Waltenberg

by Hedi Kaddour

  Moncel knows what he can’t stand, the presence of this woman, her fat body, the smell of face-powder and sweet perfume, the underlying acid odours, those eyes, the beefy arms which could reach out and collar him in a flash, the sturdy hiking shoes, a woman a foot taller than him, this woman is in herself her own male, if she attacks him he won’t be able to fight her off, she has positioned herself between him and the door, she could flatten him, crush him, I’d have to grab one of the chairs, put a chair between me and her, she has a mammoth bosom, she’ll punch me and then say she was forced to defend herself, they will believe her, I shall be a laughing-stock, I should have turned tail and fled the instant I saw her here in the library, she’s got fists like giant hams, hands that could wring the neck of just about anything.

  She’s quite capable of rushing out of the library shouting Moncel attacked me, like the maid in the presbytery at Rethel, she’d run out into the street, she’d torn the front of her blouse, screamed blue murder, and now she’s bearing down on him, what is it you can’t stand, Monsieur Moncel? A bare thirty centimetres now separate her from Moncel, a smell of sweetness and German sweat, Moncel is forced to raise his head to meet her eye, they say she has a foul temper, whatever you do don’t provoke her, I can’t stand ladders, Madame, I get giddy…

  ‘What? strong lad like you! with those athlete’s arms and nimble legs…’

  La Merken has grabbed hold of one of Moncel’s arms, I know it’s silly, Madame, her hand has crept back up on to Moncel’s shoulder, weighty, enveloping but not aggressive, a heavy smell, sweet, but not essence of cabbage, thank God! La Merken’s green eyes, her bosom swells, she breathes more sterterously, you can overcome it, you’ve got muscles and a back as strong as a mountain climber’s, Madame, I hate it, La Merken takes him by the shoulder, a mountain of flesh and a small man, a head shorter than her.

  She leads him to a set of library steps, the maid from the presbytery had been dismissed, a hysteric, but the curé of Rethel never got a living at Rheims, her movements become more and more ponderous, she is quite capable of yelling at him, she circles his shoulders with her other arm, he feels La Merken’s bosom against his shoulder, the breasts are more pliant than he would have thought, have faith, it won’t come to anything, one rung at a time, just let yourself go, steady now, sometimes you have to do what you’re told if you want to get on.

  Too late now for putting a chair between them, there’ll be no obligation on you to like us, Monsieur Moncel, but you’ll have learnt to climb a ladder, and the benefit of reaching the top is well worth the effort, citius, altius, fortius, let me guide you, steady, if he goes up the rungs of the ladder she’ll have to let go of him, he’ll no longer feel the pressure of that bosom on his shoulder nor the weight of her stomach against his hip, the door opened, I’m sure the door opened and closed, anyone might come in, someone has come in, there’s someone watching us, she’s going to scream, she’s too near, he climbs up a few rungs, she has let go of his shoulder and arm, he can breathe again, fewer smells, his hand trembles on the higher rungs, go on, young man, you see, it’s a lot easier than it looks.

  Moncel would have been perfectly happy staying right there, not too high up, but out of La Merken’s reach, not feeling giddy either, just there at eye-level with the works of Kipling, now there’s an Englishman who is not ashamed of his Empire, Kim, a book he’s never read, he doesn’t want to go any higher to get Wagner’s librettos, find an excuse, there’s a book here I’ve been trying to find for ages, I’ll come down and put it to one side then I’ll come back up and help out, if she’s so keen on Wagner she can shin up the damn ladder herself on those great big feet of hers, she’s afraid I’ll see her large feet, Moncel stretches out a hand for Kim, he feels two hands settle firmly around his calves, strong hands, but not aggressive.

  It’s not very high, young man, go on, take your time, slowly now, I don’t feel at all well, Madame, do you know the author of Kim? The one who wrote ‘one day you’ll be a man’, I’d like to come down and put it aside, no, go on, you’ve done the hardest part, and the hands grow harder, keep calm, keep looking up, she releases one of his calves, gives it a tap, now now, no childishness, just a few more little rungs, there’s nothing to it, come along, the hand seizes his calf again, forces his leg up on to the next rung, again, now the other leg.

  This is crazy, what am I doing here? the ladder shakes, don’t be afraid, look there, the ladder is secured high up by hooks, there’s no need for this woman to tell me not to be afraid, it’s not fear, the other leg now, breathe, she doesn’t have to force me, her right hand has gone all the way up to the back of Moncel’s knee, she’s hampering my movements, she doesn’t have to paw me, what would she say if I started pawing the back of her knee, I could assault her too, bite the back of her knee, and her breasts, keep going, one more, La Merken’s voice grows softer and softer, the solution is to get this over and done with as quickly as possible, get her bloody book for her, don’t look down, I’m not feeling the least giddy, it’s weird, maybe it’s because she’s holding me.

  It’s the first time I’ve managed to get past the fifth rung of a ladder, bite her backside, that sweet smell, who does this woman think she is? In Paris, in the establishment run by Madame Blanche, there are women who look like her and are much sweeter-natured, Moncel is nearing the top, his hand is on one of the Wagner volumes, I have it, Madame, I’m coming down now, no, open it, read, read from your great height, the last scene, the legato passage, now I’m really starting to feel dizzy, she’s mad, I want to come down, I can’t read standing up on top of a ladder, I’m going to fall, Madame, no, I’m holding you, relax, La Merken was almost shouting, breathe, read, the last scene, the song of Brünnhilde, it’s sung in a subdued voice, you’re not afraid now, read trat ich vor ihm, read, I walked towards him, and you can come down, I don’t read German very well, trat ich vor ihm, ladder’s slipping Madame.

  She put her hand under his backside, I walked towards him, you’re not afraid any more, her large paw under Moncel’s backside, the woman’s thumb, he shudders, do what she says, quickly, La Merken is careful, mustn’t hurt, but she doesn’t move her hand, it’s at this precise moment that it happens, before there was nothing, now it’s done, La Merken has no respect for what she’s holding in her hand but she’s careful with it, Moncel says nothing, in Madame Blanche’s establishment the woman had taken him firmly saying this way, he was excited, she had squeezed very hard, around the base, stay calm sweetie, I’m not going to short-change you, must have your money’s worth, I’m an honest girl! she was hurting him, to calm him, see it’s not so terrible! Read, Moncel, Ich vernahm des Heldens, yes I beheld the hero’s sacred pain, Madame, it’s moving, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I’ve got you, Madame Merken’s hand, no giddiness, the lament of the bravest of the brave has reached my ear, read, Moncel, read.

  The ladder shakes, your thumb Madame, if you wouldn’t mind, furchtbares Leid, do you understand, Moncel? Translate, the horrid suffering of the freest love, go on, I’m holding you, the ladder, your thumb, Madame, mein Aug, that’s it, Moncel, my eye has seen what struck my heart with a sacred jolt, do you like that? now do you understand us?

  Yes, Madame, Moncel on the top of his ladder, La Merken’s right hand is firm and alive, it supports Moncel, Moncel glances down, eyes wide, she cranes her head up to him, her double chin has disappeared, he doesn’t think her ugly any more, someone has come into the library, La Merken has removed her hand, he doesn’t know how he managed to climb back down again, La Merken was now talking to her husband’s new secretary.

  Lena walks through the lobby, have you seen Monsieur Kappler? She can’t find him, a Scotsman sitting in an armchair with his legs crossed watches as she goes, I don’t know what’s the matter with people tonight, it’s the altitude, the medics say that altitude multiplies the number of red blood corpuscles, this makes us more active, more resilient, sometimes it prevents us sleeping, it can also bring on migraines but tonight
nobody’s got a headache, a woman says to Lena: ‘Monsieur Kappler? He was with young Mademoiselle de Valréas just a few minutes ago.’

  That Frédérique, arrogant, a know-all, as silly as girls are at eighteen, Lena searches for Hans in the lounges, she know Frédérique isn’t really silly or arrogant, she’s just young, that’s exactly why you don’t like her, see things as they are, she’s going to do what you have failed to do for the last ten years, a farandole jigs past, the dancers try to sweep Lena along with them, she shakes free of them, Lilstein is looking for her.

  Max as usual has taken refuge in his role as observer, he thinks Hans is mad, he’s been trying to find Lena for more than ten years, she’s here, they say she’s never looked more beautiful and Hans is having a pleasant chat with a brazen young hoyden who is at the same time also being kept under surveillance by Merken, the wild boar, young Frédérique is flattered, Philosophy and Fiction are looking at her, Max feels sure that she is even now saying no to Hans, and Hans will be free but in a way that Lena won’t like, actually it’s not at all certain the girl will say no to Hans, she gives him a playful tap, they both laugh affectionately, Hans is telling Frédérique about his walk two days ago, along a path through the forest, there were children playing, very young, two nannies to take care of them:

  ‘I pretended to be taking a breather, among the children there was a little girl called Frédérique.’

  ‘Loving and obedient?’

  ‘Frédérique, I would like to have a little girl by you.’

  ‘Hans, you know very well that motherhood interests young women not at all, or at best inadvertently.’

  ‘I’d settle for that, I’ll give anything, at once!’

  ‘So that you can demand everything?’

  ‘Are you going to remain single? Grow old alone?’

  ‘I intend to wait, Hans, we’re all waiting for Mr Right, like Natasha at the ball in War and Peace, we wait and suddenly he’s coming straight towards us, the handsomest of men, the most heroic, he comes to us and he asks us to dance, then he is killed in the war and we turn into ladies of property and live on our country estates, I shan’t have the patience to wait, I shall anticipate events.’

  ‘You’re going to travel?’

  ‘No, I think travel narrows the mind, but I do want to get away from my mother, work, read, write, walk, fight, weep, make the running, apparently you always find a man in the end.’

  ‘Who are you looking for?’

  ‘A teddy bear, Hans, a teddy bear, like before, he has to be strong as an ox, and artistic, but intelligent with it, I’ve no idea what he should look like, like you? Or nobody? Or he’ll just be someone I’ll miss where he’s not around.’

  Further along, snatches of salon conversation are heard it seems that women belong to the men who love them most, true, but the man who loves a woman the most puts himself at her mercy and eventually suffers for it, there’s no getting away from that.

  Max has observed that Lilstein looked unhappy, he said if you want to be loved you must hold your cards closer to your chest, it only takes one look and they can tell you’re a novice.

  And Lilstein got systematically drunk, German-style, on French cognac, in a corner, without stirring, with reflections gyrating in the mirrors, sudden fascinations with the shape of a wineglass, a stool, words which stay inside, words which have diminishing success in getting themselves into the correct order.

  Hans caught up again with Michael Lilstein at three in the morning, on the edge of coma, he took him back to his room, helped him be sick, at eleven a.m. Lilstein woke up, feeling nauseous, headache, dizziness in waves, he’s wearing only his pyjama top, remembers nothing, by his bedside Hans Kappler is fast asleep in a deep armchair, he must have stayed to keep an eye on him, Lilstein doesn’t dare get out of bed, he can’t see any of his clothes within arm’s reach.

  *

  The day they all left Max accompanied Hans down into the valley, as far as Klosters station. Max feared his every word. Hans said:

  ‘You mustn’t think I blame you, you’re more unhappy than I am.’ Hans is referring to what happened the evening before last, but he doesn’t mention Lena’s name, he says again:

  ‘Don’t think I blame you.’

  He adds:

  ‘We must go on working together on our plans.’

  Max didn’t understand what Hans meant by plans, Hans reminded him of another conversation, the one in the Jardin du Luxembourg, the sets and props for your novel, The Madwoman, you know you promised I could do them, the story of the one-legged man and his wife, you didn’t finish it that day in the gardens, you broke off to tell me about Ensor and some young writer, you told me the woman had been cared for, in ’17 she’d protested against the war and she’d been given treatment.

  ‘You’ll like it,’ said Max, ‘a very interesting episode, very scientific.’ A chance to talk about something other than the night before last: with a bit of luck Max might be able to spin it out until the train pulled in without any mention of him and Lena cropping up, 1917, a very scientific episode, the wife of a hero shouting denunciations of the war, she couldn’t be anything except mad, the most modern treatments were used, first the milk diet but there was a shortage of dairy products, balneotherapy, diuretics, sedatives, a lot of sedatives, then her temperature was artificially raised and she was given long, invigorating cold showers, it made her shake uncontrollably, they tied her down, she still shook, there was no improvement, so they proceeded to the final weapon, faradism, the latest thing in war psychiatry, electricity, her husband told me all about it, I never really understood if he was for or against, in any case he was invited to be present at the treatments, the purpose was to counter a neurosis of the ego, hence the resort to electric energy to free her by shocks from her negative ego, persuasive faradism.

  According to the doctors, this was a way of linking modern technology to the permanent moral battle, the basic idea was the assumption that the patient maintained a degree of lucidity, a latent cooperative will which would be awakened by means of drastic therapy, they would have to eradicate her anxiety and emotional fragility, the egotistical emotivity which had taken possession of her when she had first seen her husband with one leg missing, a disorienting, self-destructive hyperactivity, Hans, what do you think of the vocabulary? It was a symptom of psychopathy but not inaccessible to aggressive treatment.

  The whole of French medical opinion fought hard to force upon Hélène de Vèze the ability to turn back into the honourable wife of a soldier who had fought with valour, she had sought refuge in illness, she had to be made to reject illness, make it so horrible that she would have only one thought in her head, to escape the bright sparks on the ends of the copper wires, the sound of the discharges just before the treatments began, the humming of the coils, the thick copper and metal bracelets, the urging of the doctors, the pain.

  Diseased organs are subjected to the same treatment, in cases of localised paralysis, current is applied to the hand which has stopped moving, the patient screams, proof that his hand exists, therefore that it can be made to function, he can reacquire as function what he feels as pain, and for the head, in mental cases, it’s the same, she had lost the feeling of victory and honour, the fact that she was Swiss made her less tough, same treatment.

  It took four strong nuns to hold her down, she had fled the war into illness, four, five brawny nuns and a medic to force her to flee from illness and back to health, the faradaic current delivered by a pencil of copper wires, it was played over skin, belly, thighs, nails of hands and feet, not town electricity, too strong, too risky, they used a Faraday machine, progressive current, but it had to be forcibly felt, it had to shock, the patient should not be allowed time to get used to it.

  She was a neurotic, all neurotics dissemble, they dissemble without knowing that they’re doing it, that is what their illness is, it was crucial not to allow the illness to erect defences against faradisation, hence the sizzling offensive, no war
ning given, as in war, surprise, shock, the woman held out for a long time, a foreigner, she was even used in demonstrations given to other patients, those awaiting the treatment, she resisted.

  One of the doctors said that her resistance came from a deep-seated displacement of the maternal instinct. She had no child, she had no country, she could not have any feeling of a motherland; and at the same time she looked on her husband as her child, now the husband was a defender of the motherland, she blamed her husband for defending the wrong mother.

  He was an extremely subtle doctor, the wrong mother, so they decided to apply the electric beams to areolas and nipples, not easy to take such a decision, it needed sturdy sisters who volunteered to restrain her, the question was raised whether male patients waiting their turn should be allowed to watch, in the end they were made to attend these sessions, that’s right, three sessions, results were inconclusive.

  At one point, the woman started muttering:

  ‘Victory, victory.’

  She stared at the Faraday machine, most impressive, the doctors realised that they had won, in the theatre everyone started mouthing victory, she was exhausted, she is always exhausted, but she has returned to her own, into the community, a fine victory, and one which paved the way for others.

  Two of the patients waiting to be treated got up one morning saying that they felt better, that they wouldn’t need to have the treatment, but they were given it all the same. With the woman, it had been extra difficult because she was French by adoption, she was very brave, the doctors congratulated her.

  ‘All that will have to go in your novel, Max.’

  ‘Putting everything in is a German speciality, Hans, in France we call it being long-winded. A novel is not an encyclopaedia.’

  ‘You can’t just ignore the knowledge of the age you live in.’

  ‘But you don’t have to import it wholesale, what you want is a quick turn over, create an impression.’