mists and bullshit!… Whish!… Madame was gone! All of a sudden there was nothing but empty space… Or if they did cough up a little, they hollered and griped so much, they whittled down the tiny little bills, with such tirades… that in the end my mother didn’t know what to say or do… She’d sweated blood, limping after that Jasmin woman and all the rest of them, just to be yelled at, treated like dirt… It wasn’t worth it!

  Anyway my mother was perfectly well aware, she had to admit it with tears in her eyes, that the taste for lovely things was dying out… you couldn’t buck the stream… it was stupid even to try and fight, you were just wearing yourself out for nothing… Rich people had lost all their refinement… all their delicacy… their appreciation for fine work, for hand-made articles… all they had left was a depraved infatuation with machine-made junk, embroideries that unravel, that melt and peel when you wash them… Why insist on making beautiful things?… That’s what the ladies wanted! Flashy stuff! Gingerbread! Horrors!… rubbish from the bargain counter! Fine lace was a thing of the past!… What was the use of fighting?… My mother had had to give in to the contagion! She’d filled the whole place with this cheap junk… real crap… in less than a month… That was a safe bet!… The window was full of it!… To see every curtain rod and shelf in the place full of this trash, miles of it, didn’t just make her unhappy, it gave her a real bellyache!… But it was no use arguing… The Jews two steps away from us, on the corner of the Rue des Jeûneurs, piled up enormous pieces of the same, the whole shopfront was thrown open, and the counters were buried under the stuff like at the fair, by the bobbin, by the rod, by the kilo!…

  It was a real comedown for anybody who had known the real stuff… My mother was overcome with shame at having to compete with such rubbish!… But she had no choice… She’d have preferred to abandon this line altogether and get along as best she could with other things, with her little pieces of furniture for instance, her marquetry, her make-up tables, her kidney-shaped tables, her cabinets, or even the gewgaws people put in glass cases, the knick-knacks, the little pieces of pottery, and even the Dutch globes that leave next to no profit and are so heavy to carry… But she wasn’t strong enough… it was too hard with her bad leg… running all over Paris, she could never have carried a bigger load… It couldn’t be done! But that’s what you had to do if you wanted to find bargains. And hang around the auction rooms pointing like a hound dog for hours on end… And what about the store?… The two didn’t go together… Our doctor, Dr Capron from the Marché Saint-Honoré, had been to see us twice on account of her leg… He’d made himself very clear… He’d ordered her to take a complete rest! To stop running up and down stairs, loaded like three dozen mules! To give up the housework… even the cooking… He hadn’t pulled any punches… He’d told her in so many words that if she kept overdoing it… he’d warned her… she’d get a real abscess inside the knee, he even showed her the place… From the continual strain the upper and lower part of her leg had gone stiff… they were riveted together… joint and all, they were frozen into a single bone. It looked like a stick with ridges running all along… They weren’t muscles… When she moved her foot, they pulled on it like ropes… You could see them straining… It gave her excruciating pain! A terrible cramp! Especially in the evening when she was finished, when she came home from running around… She showed me when we were alone… She put on hot compresses… She was careful not to let my father see her… She’d finally noticed what a temper it put him in to have her limping along behind him…

  Since we were all alone again… and I was in the shop, waiting… she took advantage of the opportunity to repeat… very gently, very affectionately, but with absolute conviction, that it was really my fault if things were going so badly… on top of all their other troubles in the shop and the office… My conduct, all my misdeeds at Gorloge’s and at Berlope’s had hit them so hard they’d never get over it… They were still stunned… Of course they weren’t angry with me!… They didn’t hold it against me! Let bygones be bygones!… But at least I ought to realize what a state I’d put them in… My father was so shattered he couldn’t control his nerves… He started up in the middle of the night… He woke up with nightmares… He’d pace back and forth for hours…

  As for her, I had only to look at her leg!… It was the worst of calamities!… It was worse than a serious sickness, than typhoid or erysipelas! Again she repeated all her recommendations in the most affectionate tone… that I should try to be more reasonable with my new bosses… more settled in my ways, more courageous, persevering, grateful, scrupulous, obliging… to stop being scatterbrained, negligent, lazy… to try to have my heart in the right place… Yes, that’s the main thing, the heart!… To remember always, and never forget, that they’d dep
rived themselves of everything, that they’d both of them worked their fingers to the bone for me ever since I was born… and now, only recently, sending me to England!… That if, by ill luck, I were to commit any more horrible crimes… well, it would be the end!… My father wouldn’t be able to take it… poor man, he’d be finished! He’d come down with neurasthenia, he’d have to leave his office… For her part… if she had to go through any more agonies… over my conduct… it would affect her leg… there’d be one abscess after another and in the end they’d have to amputate… That’s what Capron had said.

  In Papa’s case it was even more tragic on account of his temperament, his sensibility… He ought to take a rest, right away and for several months, what he needed was a long holiday in a quiet place, away from it all, in the country… That’s what Capron had recommended… He’d examined his heart very carefully… it beat like a trip hammer… Sometimes it even missed a beat… The two of them… Capron and Papa… were exactly the same age, forty-two years and six months… He’d even added that a man is even more delicate than a woman when the “menopause” sets in… that he should take a thousand precautions… His advice came at the wrong time! Right then my father was knocking himself out more than ever!… You could hear him typing up on the third floor, the machine was an enormous contraption with a keyboard the size of a factory… When he’d been typing a long time, the clickety-click of the keys buzzed in his ears a good part of the night… It kept him awake. He took mustard footbaths. That brought some of the blood down from his brain.

  * * *

  I began to realize that my mother would always regard me as an un-­feeling child, a selfish monster, a little brute, capricious, scatterbrained… They had tried everything, done everything they could… it was really no use. There’d never be any help for my disastrous, innate, incorrigible propensities… She could only face the facts, my father had been perfectly right… During my absence their griping had got even worse, it had settled into a groove… They were so busy with their troubles they couldn’t even bear the sound of my footsteps! My father made horrible faces every time I came upstairs.